by A J Walkley
“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s smoke the new bong Brian and I went in on for Christmas and watch a movie. I’ve got ‘Boondock Saints’ and ‘American History X’ on Netflix,” he said, already on his way to get his newest piece of equipment from his hash hideout in the ceiling.
Inwardly, I groaned.
“Yeah, sure, I’ve always wanted to see those.”
I flipped my cell open. No texts. No voicemails.
Cam came back to sit beside me and packed the bong.
“Green it,” he said, giving me his lighter and the first hit.
I lit it and pulled the smoke into my lungs, taking out the card to clear the pipe. With that one pull, all thoughts of Becca and her ex left me.
Once we were both good and high, Cameron put his arm around me, pulling me close while Edward Norton filled the screen.
“You know what would be fun?” he whispered in my ear.
Before I answered he had taken my hand and placed it in a strategic position. For some reason, I hadn’t been able to give him head since that first time. It hadn’t really come up (no pun intended) before, but there had been a few situations I’d had to extract myself from. Plus, it’s not like he had ever returned the gesture.
I lightly squeezed before pulling my hand away.
“Not now, Cam,” I said, turning back to the television.
“Why not? Is something wrong?” He was looking at me hard with his bloodshot eyes.
“I just don’t want to, Cameron.”
“Fuck that! You never want to! What’s the fucking deal?” he exploded. He jumped up and started pacing in front of me. “I don’t get it, Greer. Is it because -” he paused. “Is it because I haven’t… you know?”
“No, Cam. And I don’t want to talk about this right now. Can we just watch this?” I pulled on his arm and brought him back down to the couch.
“I can, you know,” he said, putting his hand on my thigh and moving it higher. I quickly pushed him away.
“No, just forget it okay? Not now.”
Cam huffed and sat back, arms crossed and brooding. We didn’t say another word to one another until the movie ended and I said goodbye.
***
You’ve heard it once, you’ve heard it a billion times: men (and boys) are enigmas. What I didn’t expect was to also be perplexed by girls.
It’s definitely not a gender thing.
It was a couple of weeks into the New Year. Becca and I were in my room watching a DVD on the TV my dad bought me for Christmas. My head was in her lap, my hand on her calf. I was much more interested in the pristine smoothness of her leg than the movie.
I flipped over and trailed my hand up her thigh.
“What’re you doing, Greer?” she asked, a quick glance down at me before returning her attention to the screen.
“Oh, nothing,” My hand inched higher, my fingers moving in slow circles.
“Greer.” She sounded irritated.
I stopped, picking myself up to sit beside her.
“What’s wrong, Becs? You okay?”
“Fine, just not in the mood.”
Clue number one: she wouldn’t look me in the eye. Nobody was that interested in Will Ferrell.
“Come here.” I motioned for her to sit in front of me. When she didn’t budge, I expertly molded myself into the pillows behind her.
“Greer, you don’t have to.”
“Shh. Just relax, babe.”
I felt her tense up instead. Clue number two.
I moved from her neck, down her back, digging my thumbs in just enough to feel good, not hurt. I played over the knobs of her spine, working the muscles around it. My hands went up and down both arms, concentrating on her skin under my palms instead of the fact that she was as taut as when I began. I continued by brushing her hair to the side and kissing her on the place she wanted her first tattoo: perfectly centered on the nape of her neck. Just one small peck and she whipped her head around instantly.
“Stop, Greer. You need to stop.”
“What’s your problem?” I asked, moving to face her on the bed, blocking her view of the television. “You’ve been acting weird all day. What’s up your butt?” Becca could be moody, but never that moody. The third clue was before me, staring me in the eyes, yet I didn’t see what was coming.
“I can’t do this anymore, okay? I can’t play house when no one’s watching.” She paused, getting up and grabbing her bag before looking at me again. “Are you ever going to break up with Cameron?”
I was shocked into immobilization. Cameron was a subject we avoided. I couldn’t answer her.
