Life As I Blow It

by Sarah Colonna

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I just … go easy on her. You’re going to be hard for her to lose,” I told him.

  “Don’t make me feel worse.”

  I sat there silent, struggling to fight back what I really wanted to say to him—how I knew he’d be hard to be without because I went through it every day. How he and I would be a great couple. How I was in love with him and if we just waited, Caryn would understand. How we should seriously see what it felt like to dry-hump.

  “Do you think I’m making a mistake, Sarah?”

  “Not at all. It’s just … I found a bottle of toe fungus cream in her bathroom cabinet. I think she’s probably really sensitive right now. That can be embarrassing to have, especially in the summer.”

  Andy made a grossed-out face and left. I felt bad for a second, but toe fungus wasn’t as bad as some of the other things I could have made up. At least I didn’t say what I wanted to say and now things between us would still be normal. I knew that Caryn was going to be okay eventually. He and I belonged together, and if what I heard about soul mates was true, then he couldn’t be hers because he was mine, and now that he would be free to be mine, she’d be free to meet hers. It’s called a favor.

  As expected, Caryn was sad for a while after they broke up. But she also was one of those girls who fell for a guy right away, so I knew once she went on a date with someone else she’d be really into him. I wasn’t sure that was so great for the next guy, but it was great for everybody else and I hadn’t met this imaginary guy yet so his happiness wasn’t my problem.

  A few months later, Andy and I were out in my sad white Mustang. It wasn’t one of the cool Mustangs, it was the other kind—used, with cracked red vinyl seats. I don’t even know how the conversation started; it just did. We’d had a fun night out for Andy’s roommate Joby’s birthday. We were all sitting in the car listening to Mötley Crüe and singing along to “Home Sweet Home,” which is probably where we should have gone. Joby had gotten so drunk that when I said anything to him he couldn’t respond so he’d just lick my face. It was like having a drunk dog in the backseat.

  Andy and I dropped Joby off at their place and carried him to bed. I tried to explain to Andy that he needed to sleep on his side so that if he vomited in his sleep he wouldn’t choke to death. Andy explained that if Joby vomited, there was a good chance he’d wake up and go do it in the bathroom, or at least in the trash can we’d planted next to his bed. I reminded him that my mom worked at a funeral home and that he should listen to me.

  “Why? Has she told you that someone died because he choked on his vomit?” he asked, slightly panicked.

  I thought for a few moments. “No.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know. But she does work at a funeral home. Let’s go get some Taco Bell.”

  We picked up Taco Bell then went to the park to sit and eat it in the car. No wonder my car always smelled disgusting. The park was the college equivalent of what The Woods or the Power Lines were for me in high school—where we all ended up after a night out.

  We started talking and both admitted we had feelings for the other. I was elated. That wore off quickly when he brought up that he was worried about telling our other friends. I was worried, too, but he could have at least let me enjoy the combination of our revelation and a Beef Burrito Supreme (hold the tomato) for a minute.

  “Caryn might be hurt,” I confirmed, “but she does already have a new boyfriend that she’s really into.”

  “Really?” he asked, surprised.

  “Why, are you jealous or something? If you still like her I don’t want to even have this conv—”

  “I don’t still like her, Sarah. I like you. I’m just surprised; I hadn’t heard.”

  “Okay. Well, I’m about eighty-seven percent sure he’s gay, but I figure I should stay out of it. She’s already going to be pissed at me.”

  The guy I was referring to is now out of the closet and very happy. Maybe I should have majored in outing people.

  Andy and I went back to my house that night, and nobody was there. We lay on my bed, like we’d done a hundred times before, but this time we were looking at each other differently. In the past it had always been platonic, and now we were thinking about making it unplatonic. (Yes, I just made that a word.) He leaned in to kiss me, and we both started laughing. He tried again, and we laughed. I tried to lead the kiss—we giggled uncontrollably. This was a nightmare. At least it was affecting us both this way, or the other person would have been really offended.

  “What is our problem?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess it’s just weird. It’s weird to think we are going to kiss.” He sighed.

  “Kiss? I was sort of hoping we were going to have sex,” I told him.

  He just looked at me.

  I rolled my eyes. “God, I’m kidding,” I said, even though I wasn’t. “We can’t do it right away; it’s too soon,” even though I had totally thought that was the plan.

  Finally we leaned in to each other and successfully kissed. We busted out laughing afterward, but at least we managed to get our tongues in each other’s mouths.

  “Well, that’s done. Maybe we should go ahead and get the fucking over with, too,” I said.

  He just looked at me.

