Be Straight with Me
Page 4
You pull the covers up over us,
and I shift down next to you,
curled under your arm.
“I’m confused, Max.”
“I am, too,” you say.
“I feel like
I don’t want to go
get in Joanna’s bed right now.
Like, I don’t want to stop
holding you.”
THE MORNING AFTER
When I wake up, it’s like the moment
I woke up after my tonsillectomy:
at first remembering nothing,
then everything,
then trying to assess the damage.
I remain very still in my bed,
huddled up against the wall.
Was that real? Was it all a strange dream?
When I turn over, will he be next to me?
I slowly roll onto my other side
and feel a confusing combination of joy
and disappointment
when I see you sleeping peacefully in Joanna’s bed.
Part of me hopes
that what happened
last night
might
go unacknowledged for a while.
The only light in the room
comes through the cracks
in the drawn blinds.
I quietly gather my clothes and books
in the almost darkness,
trying not to wake you.
Just as I’m zipping up my backpack,
you speak. “Will you bring me noms
from the dining hall when you come back,
sweet duchess?”
I roll my eyes but smile,
relieved
that you’re acting relatively normal.
Good, I think, this might not change
anything between us, after all.
REFLECTIONS: TWELFTH GRADE
It’s a few days before Christmas
in my senior year of high school.
My family is gathered in our living room
watching the home video labeled:
CHRISTMAS 1991
My mom is eight months pregnant.
With me.
She turns toward the camera,
hand on her big round belly,
with a big round smile, and says:
“Our little Christmas surprise.”
I snatch up the remote,
pause the TV, and whip around
to look at my mom.
I’ve always known I was a mistake.
But my parents have always denied it,
until they can’t,
as the video plays before our eyes.
I rewind, shushing my parents and siblings,
then replay the scene.
My mom grasps at an alternative explanation—
“I just meant . . . Christmas present!”
but even she knows they’ve been caught.
And it’s easier to laugh along
than to demand answers.
My eyes glaze over as the video cuts
to Andrew and Laura in a Christmas pageant.
I’m planning to ask more questions tomorrow
even though I think I already know the answers.
The true story is:
When my mom told my dad
she was pregnant
with number three,
his face went pale.
The plan was tuition for two.
On the TV screen, five-year-old Andrew
stands next to four-year-old Laura—
two little ginger kids singing “Joy to the World”—
but my brain is elsewhere, calculating
the total tuition of four years at Middlebury College.
I haven’t gotten the official letter yet,
but a few days ago, the track coach emailed
to say that he hopes I’ll be getting some
Midd apparel for Christmas
because I’m going to need it.
Later, after my dad and my siblings
have gone to bed,
my mom falls asleep on the couch next to me,
while reruns of Seinfeld play on the TV.
An episode ends.
The slap bass theme wakes her up.
And on her way to the stairs,
as she kisses my head,
she whispers softly to me:
“Some of the most beautiful
things in life come
from mistakes.”
THE FIRST WEEKEND OF FEBRUARY
You get kicked out of the German House
for smoking too much pot and
move into Theo’s suite in Milliken,
three floors above me.
We’re sitting on your new bed, and I’m
telling you about how I saw George Dale
out at the Mill with his new girlfriend—
“Are you wearing a bra?” you interrupt.
I look down at the black cotton top hanging
from thin straps over my shoulders,
forgetting that some things that used to be
casual between us might not be
quite so casual anymore.
“You have nice boobs, Em.
They’re small, but they’re nice.”
I grab my chest, “Well, you’re right.
They are nice.”
“And nice lips, too.”
You lean in close to me,
eyeing my mouth.
I force your eyes up to lock with mine.
No boy has ever looked at me the way
you’re looking at me right now.
The simmering desire on your face makes me feel
like some kind of all-powerful femme fatale,
daring you to resist me.
I’m feeling
exalted, confused, nervous,
all at once.
