by Lola West
“That was like two months ago.”
“Not the first time, but it feels different. Like he wants me to apologize, and that’s never fucking happening.”
“It’s that girl, right?”
I played dumb. “What? What girl?”
“The girl from Bonnaroo. Lua whatever.” I didn’t say anything. “I’m your best friend, dude. I know what it looks like when you’re in heat. And that bitch has you panting and howling up and down the block.”
“Don’t call her a bitch,” I snapped.
He sat up fast and pointed at me. “See.” he exclaimed, excitement flickering in his eyes. “You’re all tied up in knots over that girl.” I got ready to defend myself, but then he said, “Looks good on you, asshole. She was badass all summer. All speak truth to power and shit.” His voice had a deep mocking lilt, but it wasn’t a criticism, just humor.
I still didn’t say anything, but I was smiling a little.
“Also, she’s fucking smokin’, all curves.’” He used his hands to draw an hourglass figure.
I grabbed my Econ textbook off the desk and threw it at him. He ducked out of the way and broke into a raucous belly laugh. I laughed too. Pete was Pete, that wasn’t going to change overnight. And it was a relief that he knew. After a beat, it occurred to me that if he guessed, then Katie must have known.
“Does Katie know?”
“Dude, she knew that shit the first time she saw you with Lua.”
Right. Of course, she did. I felt guilty. “I should have told her.”
He crashed back into the bed again. “Whatever, man. There is so much shit we should tell each other but don’t. Privileged assholes tell no tales. Secrets are part of the deal. Is it fucked now?”
“The thing with Lua?”
“Yeah.”
“Pretty much.”
“You gonna un-fuck it?”
“I hope.” I shrugged.
He nodded, stood, and headed for the door. He stopped right before leaving, and turning around, he said, “Maybe I should spend Friday nights sitting on my ass too. My liver would thank me.”
“You’re welcome anytime, man. It’s just me and Isaac, shootin’ the shit and waiting for the phone to ring.”
“The stuffy gay dude with the dreads?”
“Yeah, man, he’s cool.”
“Well, that sounds like a fucking rager.” Sarcasm, as usual. “Actually, now that I think about it, I have plans to wax my nads.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“What? I mean, come on. It’s like fucking aliens came and took my best friend.”
“Still here, man.”
He shrugged and was out the door.
A week later, the last Friday before spring break, Isaac and I had a rough night. The phone rang off the hook. Most of it was legit, but it was also more over-partying than anything else. People who were too drunk or high to form words, a girl freaking out because her friend lost consciousness, and queries on how to get an escort home from a party. There was one truly creepy call. A freshman had locked herself in a bathroom at a party because she ran away from some guy who was being too sexually aggressive, but luckily, she got away from him, and all we had to do was send campus security to get her out. She didn’t know his name and wasn’t even sure he was a student, but she still filed a complaint. Around three a.m., I jogged over to campus security to check on her and make sure that she knew that the students at S.A.F.E. were available if she needed us and to give her some follow-up info about other resources available to her. She seemed as okay as you would expect.
We don’t usually follow up like that, but I answered the call, and she was scared, and I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Isaac was cool with me running over so I did. On the walk back, I was lit up, vibrating, even though it was basically four in the morning. It wasn’t too cold, like fifty degrees. It had been the first day that really felt like spring and the air was brisk on my cheeks. If I was five, I would have been skipping. I just felt light in a way that I hadn’t since Lua cut me off. It was a good night. Isaac and I did good. And I loved that feeling, the high from being decent was so much more genuine than any synthetic high.
My spirit crashed when I got back to S.A.F.E. I heard a noise before I could see the actual entrance to the building. We kept the door locked at night for our own protection and when I left, I made sure that Isaac locked it behind me. But that didn’t stop two big-ass homophobic motherfuckers from banging on the front door and torturing Isaac for their amusement. They were drunk, and they looked mean. Isaac wasn’t at the front desk, but it didn’t matter.
“We know you’re in there, faggot,” one of the guys taunted. He was blond and way bigger than me. Still a distance away, I pulled out my phone and dialed 9-1-1. Fuck campus security. I wanted these assholes in jail.
