Tucker #15: Where We Gonna Go From Here?

Geez, friends, it's been a minute! I hope everyone had a magnificent Thanksgiving and you're all caught up on everything you slacked off on at work last week.

Wheels have been turning over here at Tucker Diaries. We got a facelift! Whaddya think? Like it? Hate it? Don't care, just want me to quit fiddling with shit and get back to writing? Right. Heard that.



Big thanks to my main man Blake for popping over with a blog post of his own on Sunday! Believe it or not, he came up with that all on his own - funny words and everything. No wonder I love that kid.


I was debating about how to go forward with this whole thing. What do I talk about now that the cat's out of the bag and everyone knows I fell in love with a dude, who was actually a girl, who lived in Georgia? I feel like everything else is sort of anticlimactic after that little nugget was revealed, don't you? Once I shared with my small circle of in-the-know friends that Hannah was Tucker, it seemed as though it was a case-closed, move-on, get-over-it kind of deal. You would think that would be the way to go, but if you haven't figured it out already, I'm not exactly good at letting good enough be.


See, I had my "answers", more or less. I knew the culprit, and even met the man I thought I'd fallen in love with...nevermind the fact that he turned out to be engaged. I'd spoken with William about the situation, filled Megan in on the conclusion, and finally hunted Blake down to tell him the story. If there were a checklist of things to do and people to talk to after finding out you were the victim of a lesbian love affair, I'm pretty sure I completed it with flair. All that aside, though...I wasn't satisfied.


Anyone who knows me, which by now includes all of you, knows I can't rest on my laurels when there's something bugging me. If I want to know something, I'll find a way to piece it together - obviously because I started this whole manhunt in the first place. I didn't have a problem putting a plan into action and getting down to business when I needed to find some closure. The problem was...I wasn't even sure what exactly I was looking for now. Did I need more from Hannah? Was her confession and explanation not enough? Did I need to spend more time talking to William or Megan, discussing the thing to death until I felt like I'd come to terms with this? Did it have something to do with Blake? Did I need to talk to HIM more, and find out what he was thinking? Maybe I was searching for some sort of poetic justice to put a cap on this bottle of bullshit for good. Whatever it was, it was bugging me, and I couldn't shake the fact that there was some other stone still left unturned.


Once I'd revealed Tucker's true identity to my friends and family who were privy to the situation from the get-go, there was a resounding chorus of one single word that came from each and every person who found out the truth. WHY. Everyone wanted to know why. As you already gathered from my previous conversation with Hannah, immediately after her confession, I didn't have an answer for them. She wouldn't answer my questions, only gave me snippets here and there, but we never really discussed why this happened in the first place. What provoked her to start this crazy train? What happened to this girl to make her think that creating an entire fake life, and carrying it on for YEARS, would solve her problems? I knew I couldn't let this rest until I found out exactly why Hannah had begun her journey as Tucker, nearly four years ago.


On a cold Sunday night in Grand Rapids, I was hiding under the covers in my roommate's bed, watching Desperate Housewives and enjoying being blissfully ignorant of anything Tucker/Blake/Hannah related for the first time in days. My phone lit up, telling me I'd gotten a text from Hannah. I'd finally gotten around to changing her contact info in my phone, considering I had at least three people now who had, at one point, been Tucker on some level in my mind. Hannah asks if she can call me. I'm taken aback, and ask why, to which she responds she owes me a better apology, and would like to talk to me "in person", with a phone call. At first, I have no interest. Why would I want to speak to the person who lied to me the way she did? I didn't want her to have the satisfaction of hearing my voice. On the other hand, I knew this was my only shot at getting some semblance of a logical explanation, and with that in mind, I agreed.


I shut myself in my bedroom and climbed into bed, nervous for some reason about the impending conversation. Perhaps "nervous" isn't the correct word here, but I certainly was not looking forward to having the closest thing to a face-to-face confrontation with this girl that I'd likely ever get. When my phone began to buzz with her call, I took a deep breath and answered with a hello.


I don't know what I expected Hannah to sound like - it definitely wasn't something I'd put any thought into before. I was surprised, however, to hear a strong voice on the other end of the line. I suppose I anticipated a meakness - almost an afraid, weak voice greeting me when I answered her call, but instead I was presented with a firm, almost husky southern accent on the line.


Almost immediately, Hannah seemed relaxed with me. I, again, am unsure of how I expected this conversation to go, but it was much more calm and natural than I'd guessed. Hannah began to speak to me, confidently and sure of the words she was saying. She apologized again for her actions, repeatedly using phrases like "from the bottom of my heart" and "if I could take it all back I would". She acknowledged the stupidity of her internet escapades, describing them as though it was a childish joyride she'd dabbled in for a moment before getting caught. She talked to me - apologized to me - as if she were a close friend who tore my favorite sweater when she borrowed it. She was matter of fact, and direct, but not overly emotional. It was as though she were following a protocol, carefully laid out in front of her, and following it step by step to ensure she said precisely the correct words during our conversation.