Your gaze drops down again to my lips,
and then you close your eyes, sighing,
“Emily . . .”
Your eyes
are open once again,
and you’re
lunging
toward me.
Your tongue finds its way into my mouth,
and your hands squeeze my sides.
You push us down on the bed and
reposition yourself astride me.
Kissing you tastes so good,
which doesn’t make any sense,
and I’m thinking that maybe there truly
is something chemical between us.
I read once about the science of kissing—
how the body can detect freakishly
specific data about your genetic
compatibility with someone
just by kissing them.
I press my palm to your chest and push back.
“You don’t want to?” you ask.
“Or we can’t? Because I think we can.”
The truth is I do want to.
You start to kiss my neck.
I release the tension in my arm
that holds you back and allow it,
but only for a moment.
“Max, what is going on right now?”
“This,” you say into my neck as you
angle your hips down against mine.
I gasp unintentionally.
You’re taking this
as a signal to go further,
pulling down my shirt,
moving your mouth to my chest.
“We need to lock the door,” I whisper,
> because I know I’m toast.
My head rolls back into the pillow,
and my hips thrust up, trembling.
I can see the spark of fascination
in your eyes at this new discovery—
this new way to have complete control over me.
Then you move back up to my mouth
as your hand moves down under my skirt.
“Can I?”
You breathe heavily into my ear with an
urgency I can’t deny, and as soon as I nod,
you nearly
rip my underwear off.
We’re staring at each other
in awe.
This makes no sense
and total sense
all at the same time.
I knew you’d had girlfriends
in high school, but I did not know
you knew this much.
Everything is perfect—
every movement,
every amount of pressure,
every kiss,
every variation
makes it seem like every guy before you
was actually
clueless.
AFTER IT HAPPENS
I’m lying next to you
in your twin bed,
trying to catch my breath.
My gaze falls on the Human Centipede poster
tacked to your wall, and even though
there is nothing less sexy or more
disgusting than that movie,
I’m smiling and cuddling in closer to you,
because it reminds me of the first time
I watched it with you, how your
continuous guffawing made it impossible
to feel as disturbed and frightened
as I should’ve felt.
I’m smiling and cuddling in closer to you,
because you’ve taught me that it’s okay
to take things less seriously
and sometimes, even, to laugh
at how absurdly scary life can be.
I’m not going to freak out about
what just happened between us.
I suppose it was just the fleeting product
of reckless, misguided impulse—
two meddlesome rebellion junkies,
bored of their current prospects on campus,
who just happen to have cooperative body parts.
It’s not like having sex with you
will ever actually amount to
anything more than harmless experimentation.
Heck, maybe
we’ll do it again
if we can get through it
without laughing. . .
But then I’m sure
we’ll just end
up joking about how weird we’re being,
maybe give each other shit for it,
smoke a few joints and
move on.
THE SECOND WEEKEND OF FEBRUARY
We haven’t exactly concluded
our harmless experimentation.
It’s well past midnight when I emerge
from your room, missing a few articles of clothing,
to half a dozen pairs of eyes staring back at me.
Theo raises his beer. A smirk creeps over his face.
Douglas and Rob play beer pong on the coffee table
while Sophie and Ramona drink beer on the couch.
Our friends are not used to finding your door locked.
“We’ve been waiting to rip the bong for an hour!”
Douglas drops his Ping-Pong ball into a cup
and moves past me to join you in your room.
Rob gives me a strange look. “Sorry . . .” I begin.
Then his face softens into a warm smile.
“That’s okay, Dalton. We weren’t really waiting for an hour.”
He gives my shoulder a nudge as he passes by.
A week later, you and I arrive back at your suite
in a drunken fit, and we don’t even make it to your room
before your hands are all over me
and my clothes are coming off.
You push me into the bathroom and
lift me up on top of the recycling bin.
We’re making out under the bright
fluorescent lights, entirely consumed,
until you start to unzip my pants.