He kept taunting, “Come on, you pretty little bitch, come say hi. We just want to talk.”
The other guy laughed. This one had dark hair and bushy eyebrows. He looked like a caricature of a mafia sidekick. His chest was huge. It occurred to me less than a year ago, I might have been one of these guys, feeding my self-hatred by hurting someone else. I wanted them punished. And for the shit they were doing would most likely just be a reprimand. Fuck that.
“9-1-1, What’s your emergency?” the operator said.
“I’m at Hamilton. Off the main quad. Two drunk guys were screaming homophobic slurs, and now they’re beating up some frat boy. You have to send someone.”
“There is a patrol in the area. We’re going to contact them right now. Please stay on the line.”
I hung up. I’d been hit before. Certainly not my smartest moment, but I could take it.
I walked up toward the building and as I mounted the porch steps, I said, “You know studies show that most homophobic idiots are closeted gay dudes. Is that what you are, terrified that you like dick so you beat on guys brave enough to admit that they like dick?”
“What did you say, asshole?” Roidhead, for sure. I heard the siren off in the distance. Probably just crossing onto the campus now.
I smiled, a big motherfucking toothy grin. “I said, you secretly want to suck my cock…” I didn’t get to finish being a cocky bastard.
As his fist connected with my face, I caught a glimpse of Isaac running down the stairs. Then my teeth clattered together, and I immediately tasted the copper lilt of blood in my mouth. Isaac threw open the door.
“Goddammit, Drew!” He raced toward me, but the guy who wasn’t hitting me tried to intercept him. Isaac didn’t even seem slightly fazed. He blocked the guy with little to no effort. And then he tripped the guy that had just nailed me in the stomach. It was the blond one, and he clattered into the wood porch hard, like Isaac was dropping a sack of potatoes and a paint can.
The hit to my gut connected, so for a second I was doubled over. When I finally shook myself out and stood again, I watched the bushy dark-haired guy attempt to nail Isaac, but it was like a comedy routine. Isaac literally seemed to be dancing around him. Clearly, he didn’t need my help at all.
The sirens were loud now. They would be here soon. I didn’t know how to fight, really. I mean I could throw a few punches. But I was not trained. Isaac clearly had some training. I guessed martial arts. The only thing I could do was sit on top of the big blond idiot, so Isaac didn’t have to take on both of them. I could feel my eye swelling.
The cops appeared. There were four of them. The fighting stopped as quickly as it started. Bushy eyebrow guy just stood there shifting nervously from foot to foot, and I stayed in my position, sitting on top of the blond guy like he was a fucking stool. It was hilarious actually, but no one was laughing, so I didn’t. For a second I got nervous they would blame Isaac. Since I started working at S.A.F.E., I heard so much discussion about what happened to black people when the police got involved, but one of the officers nodded his head in salutation and said, “Isaac.”
Isaac, a touch winded, lifted a hand in the c
op’s direction and said, “Officer Stanley.”
“Want to tell me what happened here?”
Isaac glanced at me, then he said, “These two were disgruntled by who I’m attracted to, sir.” He shook his head and pointed at me. “He came to my defense.”
The cop snickered. “Looks like you came to his defense.”
Isaac shrugged.
“Okay, fellas, I think a night in the drunk tank would do you both some good. If you could unseat yourself, young man, we’ll take these two with us. Isaac, if you want come by and give a statement tomorrow?”
Isaac nodded. “I’ll think about it.”
He looked at me. “You too, son.” I nodded.
When they left, Isaac turned to me and said, “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I asked.
“I don’t want you to give a statement.” He turned and headed inside, and I followed him.
“What?” I exclaimed. “Those fuckers deserve what they get, Isaac. How could you say that? I’m going down there tomorrow.”
He headed toward the kitchen. I didn’t go into the kitchen at S.A.F.E. most of the time. The Lua memories were too intense; it made me ache to be in there. But I followed after him. Isaac huffed out a large sigh, pulled a plastic bag from one of the kitchen drawers, and headed to the freezer. The fridge was the kind with the freezer on top, so once he opened it, his head disappeared, and I could only see him from chest down. He started dumping ice into the baggie. I knew it was for me.
