by Cindy Rizzo
She looked away from me. “I don’t know. He’s nice. Quiet, polite. He is going to go to law school, same as me.”
My stomach tightened. “Is he cute?” I asked.
She scrunched her eyes and tilted her head. “I never really thought about it. I don’t know.”
I couldn’t bring myself to ask her if she loved him, though I desperately wanted to know.
“Do you have a boyfriend, Elizabeth?”
“No,” I said. I looked down at the floor and whispered slowly, “I’m not really interested in boys.”
There it was. As far as I was concerned, I had told her.
“Neither am I,” she said.
I felt my stomach muscles relax and the heaviness in my chest melt away. So maybe she didn’t care much about this boy she’d told me about?
“We both have other things that matter more to us, right?” she said.
I looked at her fully as I once again locked into the dark, endless pools of her eyes. “Yes,” I said. “We do.”
The year before we’d started Fowler, the state’s drinking age had been lowered from twenty-one to eighteen, so we were able to buy alcohol at the student union Rathskeller and at local pubs and restaurants. Margaret and I regularly shared a pitcher of cheap beer as we sat in the Rat studying or listening to live music. It was loud there, but the sounds blended together and didn’t intrude on my concentration. More often than not it was Margaret who provided the intrusion.
I looked up as she said my name and poked me under the table with her shoe. Her hands were raised above her head as she stretched and yawned.
“I cannot read another word about the French Revolution. Let’s do something fun.”
I was trying to tackle Chaucer and was absorbed in the language, reading the modern and Middle English side by side as I worked on fashioning a thesis for my final paper. I wished I’d been studying with Ruth, who had the same capacity as I did to get lost in the text.
“What do you want to do?” I asked, not wanting to come off as a bore.
Margaret downed her entire half-pint of beer in one long gulp and put the glass back on the table with a pronounced thud.
“I want to have sex,” she said in a voice that seemed excessively loud to me, even in the noisy Rat. “I want to spend the rest of today on my back and on my side and in all kinds of positions. I want to keep going until I’m sore in every place it can make you sore. That’s what I want to do.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. This was so typical of Margaret, who reveled in the shock value of her words and actions. I had already become immune to it. She was going to have to try harder to provoke my reaction.
She leaned forward toward me and placed both her palms on the table.
“Sooooo?” she said. “Are you game, Elizabeth?”
Game for what? I was thinking that maybe she had finally found a way to get to me, but I wasn’t going to let her know that.
I leaned back in my chair and smiled. “Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson?”
“Yes,” she said in a calm voice. “You’re not fooling me, Lizzie girl. I’ve seen the way you look at Ruth Abramson.”
My body instantly went into full alert. My shoulders tensed and my throat constricted. I tried desperately not to betray any emotion.
“What do you mean by the way I look at her?” I asked, trying to keep my tone level.
Margaret sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, admit it. You want her and you’re too chicken to do anything about it.”
I sat frozen to my chair, unable to move or speak.
Margaret’s smile was wide. She reached out her hand and touched my arm. “So why not have some fun with me in the meantime? I’m not asking you for anything more than an afternoon. Think of it as a warm-up act for Ruth.”
This was so insane and unnerving that I didn’t know how to respond. Margaret, my friend, who I thought liked guys, wanted to have casual sex with me. And she was willing to act as a kind of temporary substitute for the person she thought I really desired. Ruth. She’d guessed the one thing I’d been working so hard to conceal.
Still silent, I glanced down at the table. I quickly slammed my notebook shut and grabbed it along with Canterbury Tales.
I stood and looked down at Margaret. “Thanks, but no,” I said, unable to keep the nervousness out of my voice. “I have to go.”
“Elizabeth, wait. You don’t have to go.”
“I do,” I said and quickly walked away.
It was the week before Thanksgiving break and the weather in Massachusetts had turned cold as a prelude to the upcoming winter. I pulled my jacket closed as I walked across the academic quad not knowing where I was heading. Margaret’s words echoed in my head. “You want her and you’re too chicken to do anything about it.”
She’d given voice to the silent reality I hadn’t fully acknowledged. I not only found Ruth attractive, I had developed feelings for her.
I ran down a cement path, my heart pounding. Had Margaret said anything to our other friends? Was this something they all sat around joking about? I’d left so quickly, I hadn’t asked Margaret anything.
Out of breath, yet determined to get away, I headed for the campus grove, a place where I could always find peace. The sound of the rustling leaves on the trees usually calmed me. But I’d forgotten that the leaves had all fallen, so they were no longer able to shield the wind that came through the empty branches. I sunk down against one of the wider tree trunks and sat on a thick root covered in moss, my knees drawn up to my chest.