“Right, that’s what I thought.” She opened the door. “Call me when you grow up.”
I sat.
I stared at the door.
I looked at the TV, Will Ferrell telling a joke I would never find funny ever again.
***
I crouched low and covered my stomach with my hands, trying to hold myself in while I was falling apart. I imagined my mother coming upstairs after hearing the wails being emitted from me; putting her hand on my hair, playing her fingers through like she used to when I was sick as a kid. She would whisper in my ear, telling me it was okay; she was there. Nothing could hurt me.
But all I heard from downstairs was silence. Mom wasn’t home. Even if she were, I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t say, “It’s Rebecca, Mom. Becca broke my heart.” She might yell and tell me that was impossible; girls didn’t fall in love with other girls. Or, worse, she wouldn’t say anything. She’d stare at me, dumbstruck, pain in her eyes, and she’d walk away.
Regardless, there I was: My first heartbreak. I never knew it would actually, physically hurt that much. My chest felt bruised. I felt like vomiting, but there was nothing inside me to satisfy the urge. I couldn’t eat. It was the second day after Becs and I swore I could feel my body beginning to waste away. I welcomed the sensation. I didn’t want to be anymore. All I wanted was to be with her.
One would think I would have just thrown myself into Cameron, strengthening what we had (or didn’t have). Ironically, even the thought of him made me miss Becca more. Ah, the occupational hazard of inviting your secret girlfriend into your boyfriend’s group of friends.
I hadn’t left my room all weekend. I hadn’t even answered my phone, which was normally in my pocket, ready to be snatched out at the sound of a text. By Sunday night, Cameron became worried and called. I decided to take it.
“Babe, is everything okay?”
“I just haven’t been feeling great, Cam, that’s all.”
“Want me to bring you some soup? Ginger ale? Anything?”
I smiled, just barely, at his concern. “It’s okay. I don’t want you to get sick.”
“Well, get some sleep, G. You have a swim meet Wednesday you gotta rock, don’t forget.”
Shit. I was surprised Cameron had remembered, but even more surprised that I hadn’t taken the team into consideration in the situation I was in.
“Right, yeah, I will. I’ll call you later Cam.”
“K, babe. Feel better. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I responded automatically.
I hung up and turned on my laptop, lugging it onto my bed from my nightstand. As soon as AIM popped up, I immediately searched for Becca’s screen name. ButterflyBabe was online.
I don’t know why some of us torture ourselves the way we do, but I couldn’t resist messaging her. In a masochistic way, I wanted to talk to her, even if it meant digging the knife in a bit deeper:
SwimFin120: hey
Five minutes later came the response:
ButterflyBabe: hi
My heart leapt. ‘Play it cool, Greer.’
SwimFin120: hows it going?
ButterflyBabe: okay you?
SwimFin120: really?
SwimFin120: youre really okay? did i really mean that little to you?
ButterflyBabe: no! i don’t know what to say, greer. its hard for me to talk about it.
/> SwimFin120: and you think its not hard for me?
ButterflyBabe: i didnt say that.
SwimFin120: becs, i know you dont want anything to do with me, but tell me one thing...does that mean you dont care about me at ALL anymore?
ButterflyBabe: of course not.
SwimFin120: could have fooled me.
ButterflyBabe: of course i still care about you.
ButterflyBabe: theres no question of that.
SwimFin120: then whats the problem?
ButterflyBabe: we cant greer. its not working right now.
SwimFin120: i don’t know what to do.
ButterflyBabe: what do you mean?
SwimFin120: how can you expect me to love you and then just forget about you?
ButterflyBabe: i dont want you to forget about me.
SwimFin120: geez, becs. what DO you want?
Pause. Pause. Nothing.
SwimFin120: i put so much into this.
ButterflyBabe: maybe not enough.
Whoa, twist that knife why don’t you?
ButterflyBabe: i didnt want it to end like this.
