Anatomy of a Single Girl

by Snadowsky, Daria

  What’s freaky is that having all this sex makes me feel similar to when I was in love, but without any of the doubts or longings. It’s like I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been, and that I’m always on the heels of the best workout of my life. My skin’s radiant, too—my supervisor asks if I’ve gotten new makeup, and I’m not even wearing any. And although my internship is no less humdrum, I avidly put my all into each menial project. Amy says I’m in the “sex haze,” which sounds about right. All day I’m on a cloud as I look forward to what new flavors of pleasure I’ll discover that evening at Guy’s.

  The only downside of doing it at the Beta house is the Betas. Each night as Guy joins me on the walk of shame back to my bike, whoever we pass in the halls makes obscene noises and hand gestures at us or says things like, “Coming up for air?” and “Did you break the bed?” Guy yells at them to knock it off, and I’m sure they’re only trying to be funny, but it’s a struggle not to feel cheap. On Wednesday, Guy and I can’t even go into the Beta house because Bruce accidentally sets off a stink bomb, leaving the whole place reeking of rotten eggs. Guy and I pace around campus trying to think up a plan B.

  “What about a motel? We can split it,” I suggest, forgetting how I’m short babysitting earnings this week.

  “I don’t know if we could find anything. I heard something on the radio about there being no available rooms left with some boating trade show in town.”

  “Oh. Damn boats!” A minute later we’re passing the Physical Sciences Complex, and I point to it and whisper eagerly, “We can go to your lab!” I start jumping in place, excited to play out my schoolgirl fantasies of Mr. Chesnoff and me doing it on his office desk.

  “It’s too risky. The custodial staff works till late, and they have keys to every room.”

  “C’mon. The whole ‘doing it somewhere we might get caught’ thing is supposed to be kind of sexy,” I say more provocatively than I really mean it … I think.

  “Dom, screwing in a physics building is just a couple rungs up from whacking off in the library stacks. I’m not gonna be that dude.”

  “Oh, all right.… Then how about the other frat houses? Or the dorms? It’s still July, so there must be hundreds of vacant rooms here.”

  “Sure, but Res-Life keeps them locked to protect them from hornballs like you.”

  “Ugh! I hate this—trying to figure out places to be alone. It’s so high school.”

  Eventually we get dinner at Big Fish, though I don’t do much eating, since I have to keep sitting on my hands to stop myself from groping Guy under the table. Afterward we drive back to Bantam Beach in search of our secluded sand knoll, only to find that it has since been washed away.

  Undeterred, I leap up onto Guy, wrap my legs around him, and French him in full view of the other beachgoers. And so begins a cycle of alternately making out and prying ourselves apart just when we’re about to commit public indecency. I normally look down on heavy PDA as crass exhibitionism, but now I don’t give it a second thought. That’s not surprising, considering that my standards have sunk to the level of wanting to rent a seedy motel room.

  Later during a “time-out,” Guy and I lie down together on the sand to watch the sunset. Instead of drinking in the scenery, though, I’m cursing Bruce’s name.

  “What was he even thinking? Who in their right mind plays with stink bombs?”

  “I guess he had to replace his firecracker fixation with something. He’s always been into blowing shit up … maybe because he studies supernovas for his major.”

  “I bet he set it off on purpose, just to cock-block us.”

  “I highly doubt that. Bruce was just being Bruce. And at least he didn’t pull this crap over a weekend. Then I’d kick his ass.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t make a difference for this weekend, because”—I turn to him and smile coyly —“my parents will be in Gainesville the whole time house-hunting!”

  Mom and Dad had asked me to come along on the trip to offer my input, but I’d rather avoid us being stuck in a car together for hours on end when my temper has been short enough with them this summer. Anyhow, I don’t see how my input really matters when our new home is going to be more for the two of them than for the three of us.

  “So,” I continue, “how would you feel about ‘sleeping over’ at my place on Friday and Saturday?”