Ruth had grown up in a place that demanded conformity. Even her religion had been seen as too different. How could I ever expect her to understand that there was more than one way to feel desire? Even though she’d admitted that she wasn’t particularly interested in boys, that didn’t necessarily mean she preferred girls. Besides, there was the boy she’d told me about, the one whose family had helped her leave Russia. The one who wanted to go to law school just as she did. They probably had so much in common. He might eventually be the one who would win her over when she finally felt ready to be with someone.
I lowered my forehead until it touched my knees. The thought of Ruth with anyone else was too much to bear. I shook from the cold and from my despair. Tears rolled down onto my blue jeans.
I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket and found an old tissue in one pocket that enabled me to blow my nose. I needed to get warm, so I headed back to the dorm resigned to the fact that I’d see Ruth even though I had no idea how I’d be able to look at her without bursting into tears again.
“Hi,” I said as I entered the room.
Ruth was in her usual place at her desk, a book and yellow pad in front of her. She looked up. “Have you been studying?” she asked.
“A little bit.”
I walked over to my desk, determined not to get lost in her eyes again.
“That must mean you’ve been with Margaret, right?” She was smiling. It was so rare when she did, that it was hard to look away.
“Yes, we split a pitcher at the Rat, which means I had about a half a glass of beer and she had the rest.”
Ruth stood and walked over to my desk. I knew it would be impossible to bury myself in Chaucer if she was this close.
“You know,” she said as she put one hand on the back of my chair and leaned down a bit. “I really admire Margaret. I wish I could be more like her.”
On any other day I would have made a joke about Margaret not having a pause button or some such thing. But today, after her astounding proposal of sex and the realization about my feelings for Ruth that it had triggered, I wasn’t able to find any humor in the situation. All I could do was narrow my eyes and shake my head, silently asking Ruth why she wanted to be more like Margaret.
/> “I guess it surprises you that I’d want to be like someone who seems so much my opposite. But the reason I admire her is because she’s brave, in what she says and what she does. She never hesitates or…” She paused. “What’s that expression? Beats a tree?”
“Beats around the bush.”
“Right.”
“And you don’t think you’re brave, Ruth? You moved to a new country with a new language and culture. You left your parents to come to Fowler, where you didn’t know a soul. That took a lot of courage.” I was turned sideways in my chair, my head tilted up toward hers.
“Yes,” she said as she leaned down closer to me, “but there are some things I haven’t been brave enough to do and I’m sure if Margaret wanted to do these things, she would have done them without thinking.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.” There was less than a second between her words and the feel of her lips on mine. Those soft, full lips pressing gently. I opened my mouth in utter amazement, pulling away a little, and then moved toward her to return the kiss. It felt as if I were in a waking dream, like something I would picture in my mind during a boring lecture class. Except it was really happening, because now Ruth was placing her hand on my cheek as we continued to kiss and I felt her soft palm against my skin. I could smell her herbal shampoo as her hair fell forward onto her face. I rose and put my hands on her shoulders. My tongue parted her lips and met hers. She tasted like tea with lemon and honey.
I broke the kiss and for the first time, let myself get lost in those dark eyes without any fear or hesitation. I didn’t need to check myself or be concerned about what it meant. She was now caressing me with both hands on my cheeks. I hoped she’d never stop.
“Elizabeth,” she whispered, her tone full of wonder.
“How did you know to do that?” I asked, breathless.
“I convinced myself to finally be brave,” she said and then smiled.
I kissed her again, this time more forcefully, throwing my arms around her, silently thanking her for her fearlessness. We broke the kiss at the same time and both began to laugh, releasing the tension we’d each been holding for what seemed like forever.
“How did you even know about this?” I asked. “About how this could be between two girls?” I knew I was avoiding certain words, like lesbian.
I grasped her hips and pulled her close. My head was resting on her shoulder. She held me and began stroking my hair. I felt a tingling sensation in every place she touched.
“I didn’t,” she said and kissed the top of my head. “But I had a few clues. I looked at some issues of that magazine of yours, M.S.”
“Oh, you mean Ms.”
“Right. Yes. There were a couple of articles and a review of an actual novel about a girl who’s a…”
“A lesbian.” There, I said it.
“Yes, a lesbian. And I was looking at that book you have about women’s health and there’s a chapter in there too.”
“Our Bodies, Ourselves.”
“Yes. Are there more books that I can read?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’m kind of new at this myself.” I kissed her again. “We’ll have to figure this out together.”
It was so like Ruth to want to learn about how to be a lesbian from books. But was I so different? I’d realized more about myself from going to the movies than from interacting with real people.
We held hands and stole a glance at one another as we walked over to my bed together.
We sat down on the bed facing one another. “Still feeling brave?” I asked.
Ruth bit her lower lip and nodded. I began to slowly unbutton her blouse, both of us watching my fingers at work. My hands shook slightly as I reached behind and unlatched her bra and then pulled it down and away from her breasts. They were full and pale, with dark red nipples set in the center of light pink circles. I breathed out audibly.
“You’re so beautiful,” I said.