SwimFin120: couldve fooled me.
ButterflyBabe: trust me g, i think a lot about us and what we had.
ButterflyBabe: how good it was.
SwimfFin120: yeah?
ButterflyBabe: definitely.
SwimfFin120: then why cant we get it back?
Pause.
ButterflyBabe: greer, we cant.
SwimFin120: im hurting, becca. a lot. its hard to talk to you. The only time im happy is when im with you. when im not with you, im thinking of you. doesnt that mean something to you?
ButterflyBabe: i know youre hurting a lot. i never wanted that. you have to know that. i just think you have a lot to learn still.
SwimFin120: and who are you? the guru of relationships? youre not THAT much older than me, rebecca.
ButterflyBabe: i know that. but i know who i am. i know what i want. youre still transitioning, greer.
SwimFin120: TRANSITIONING? you must be kidding.
ButterflyBabe: listen. im not ruling out something in the future, but not right now. it has to be the right time. for both of us. we both have to want it.
SwimFin120: and you dont?
ButterflyBabe: not right now.
ButterflyBabe: you can find someone better, g.
SwimFin120: better? i just want YOU.
ButterflyBabe: you wont always feel that way.
SwimFin120: ouch.
ButterflyBabe: that wasnt supposed to be hurtful.
SwimFin120: it just hurts to know that you didnt care about me when you ended this. it makes me wonder if you ever cared about me at all.
ButterflyBabe: who said i didnt care about you? i did. i DO.
I didn’t know what to say. I just waited, hoping she would write more.
ButterflyBabe: greer, i loved you when we were together. this is just how things went.
SwimFin120: you didnt treat me like you cared. how can those feelings just disappear?
ButterflyBabe: they didnt. they faded, maybe. it doesnt mean they werent real.
SwimFin120: why is this so easy for you?
ButterflyBabe: please, this is anything but easy.
SwimFin120: it seems like it is.
ButterflyBabe: im trying to keep my head together.
SwimFin120: youre doing a great job. congratulations.
SwimFin120: one more question.
ButterflyBabe: yeah?
Alright, here’s what it came down to. The question I did and didn’t want the answer to, but needed all the same.
SwimFin120: is there someone else?
ButterflyBabe: greer. dont.
SwimFin120: there is, isnt there?
Fuck. FUCK. I knew it.
ButterflyBabe: yes.
***
“Nicky?” I breathed into the phone between two pathetic sobs.
“Greer? What’s wrong? What happened?”
“It’s over
“Okay, G, we can handle this. It’s not as bad as it feels right now,” he attempted.
“Yes it is! You don’t know what I’m feeling right now! You’ve never been dumped before!” I threw myself down on my bed, shoving my face into my pillow.
“True, but I promise, Greer, I promise you that this is not the end of the world.”
“But it is, Nicky. Don’t you realize? She is… was… my world. I know, it’s fucking cheesy, and I know you don’t agree, but it doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
I sat up and looked over at the picture I had framed and put on my nightstand just a week before. Becca and me at Annalina’s. I had asked the guys who came around playing their guitars to take it before we left. I looked ecstatic. Becca’s face was not a mirror of mine, though, I noticed for the first time. Her eyes lacked that spark they usually had; her smile looked forced.
“I wish this never fucking happened,” I mumbled into the receiver.
“Don’t say that, Greer. You don’t mean it.”
“Fuck yeah I do. If there was never a Becca, there wouldn’t be this emptiness inside me right now. Without Becca, I would never know a broken heart from a whole one. It’s not even broken, Nick. My heart is fucking shredded.”
“‘If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more,’” Nick said. “Ever hear that quote? It’s Erica Jong. She’s a writer, a poet, too. I think it’s really true.”
“What have you ever risked?” I shot back at him. “I’ve risked being bullied and ostracized. I’ve risked a relationship with Cameron. I’ve risked letting someone in so completely, that when they leave, they take parts of me with them.” I was yelling.