  Guy smiles back at me. “I think I’d be up for that.” But then he says he’ll need to leave early on Sunday because his parents are coming into town that morning. “It’s just a day trip, so they’ll be flying back to Atlanta that night. They made me promise that since I wasn’t coming home this summer, I’d let them take me out for my birthday.”

  “Wait … your birthday’s August third?” I get up and crawl over to him. “I didn’t see that coming up on Facebook.”

  “That’s ’cause I don’t show it. It’s really no big deal to me, Dom. Birthdays are purely chronological milestones. Except for next year, when I hit twenty-one. That will be a big-ass party.”

  “Still, twenty means you’re done being a teenager forever! That’s a massive deal!”

  I realize twenty is still young. In only two Decembers, I’ll be there myself. But I remember when eighteen sounded ancient, so it seems surreal that in four days I’ll be having sex with someone in an entirely different decade of life. For no explicable reason, that thought sends me into an uncontrollable full-body giggling fit.

  “What’s so funny?” Guy keeps asking, but I’m too loopy to speak. “Breathe, Dom, breathe.… Hey, are you crying again?”

  I shake my head, even as the tears of laughter stream down my cheeks. Finally I manage to utter, “It’s nothing. It’s just … it’s just … I’m gonna be fucking a twenty-year-old. Aaaaaaah!” I collapse into giggles again.

  “Yeah? And?”

  “I don’t know. Everything is just so … I can’t believe this is me, you know? Because this is so not me, but it is, and it’s fucking awesome!”

  I push Guy down onto the sand and pepper him with kisses, which now feel as unsatisfying as trying to get full on bread crumbs. Then that condom in his wallet flashes in my mind, and I pull back from him. “You know, I’ve always been too scared to night swim, but the water’s still pretty calm. Maybe if we go in just a couple of feet and I sit on your lap or something, we could do it without it looking like we’re doing it.”

  Guy lifts his head from the ground and peers at me like I’m certifiable. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  I can’t tell anymore, I want him so badly. “Well”—I look around—“no one’s too close by, and the water would cover us—”

  “Dom, there’s no way I’m exposing my nuts to freakin’ jellyfish or whatever else is floating out in there.”

  “Fiiiine, you old fuddy-duddy.” I lightly bean him with my purse and turn away. But instead of lying back down, I find myself walking straight into the water. I go up to my calves and sit back on my legs so I’m submerged to my chest. I’m still wearing my shorts and tank.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Guy yells after me, now up on his feet.

  “Getting as close to a cold shower as I can … although the motion of the waves isn’t helping.”

  “Holy crap, I created a monster! Dom, this is like the beginning of a bad Jaws sequel.”

  “I’m in shallow water,” I respond defiantly. “Anyway, there’s never been a shark attack on this beach.”

  “Yet.” But then he starts laughing. “Ah, screw it.”

  Guy empties his pockets on the sand near my purse and comes in after me. There was never a real possibility we’d have sex. Instead we lie on the shoreline and kiss as the waves wash over us and darkness overtakes the sky.

  As it’s happening, I have this strange sensation of my mind disengaging from my body and hovering overhead. It’s powerless to do anything but watch me experience this flawless movie-like scene straight out of my daydreams when I first met Guy. But unlike those dreams, it’s unimportant that Gu
y’s the boy I’m with now. There’s a new moon tonight, so I can barely see his face anyway. I’m just so glad I’m with a boy, acting as carefree as teenagers are supposed to act, while I still am a teenager. Since the Midsummer Night’s Rockfest, it’s as if I’ve been compensating for the wild and crazy freshman year I missed out on at college because I was too busy being lovesick.

  Soon the water gets choppy, making it feel like we’re being battered, so we migrate up the beach face and recline in each other’s arms. I’m suddenly exhausted, which I suppose is from my having the most physical week of my life. Guy says he’ll keep a lookout if I want to nap, so I let myself doze off on his shoulder.