He shut the door, sighed again, and then said, “I see you, Drew. I know you’re different.” He paused and adjusted his glasses, which had miraculously never left his face during the fight. It was hard to believe that the Dapper Dan in front of me had just bested that meathead on the porch. “But I don’t need you to go down there tomorrow.”
“Isaac, they sucked. I want to.”
“I get that, but let’s play out what happens if you go down there tomorrow. How long will it be before the media catches wind of the fact that Drew Scott, Senator Scott’s son, went all fisticuffs in defense of a young black gay man? The fallout for you—and honestly, me—will certainly be uglier than listening to those Neanderthals berate me tonight.”
I hadn’t considered that. I literally spent my entire life worrying about how I looked to prying eyes, and in my misguided yet genuine defense of Isaac, it hadn’t even occurred to me. My eye fucking hurt, but my heart was soaring.
34
Lua
Clearly, if you’ve ever caught one spring break movie, you’d know that spring break was supposed to be all sunshine, beach parties, and bikinis. Yes, obviously Hamilton students had to travel for that, but still it was supposed to be getting warmer. Honestly, for a hot minute the temperature did rise above freezing, but it took a turn back toward artic, so I was sitting on a bench, just off Hamilton’s main thoroughfare, crying. It was Saturday afternoon; everyone I knew had either left campus on Friday or earlier that morning. Actually, by looking around, you would have thought I was the only student left on campus. Either that or I found myself experiencing a lull in the zombie apocalypse. The quad was all whistling wind and the promise of a snowstorm.
I had just hung up with Joe. He was supposed to come get me and take me home. He was super excited about the car trip because after years of saving, scrimping, and hard work he had finally birthed a healthy seafoam green and white 1955 Oldsmobile Super 88 Holiday. This car was the star of Joe’s dreams, the first step in the beginning of his epic life. He named her Clara Belle Blue, Belle for short. He’d basically refurbished her himself, with a little help from other thrivers. The entire process had taken five years, but two weeks ago he sold his old beater Subaru and was officially driving Belle full-time. He intentionally waited till March first to sell the Subaru, thinking that the brunt of the winter’s snow would be behind him. Belle was a classic, and so she had period correct tires. Period correct tires are smaller bias-ply tires. Smaller bias-ply tires slip and slide and scratch and scrape, struggling to grip cold or icy surfaces. Belle would have winter specific tires next year. Joe hadn’t budgeted for them this year. That wasn’t going to be a problem until I woke up to flurries. A quick internet search revealed an unexpected snowstorm blowing in.
At nine a.m. I called Joe, and he was coming anyway, he said. So I showered and packed my duffel. At eleven thirty, he was on the road. So, I swung my duffel over my shoulder and headed over to the cafeteria for a snack. I had a book with me. I planned to read while I waited. At twelve thirty when he called again, I was sitting at an empty table, in the empty cafeteria, next to my empty plate. It had started snowing where he was. Belle was all over the road. He wasn’t even on the highway yet. He had to turn back. But he was still coming. He would borrow my dad’s truck. He’d see me at three thirty, maybe four. I bought another snack, settled in, and read some more.
A text at one forty-five said, “Got the truck.”
At two thirty he called again. It wasn’t good. “Cakes, I’m so sorry.”
He hadn’t gotten far. My dad’s truck got a flat. And because of the storm, there was no one with the right tire until tomorrow. The snow was already coming down, and there was just no way for him to get to Hamilton. It wasn’t meant to be. I wasn’t going home till Sunday, at the earliest, if they could get the roads clear. I tried not to sound too disappointed. It wasn’t Joe’s fault. He tried. I knew he really tried to get to me. I sweetly placated him. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. I’ve got books and Netflix and a down comforter.” But the truth was I was devastated.