“I’ve risked going to a new school, knowing nobody, not sure if I was going to fit in or make any friends,” he said, composed. “I’ve risked leaving behind my best friend, not knowing if we’d survive the distance. Greer, we all take risks. We have to. It’s life.”
“But, what if the result of the risk is your own destruction?” I asked softly. Nick started to laugh.
“Oh puh-lease! G, stop being such a fucking Drama Queen! You’re not even close to being destroyed. If anything, you’re stronger now than you were before you started seeing Becca. Can’t you see that?”
I thought about it before responding.
“Not yet,” I finally said.
“That’s good, Greer. At least you didn’t say ‘no’. You will, trust me. Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Good, because I am always right, even when I’m wrong.”
“Nick!” He really did know how to push the right buttons in me.
“Sorry, but seriously. Not the end of the world. We’re young, man. Really young. It hurts like hell, but guess what? This is not going to be the last time. I promise you, you’ll get your heart broken again. You can take comfort in that, kiddo.”
“Comfort?” I scoffed.
“Sure. Because next time, you’ll know what it feels like. You’ll be a little better prepared. You’ll remember this moment, and you’ll remember that you faced it and got over the pain. And you will, Greer. It just takes time.”
***
Twenty-four. That’s the number of text messages Cameron sent me in the week after The Becca Break-Up. I hadn’t answered any, or talked to him since I had told him I was sick. I guess it made sense that he was getting angrier and angrier with each one:
From : Cameron
babe hows it going call me when u get this
Mon, Jan 20 12:31 pm
From : Cameron
greer where are you im getting worried
Tues, Jan 21 3:45 pm
From : Cameron
dude are u avoiding me what the heck is going on
Wed, Jan 22 1:02 pm
From : Cameron
WHAT THE FUCK
Thurs, Jan 23 5:55 pm
Fri, Jan 24 8:43 pm
It was that last one that really struck me. I wanted to reply every time he wrote to me. Believe it or not, I would type and erase responses every day before giving up. I just didn’t have the energy to make up a lie and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth.
Once Saturday rolled around, however, I managed to dial his number, hoping he would pick up.
He did. I heard him breathing, but he stayed silent.
“Cameron?” I ventured, my voice small and weak having not used it much for seven days.
Still no answer, but he was there.
“I’m really sorry, Cam. I don’t know what to say.”
“I talked to Becca yesterday,” he said. My stomach catapulted into my throat.
“Oh?” I managed.
“She was pretty upset.”
What did she say? What did she tell him?
“How come?” I asked.
“You know why, Greer. Don’t feed me bull shit.”
FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.
“Cam, I-”
“No, I don’t want to hear it. I can’t talk to you right now.” The line went dead.
A million different thoughts ran through my head in the thirty seconds after Cameron hung up on me.
What does he know? What did Becca say? Why would she do this to me? Has she told anyone else? Has he told anyone else? I can’t go back to school. Why did I do this? Why did I think Becca would work? Why did I have to have feelings for a girl? What am I supposed to do about Cameron? Are we still together?
I did the only thing I could think of – I fished my pot box out from my closet and rolled myself a joint.
Maybe this will bring some clarity.
Knowing how fragile and broken I was made me feel more for Cameron than ever before. It wasn’t love, but the thought of him aching like I was distressed me almost as much as my own heartbreak.
I found myself with a decision to make:
I could lie to Cameron in the hopes of keeping him with me, despite the inequality of feelings between us.
I could tell him the whole truth, which is what I probably would have wanted if I were him.
I could become someone he wouldn’t want to be with anymore, making him break up with me instead of vice versa.
Then I realized that maybe the decision had already been made for me. I didn’t want to continue the lie we’d been living for months. I didn’t want to destroy him with the complete truth. And I didn’t think I could live with myself by consciously and cowardly turning on him in an effort to take the pressure off myself.