  Our clothes are already dry when I wake up to his phone ringing. It’s Bruce calling to say that the stench has finally lifted. Guy says we should go back to his room, since there’s still two more hours until I have to be home. It’s so idyllic here, I almost don’t want to leave. Almost.

  I grab my purse and say, “I’ll race you to your car!”

  20

  Even if Guy didn’t have to work late at the lab the next day, I’d still be spending the evening at the Rauschenberg Gallery. Tonight’s their annual intern art show, and Amy’s Kandinsky-inspired watercolor series is the centerpiece of the exhibit. I told my parents they didn’t have to come since they probably wouldn’t appreciate most of the works on display, but Dad insisted on leaving the station early, and Mom rescheduled a math tutoring session to be there to support Amy. That would make me feel guilty about my secret house-guest this weekend if I weren’t already too excited about it to feel anything else.

  The exhibit gets a decent turnout for a Thursday, and Amy’s working the room like a pro, chatting up local press and gallery patrons. When it’s over, she drives me to an after-party kegger at the same Cape Coral loft we went to on my first night home. Then, when that disbands, I drive her back to her house for a weeknight sleepover. We haven’t hung out since Amy returned from her last Kansas trip, and we wanted to see each other while we could before Guy comes to my place tomorrow.

  “It’s so weird,” I tell her after we finish watching Grease again. “This movie used to make me tear up at the end. But now I’m kind of mad.”

  “Grease never made me sad or mad. It’s just a feel-good story.”

  “Exactly. They expect us to believe everyone will live happily ever after. Now let’s forget for a second that most high school relationships are doomed.” I point my thumbs at myself. “The only reason Danny and Sandy got together was because they met on a beach and fooled around there all summer. That’s not exactly the stuff of lasting connections.”

  “Still, Danny and Sandy have total staying power.”

  Doubting my own ears, I respond, “Ames, I thought you’d be the first to say that once the passion wore off, they’d get tired of each other.”

  “Yeah, but they already made it through almost a whole year together. And even when everyone around them tried to sabotage their relationship, they still found their way back to each other after every breakup. That counts for something.”

  “Meanwhile, Sandy completely altered her image to be with Danny. You always hated that about her.”

  “But Danny would’ve changed for her, too. And Sandy herself said that she wasn’t happy with who she was before. Well, now she’s happy.”

  To be funny, I lightly knock my knuckles against Amy’s forehead and speak directly into her ear. “Ames? Hello? Are you still in there? Or is this the Jell-O shots talking?”

  But then she gives me the most annoyed look I’ve ever seen her give anyone.

  “Sorry,” I say, a little jarred that she didn’t laugh, “but things were getting kinda sappy there.”

  “So what? I’m entitled, and once upon a time you were Miss Sappy.”

  “Damn!” I give her a smile. “Things must be going really well with Joel.”

  “Well—” She looks down and curls her hair around her forefinger. “I haven’t made any decisions, but we are tossing around the idea of me trying to get a counselor job at his camp next year.”

  My eyes almost bug out. One of the people at Rauschenberg tonight was a project coordinator from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, and she kept encouraging Amy to apply to their summer internship program next year. She even offered to write a letter of recommendation to the selection committee. I thought Amy would be all over that.

  “But, do you want to work at Joel’s camp?”

  “I wouldn’t mind getting paid to give arts and crafts classes. And your mom always says you learn more when you teach, right?”

  I’m too speechless even to nod. There’s never been a doubt in my mind that Amy loves Joel despite her fidelity phobia. But passing up opportunities she’d ordinarily die for, just so she and Joel can be together all year long, takes it to a much deeper level than I gave her credit for. Even I turned down an offer of admission to NYU because I knew Tulane’s merit scholarship was a better deal for my head, if not my heart.