“Max!” I have a momentary shock of worry.
“What?” You barely pause to let me speak.
“The door. Lock the door!”
It’s a communal bathroom with two stalls,
and it isn’t long before
we hear the door handle shake.
“Hello?” It’s Theo’s voice.
There’s a knocking, and then
the handle shakes again.
“Is someone in there? Kind of need to get in . . .”
We muffle our voices as you throw clothing at me
and I hop down from the recycling bin.
“Max? That you?”
“Yep, one second.”
“Sorry, dude. Need my toothbrush.”
You make a casual excuse about
accidentally locking the door, and
I avoid eye contact with Theo as we scurry out.
Somehow, we’re able to get away
with these kinds of escapades.
CLOUDS OF GRAY
When the snow has melted down
from the peaks of the Green Mountains,
filling the creeks
and softening the earth underfoot,
you and I have slept together
more than a dozen times.
The days grow longer.
Tiny buds sprout from branches.
Frigid water gushes under the bridges in town,
and our friends finally start to question
our bizarre behavior.
But my pragmatic attempts
to curb our romance,
restore our friendship,
only heighten your desire.
I tell you, “You need to hook up with guys,
and I need to hook up with guys.”
You groan at the cloudy gray sky
darkening into night.
“It’s confusing us both, Max.
You’re my best friend.”
You counter, “I don’t know why
that means we need to stop
exploring this
bizarre,
beautiful
thing.”
“Just all of a sudden
you wanted to have
sex with me?” I ask.
You think for a moment,
“Well, not really . . .
I remember watching you get dressed
after you showered one night
and then having this weird feeling
like I was seeing something
I shouldn’t be allowed to see . . .”
CURIOUSER
I’m worried
that what’s happening
between
us
is like Alice’s reaction to the
White Rabbit.
Suddenly realizing the anomaly
of its waistcoat pocket
and its watch,
and then, burning with curiosity,
running across the field,
and going down the hole after it,
never once considering how in the world
she’s
ever
going
to get
out again.
ROB
Rob smiles and swings his keys around his fingers.
“Ready?”
“Just us?” I ask as we leave the library.
We talk and laugh in his brand-new Volvo,
all the way into town, and when we get to McDonald’s,
Rob pays for my food without hesitation.
It’s one of the first times Rob and I
have ever hung out alone—
without you—
and I’m not sure exactly what’s happening.
I eat my cheeseburger and try not to overanalyze it.
But I notice the glimmer of a familiar feeling.
I guess I forgot what this feels like—
to hold the attention of a cute straight guy,
to flirt, to wonder, and to make him wonder
whether the interaction might go somewhere.
Could it possibly go anywhere?
Rob is one of the few people who
knows that you and I have hooked up.
He has the kind of eyes, hair, and body
that draw the attention of the most
popular, attractive girls on campus.
Why would he ever want to get with me—
the weird grungy stoner chick
who makes out with gay guys?
After our McDonald’s date,
Rob keeps inviting me on late-night
post-library food runs in his fancy Volvo,
and it’s hard for me to not
bashfully imagine a future with him.
And when I imagine that future,
I imagine a strong masculine figure—
someone who will always take care of me
and maybe even fawn over me.
One night, as we’re walking back
from the parking lot to his dorm,
I stop and turn to him, ready to ask
if I’m not just imagining something
more than friendship happening between us.
But the look on his face answers my question,
and without thinking, I reach up to him,
and go in for the kiss.
When he picks me up
with his big, strong arms
so I can wrap my legs
around his torso,
I know this is going to keep happening,
and it pains me to imagine you
hearing about it from someone else.
A WEEK LATER
I break the silence between us to tell you myself.
And now you’re pulling the hood
of your sweatshirt down over your face
and doubling over onto your knees.
We sit in silence for a minute.
“I’ve never been attracted to someone
like I am to you,” you tell me.
“But don’t you still want to be with guys?