“Who’s Sorry Now?”
Listen to this story, “At Allen’s House”
When the meal was over, Julie cleared the table and stacked the dishes on the sink counter. She was used to doing dishes whenever she ate at Macintoshes’ and, really, she enjoyed it. While Allen rinsed the food off the plates, Julie swept up the crumbs that were on the floor. Then together they did the dishes in the usual fashion, Julie washing and Allen rinsing and stacking the dishes to drain. They talked about normal everyday things. Then Allen put a plate back into the dishwater.
“What’s the matter?” Julie questioned.
“There’s a spot on the back of it,” he answered.
“All right,” she said, rubbing the back of the plate with the dishcloth, “is this clean enough for your highness?”
“Well,” he commented just as sarcastically, “we’re used to getting all the mud off our dishes.”
Julie sighed heavily and handed the plate to him, and then she scrubbed the next dish in silence.
“Aw, come on,” Allen said. “Do you think this is a very Christian-like way for us to be acting?”
Julie looked at him as if to say, How dare you say I’m not a Christian?
“Well,” he demanded, “do you?”
“No,” she answered quickly and firmly.
“Oh, Julie, what’s wrong with us?” Allen asked. “Why does it seem we can’t get along anymore? Something’s wrong, Julie. What is it?”
Julie shook her head. She knew it was true. Now she was having to face the fact that she, perhaps unconsciously, had been trying to hide for the past several weeks. There was something wrong, dreadfully wrong. She couldn’t remember just when or where or how it had all started. But to her, it seemed Allen had grown indifferent and bossy. He seemed to think he was better than she was. And to Allen, Julie was getting to be less and less desirable. Lately, she seemed to be so wild and worldly—especially down at the beach.
“What do you say we call it quits?” Allen suggested now. “I think there’s someone else in the world better suited for me and someone else better suited for you. What do you say, huh?”
Julie felt her cheeks grow warm, and a tear trickled out even though she tried to hold it back. She brushed it away with her hand only for another one to take its place. Allen grabbed a tissue for her from a box nearby.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to cry.”
“Please,” he said, trying to be as unfeeling as possible, “think it through—unemotionally.”
Julie dried her eyes, sniffled, and threw away the tissue, determined to not let another tear escape her eyelids.
There was a long moment of silence, then Allen said, “Well, Julie, what do you think?”
“We’ve got two alternatives,” she answered. “Either one or both of us must change, or else”—and she shrugged— ”call it quits.”
“In what ways must either one or both of us change?”
Julie did not answer. Down deep, she and Allen both knew the answers that neither dared express for fear of offense. And, after all, if they did “call it quits,” they wanted to remain friends.
Since they had finished washing the dishes, Allen and Julie went into the living room. They sat down on the couch to “discuss frankly” this matter. It was quite a lengthy talk, and the time seemed to slip by. Suddenly it was nearly five o’clock, and Julie realized she should go home. She stood to leave, and in silence the two went outside. There, outside the gate, they paused.
“Well?” Julie said.
“Well,” echoed Allen, “what do you think?”
“I think we both know what’s best—for both of us.”
Allen nodded slightly. “I remember what you told me before I left. About us saying we were in love and we should go out with others and that would be the test.”
Julie smiled slightly. Allen saw it her way now. “And,” she said, “I went, not out, but I went with Victor—” Her voice choked for a moment, but she went on. “And—and you went out with Jonelle, didn’t you?” She looked straight into his eyes.
Allen smiled and cocked his head. “Yes, Julie, I did. Saturday night I took her to a church social in Phoenix. Then a few other times in the daytime I went to her house. I can admit to you now—we held hands.”
A funny feeling came over Julie and she swallowed hard. Nodding slightly, she said, more to herself, “I thought that’s probably what would happen. Well, at least now you agree with what I said.”
“Yes, Julie, I do. And, Julie, since this all has happened, what are your conclusions?”
“Well,”—and she really swallowed hard and tried her best to say casually the words she never wanted to say— ”I guess that proves that…that we weren’t really in love.”
“Julie,” he mumbled, “that’s my conclusion, too.”
“Goodbye, Allen.” And she turned away.
“One thing more,” he said in his same quiet tone, “I want it understood and agreed upon between us that there are no hard feelings, and that we’re still friends.”
Julie looked back at him. “Of course, Allen.” And she left.
All the way home Julie thought—about the past few hours, the past weeks, the past months. She remembered their first date—that concert at La Paloma College—and later the school picnic. She remembered how their friendship had deepened, how they did everything together, from studying together to going to the banquet. She thought of how he had changed, matured vaguely. Maybe he was just growing away from her. But as Julie remembered everything—laughter and heartaches, April showers and June moons—not once did she shed a tear.
When Julie arrived at home, she nonchalantly announced to Momma, “Well, Allen and I finally broke up—officially called it quits this afternoon.”
Mrs. Scott doubted her daughter at first, but the next few weeks proved it was true. Julie and Allen had been so close—what had happened? Julie’s friends wondered. “Allen and Julie”—everyone just associated the two together. What had happened? That was a question Julie would often ask herself in the weeks to come.
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