  I reach out my hand and turn Amy’s locket around so the front’s facing out. I should be happy for her—she’s living what a lot of girls only dream of. But as with the movie, I feel troubled. And it’s in a weird, distant way, like it’s somebody else’s feelings I’m having. Maybe I’m too steeped in the sex haze to think straight. Then again, Amy’s like somebody else as well. Last summer no one could’ve predicted that she’d be the one in a steady relationship. But as long as Amy’s happy with her choices, like Sandy …

  “Aw, Ames, that’s really awesome,” I say finally, trying not to let it sound hollow.

  “Again, nothing’s definite. It’s just something we discussed when I was there.”

  “Hey, the fact that you discussed it at all is huge. I’m glad you two had a good weekend together.”

  Amy shrugs. “I only hope it tides me over until Joel comes for Brie-dzilla’s big day. Zack and Stefan were looking so fine tonight,” she says, seeming closer to her usual self. “Anyway.” She climbs out of the Papasan chair and sets her alarm. “It’s late, and you’d better get some sleep. Lucky you, naughty girl, you’re gonna need it tomorrow!”

  Amy’s not kidding. From the moment Guy appears at my door Friday night, time turns into a blur of hedonism and endorphin highs. We never plan farther than the present moment, we try anything and everything that comes to mind, and I think about nothing except how my body feels. When we’re not doing it, we’re watching TV or rinsing off in my shower, where we just end up doing it again. I had already stocked the fridge before he came over so there’d be no need to go out or order in delivery. Guy and I don’t even wear clothes until Sunday, when I wake up early to cook us brunch. I serve it out on the terrace, the only space in the apartment where we haven’t gone all the way in the last thirty-six hours. Normally I would’ve considered it gross to have sex on my parents’ bedroom floor or on the living room love seat, where my parents sit, but with the apartment going on the market soon, no location seems sacred.

  “Thank you so much, Dom. This is a great surprise,” Guy says after blowing out the birthday candle I planted in the middle of his Belgian waffle, which I adorned with fanned strawberries and powdered sugar. “But you totally didn’t have to do all this.”

  “I know, but I still say twenty is a big deal. And this is fun!”

  We begin scarfing down our food much faster than we need to. Neither of us says it, but I know we’re both aiming to squeeze in another quickie before he leaves to get his parents at the airport. Then Guy receives a text from Bruce.

  “So, Dom.” He downs the last strip of turkey bacon while reading from his cell. “That wedding’s not this Saturday but the next one, right?”

  “Yep. Wow, it’s coming up quickly!” I finish the rest of my egg-white omelet. “I need to order their gift soon.”

  “It looks like the guys wanna go to Disney World that weekend, kind of as a last hurrah before all the rush crap starts.” He spoons some grits. “Is it too late for me to bow out so I
can join them?”

  I can feel my cheeks drain of blood, and I nearly fling the grits at him. It sucks enough when girlfriends break plans with each other for a boy, but at least that’s not against the natural order of things, like when a boy blows off his girlfriend for friends.… Or maybe I’ve had it wrong all along. Since friendships usually outlast relationships, why shouldn’t friends receive preferential treatment?

  Because you don’t sleep with your friends!

  “Okay, Dom. From that look on your face, it is too late to bow out. Forget I said anything.” Guy laughs, slurps the rest of his banana-orange smoothie, and begins typing back a text.

  I could just let this slide so everything can go on as it has been. The status quo hasn’t changed. But suddenly I’m seething. And after a marathon weekend of never holding back, I wouldn’t restrain myself now even if I wanted to.

  Before Guy can press SEND, I tell him, “No. Go with your brothers.”

  “It’s fine. I already said I’d go with you.”

  “Well, yeah, but I don’t want that to be the reason.”

  He puts down the phone. “Why wouldn’t that be the reason?”

  “I want you to go to the wedding because you want to go to the wedding.”

  “I do want to go to the wedding. I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t.” He spears a cantaloupe slice. “I even got my suit pressed.”

  “Okay, but now I don’t want you to go to the wedding.”

  Guy wrinkles his nose and asks with his mouth full, “Why the hell not?”