At first, I didn't say much. I didn't know WHAT to say. I had already extended forgiveness to her, when I was gunning for more information about Blake. Though I was laying it on a little thick at the time, I really did mean what I said to her - I wasn't still angry with her for what happened, and I had forgiven her for her actions. What confused me, was Hannah's apparent lack of understanding of the depth and severity of what she'd done. She seeemed to truly believe that a verbal apology would wipe the slate clean, and she could carry about her life without any further repercussions of her dirty deed. She was confused as to why Megan refused to accept her apology, and wasn't quick to forgive her. She genuinely didn't understand why this was such a BIG deal to everyone involved. To her, it was a silly game that she'd gotten a little too caught up in, but now that the secret was out, everything was hunky dory again.


When Hannah was finished with her apology, I thanked her - truly, as I was grateful she was, at the very least, taking responsibility for what she did. She could have disappeared from the face of the earth, never to be heard from again, but at least she was owning up to her mistakes with me. I didn't know how to breach the "why" subject, so it sort of stumbled out of my mouth in an awkwardly direct fashion - par for the course if you've ever had a real-life conversation with me. Couth is not exactly my forte, folks. I blurted out "BUT WHY", in middle of her third go-round with "I wish I could take it all back". She seemed surprised, but paused to answer my question.


It was as though, with those two simple words, I'd immediately transformed a phone conversation into a shrink's office. Hannah took her place lying down on the leather chaise lounge, and I relaxed into my oversized club chair behind my mahogany desk, rested my bifocals on the glass top of the wooden fixture, folded my hands and asked her "How does that make you feel?" Suddenly Hannah was a loose cannon, relaying stories of her harrowed high school years and describing the lack of friends and bounty of rejection she felt as a young teen. She told me of her flirting with the wrong side of the law, socializing with the proverbial "wrong crowd", and the struggles she faced growing up as the "unpretty one". Confession after confession poured from her mouth like the wine from the bottle of malbec I was quickly consuming listening to her talk. It was abundantly evident that the situation in front of me was not malicious - not an attempt to attack or hurt anyone to make up for someone who had done Hannah wrong. When Tucker, the alias, was born, he was an escape - a way for her to feel wanted, NEEDED, to be sought after and pursued. Tucker was a euphoric alternate reality where the doldrums of a high school reject were put to rest, and the thrills and highs of being attractive and successful took the driver's seat in the tour bus to Happyville.


I immediately felt sorry for Hannah. I felt guilty for being so angry with her upon the discovery of her real identity. For the first time, I truly let go of the risidual anger and felt concern for the poor soul on the other end of my phone conversation. This was a person who was hurting - a girl who SO desperately needed someone to talk to, that she turned to fabricating her own alternate universe where she was loved and desired by people who hung from her every word. This was not a person who was out to rectify some vendetta she had against the good looking, popular, successful people of the world. Instead, she was a lonely soul begging for a friend, pleading with someone, ANYONE, to acknowledge her for the person she was on the inside, instead of the hollow shell she'd become on the outside.


I ended the conversation with Hannah, and sat alone in my dark bedroom with my bottle of wine, once again flooded with a river of emotions and thoughts. I was completely unsure of how I was supposed to feel after our chat. The cynical, and probably more rational side of me struggled to believe any of her story, chalking it all up as yet another lie in her pathological warpath. That part of me refused to believe this girl deserved even an ounce of forgiveness, let alone sympathy. The other half of me, though, argued that Hannah deserved a second chance. The compassionate, empathetic side of me remembered being a nerdy fifth grader with huge glasses and thick bangs, and pleaded with my logical side to just give the girl a break. I couldn't truly justify either side, and felt completely conflicted.











What was I supposed to do next? Did I accept the ending to my story for what it was: a sad tale of a lonely girl searching for someone to let her into their heart? Or, did I ignore the humanist in me, and pursue whatever sort of justice I hoped to receive in this battle of wills?












Did I let Hannah go, forget she existed and let her carry on her life, hoping this experience was enough to deter her from ever trying to deceive someone like she so extensively deceived me? Or, did I find some way to make absolutely sure she was punished for the hurt, the stress, and the anger she had caused me and so many other over the last months?














At what point was it time to throw in the towel and call it a day on this? At what point should I decide enough is enough, thank my lucky stars I found out the truth, and cross my fingers Hannah was through with her manipulation and lies?















I knew there was only one person to turn to who could help me figure out exactly what was the appropriate way to resolve the situation. There was only one person who knew enough about Hannah, her family, and her situation to offer any sort of help in my quest for the right path to take in this fork in the road.













I picked up my phone, cashing in my phone-a-friend and utilizing the only lifeline I had left in this garbled game of truth or dare.















"Blake...what the hell do we do now?"