Ruth reached over and pulled the gray Fowler sweatshirt over my head. But instead of unhooking my bra, she gave me one of those intense, silent looks of hers. Was she rethinking this? I was seconds away from asking her if she wanted to forget the whole thing when she leaned closer and kissed me softly. It was all the reassurance I needed.
“Elizabeth,” she said, her face so close to mine that I felt her breath on my lips. “I love you.”
My eyes were wide. I felt the rapid, strong beating of my heart.
“Are you sure?” was all I could think to say.
Ruth nodded and pulled me toward her. “I’ve known for some time, but at first I thought it was like the love you have for a friend or even a sister. I found myself always wanting to do things for you, to take care of you.” She chuckled and I felt the movement of her chest against my head. “I was so worried when you were sick but so happy that it meant you would be spending more time in the room with me. I felt very drawn to you. I couldn’t stop looking at you. You’re so beautiful.”
We gazed at each other. “You too,” I said.
Ruth kissed my cheek. “When I discovered from reading that there was another kind of love, I had to admit that it was that, the kind that is more intimate.”
I knew my feelings for Ruth had deepened since I’d stopped ignoring her and started learning more about who she really was underneath that quiet, studious exterior she showed the world. I knew I wanted to touch her, to begin this journey about who I was with her. There was no one else. But love? I wasn’t sure yet. Either that or Ruth was just more daring, more honest about her feelings than I was.
But I knew I wanted the kind of physical intimacy with her that I’d never wanted with anyone before. This need was worlds apart from the meaningless roll in the hay that Margaret had offered. I unsnapped my bra and took it off. Then I drew Ruth down to lie on the bed with me. She slid close, rolled me onto my back, and slipped a leg between mine.
“Yes?” she asked seeking confirmation.
I pulled her body completely on top of me and looked up at her, my mouth closed in a smile.
“Yes, please, now,” I replied.
Chapter 5
May 2008
“Tracy, I don’t really understand the need to teach me something I already know,” Elizabeth said, her voice edging closer to Queen Elizabeth. “I mean, really, how many ways can there be to make fried chicken?”
Tracy put her hands on her hips and tilted her head.
“There’s the way you know and then there’s the right way,” she said.
It had been a good decision to choose her as a friend. She wasn’t easily intimated. And with Margaret three thousand miles away in Los Angeles, it was nice to have someone in her life who would stand up to her.
Elizabeth raised her hands in surrender. “All right then,” she said and turned to the counter. “The ingredients are right here. I’ll watch while you work your magic.”
Tracy inspected the chicken parts lying on a plate.
“Have these been washed?” she asked.
Elizabeth let out a sigh of exasperation. “Of course they have. I may not fry chicken to your specifications, but I do know how to clean it, that is, unless there is a more correct Southern way of doing so.”
Tracy gave her a wide smile and then turned back to the counter.
“Oh, and you need to finish your story about Ruth,” she said. “I wasn’t too happy that you stopped right at the big sex scene.”
“You’re not getting any more than fade to black, as they say in the world of young adult novels.”
Tracy poured a mixture of salt and pepper into a small Ziploc bag.
“I’m so disappointed, but I won’t press. Is it too personal to ask how long it took you to say ‘I love you’ to her?”
“No, that I will tell y
ou.”
Elizabeth leaned against the counter next to the sink, watching Tracy shake the mixture she’d prepared. “So this is your North Carolina version of Shake ’n Bake?”
Tracy looked up and shook her head. “Just tell the story and don’t stop ’til you get to the ‘I love you, Ruth’ part.”
“All right, madam chef.” Elizabeth bit back a chuckle. Clearly, Tracy Patterson had no problem facing off against Queen Elizabeth.
“It was typical of Ruth to calmly accept my initial reluctance and not try to goad me into it. Maybe it was that Russian fatalism she’d grown up with. It’s in all their literature—accept that life is dismal and inherently unfair. Who knows?
“But once Ruth had professed her love to me and our sexual relationship had begun, I found myself preoccupied with thoughts of her. I would sit in my classes remembering our lovemaking, thinking of questions I’d forgotten to ask her, obsessing over gifts I wanted to buy her. I was already wondering what to get her for Christmas, but then realized that she would be celebrating Chanukah and I’d have to get her eight gifts. Over the Thanksgiving break, I spent five miserable days home in Pennsylvania without her. By the time I got back to the dorm and rushed into her arms, I must have said the words ‘I love you’ ten times.”
Tracy was coating the chicken with the cornmeal mixture she had prepared. She leaned over to the left side of the counter to check the temperature of the oil she’d poured into Elizabeth’s electric frying pan.
“That is so sweet. And did she ever mention that boy again, the one her family was trying to get her to go out with?”
Tracy lifted a piece of chicken she’d prepared and placed it gently into the hot pan. The first crackle of oil meeting raw flesh was loud and they both drew back a bit to avoid being splattered.