After we hung up, I didn’t want to be in the cafeteria anymore, and I didn’t want to go back to my dorm. So I just lugged my duffel outside and set up camp on a bench. It was cold and miserable, but also pretty. At least snowstorms are generally pretty. But I hated this one. It didn’t feel beautiful to me because all I wanted was to be home. My spring semester at Hamilton sucked. I mean, honestly, my classes were good, and Raina and Isaac were amazing. I adored them. And Chrystal was still pretty much a super bitch, but she and I had developed some sort of balance to our living situation, which meant that she took and wore all my stuff without asking and I accepted it. But twice this semester she restocked our fridge and without asking bought me kombucha, which I knew she hated. And, once, she’d noticed I was sad and brought me tea. So I was pretty sure there was a human inside of her man-crazy Satan sorority-bot exterior. Maybe.
But it didn’t matter how good or bad my friends or my poly-sci professors were because I was sad all the time. It was like my heartache multiplied rather than eased. When I could sleep, I’d wake up in the morning and not want to get out of bed. When I couldn’t sleep, I’d replay my last night with Drew on a loop. I knew it was me. I knew I walked away. I knew he wanted something different, wanted to try to be together, but I couldn’t. Because it wouldn’t work. It was too broken. Better to feel this pain now with only a handful of memories to replay rather than weeks or months to rehash.
It didn’t help that he seemed to be doing fine. Isaac and Raina barely mentioned him to me, but S.A.F.E. was abuzz with chatter about reformed Drew. He was busy helping everyone. As far as I could tell, he achieved sainthood sometime between giving me the best orgasm of my life and throwing a punch in Isaac’s defense. P.S. Violence is never the answer, by the way, but whatever. I saw him at events sometimes. He looked healthy, vibrant even. He had that glow about him that comes with self-care. I did not have that glow. I was surviving on coffee and cafeteria croissants. Cafeteria croissants come in a plastic wrapper; they’re always a little smushed and bordering on stale. They were also mildly sweet, which was straight-up weird, and I was pretty sure if we ever had to survive an apocalyptic event, they would remain edible for years to come. Needless to say, they are not nutrient rich. I’d been eating a lot of Doritos and Snickers bars. For a girl who didn’t set foot in a supermarket till she was nine, this was not food. But I just don’t have the energy for anything else.
I’m not an idi
ot. I knew was I depressed, perhaps not clinically, but at the very least experiencing situational heartache induced depression. I knew that my shit with Drew was all wrapped up with some underlying issues that I have about my mom, but I also wasn’t irrational. Drew treated me badly, more than once. Drew treated lots of people badly more than once and it was hard to trust him. It was hard to believe that Lua Steinbeck, commune girl, with the mother who deserted her, the body that was culturally not idealized, and hyper liberal politics was the girl that finally changed the consummate bad boy with a conservative past. Not only was it hard to believe, it was dangerous to believe. Beauty and the Beast isn’t a true story. Beautiful princess-like girls don’t convert their kidnappers and abusers into lovers, but they do die trying because Disney told them that bad boys, beasts, can be changed into princes. So, there was that.
It was so damn cold. I should have gotten up and gone back to my room. But I just sat there freezing and miserable. I wished I had a Snickers bar, or even a cafeteria croissant or a coffee. And then I thought about sitting around the fire pit drinking hot toddies and making s’mores, and I just started crying. And not like a few tears escaped, I started full-on ugly crying. But there was no one around so fuck it; if I drew the attention of the brain-eating zombies, so be it.
35
Drew
I didn’t want to go home for spring break because the senator was an ass, so I decided to stay on campus at the frat house. Literally everyone was gone and being alone felt like a relief. I woke up at noon with a raging hard-on because I was dreaming of Lua. I always dreamed of Lua at this point. Since I’d tasted Lua, I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I stayed in bed for a while, stroking till I was close, edging, pretending my hand was hers. When I finally came, I had pictured slowly pushing my cock inside her sweet little pussy. So slowly, teasing her and me. In my mind, I saw her face desperate with need, the way she looked when I sucked on her clit, and I lost control and came, ropes across my abs. Fuck, I missed her. Emotionally, but also physically. I couldn’t be with anyone else. Sometimes I thought that if she never let me be with her again, it would make sense to become a priest because I honestly wasn’t interested in anyone else. I mean, other than my hand. If I became a priest, I was still totally going to fuck Lua in my mind.