  “God, I was kidding! It’s way too soon for that!” I laughed even though up to that point that was the only thing on my mind.

  We got under the covers and fell asleep together. It actually felt kind of good to just curl up with him and not have him tugging on my underwear. My heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to come out of my chest. Suddenly I had the feeling that my life was going to work out. I already have my guy.

  The next couple of weeks were filled with telling our friends we were a couple and trying to adjust to what it meant for us to date. Caryn actually took it pretty well, although she wanted to know how long I had feelings for him. It took a lot for me to do it, but I told her the truth. I was just glad that we could still be friends, so it seemed like I owed her that. I left out the part about how I once told him that she had Lyme disease.

  After a few weeks Andy and I finally had sex. Up until then we had said we were dating but pretty much continued acting like we had the whole time we’d been friends. But one night at his place, we drunkenly decided to consummate our newfound love.

  It was terrible.

  We made it through the whole thing without laughing, but the rest of it was awkward. At one point, when he was fumbling to make his penis connect with my vagina, I started to wonder if he was a virgin. No, he and Caryn had definitely had sex. I had heard it through the bedroom wall one night while I spent an hour in tears digging through my closet for earmuffs. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to do it; we just didn’t know how to do it with each other. I wrote it off as nerves. It felt like we had an assignment to complete and we just wanted to turn it in and see what kind of grade we got. Maybe there was a reason that we’d been able to sleep in the same bed for so many months and never fool around. Physical attraction was not what was driving us.

  The next morning he barely looked at me. He acted uncomfortable and distant. I felt like I was going to throw up. I couldn’t already be showing signs of pregnancy, so this meant I knew our relationship was over before it really started. I have no idea what went through his head, or why us finally having sex brought anything romantic between us to a screeching halt, but it didn’t do much for my self-esteem. Even though I knew I didn’t really enjoy it, I hated knowing that he didn’t. I went home that morning and immediately called my friend Michele. She was one of my best friends in college, from my theater side.

  Michele was a lot like me. We met when we were doing a play together. Early on in our friendship she had sex in a park with a guy she had just met and told me the next day she thought she had grass stains on her underwear. I instantly loved her. She was the first person that I connected with in the college/t
heater world that I felt comfortable bringing around my work friends.

  “There’s something wrong with my vagina,” I said when Michele answered.

  “Sarah?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. There’s something wrong with my vagina.”

  “Okay. Do you need to go to the doctor?”

  “No, not like that. It’s something else. It scared Andy. My vagina scared Andy. We aren’t going to be together anymore. We had sex and now he hates me. God, maybe it isn’t normal-looking. What does yours look like?”

  “It’s nine A.M. It probably doesn’t look good.”

  “I’m serious, Michele. Do you have innies or outies? One night of sex and Andy is done with me. We barely even did it. It was kind of quick and not at all romantic and now he won’t look at me. I left and he barely said a word.”

  “Well, how did you feel about it? Did you enjoy it?”

  “No, it was terrible. But I love him. It’ll get better; it was just our first go at it. Shit, why is this happening? Oh, I know! I’ll call you back!”

  I hung up on her and dialed Logan’s phone number. He and I had been friends since we were in high school. We had dated when we first met, then decided we were better as friends. We were the exact opposite of me and Andy. But Logan had seen my vagina. He could tell me what the problem was.

  “Hello?” Logan answered, sounding sleepy.

  “What’s wrong with my vagina?” I asked.

  “Sarah?”

  “Yes, damnit. What the fuck is wrong with my vagina?”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

  I told him the story. He just sat there quiet. Oh, God … he knew he was going to have to tell me that I had a deformed vagina. He had hoped he’d never have to. Now he couldn’t find the words.

  “Logan? You have to tell me. We’ve been friends forever. You’re a guy. What is going on?” The tears started pouring down my face.

  Logan took a deep breath. “Sarah, it sounds like … well, it sounds like he got freaked out. Maybe it was too fast.”

  “Too fast? Too fucking fast? We’ve been friends for two years. We’ve spent so much time together. Usually I have sex right up front. How is this too fast?”

  “Maybe it was too fast for you guys to move to that level. Maybe he just wants to stay friends.”

  My heart exploded. Friends. I had enough friends. “I have to go.” I was choking on my own tears.

  “Hey. For the record, you have a perfectly normal vagina. It’s not attractive, but none of them are.”

  I hung up.

  For a couple of days Andy and I just ignored each other. I couldn’t understand how he could go so long without talking to me. I also couldn’t understand how he could be so disrespectful. He knew he needed to call. As his best girlfriend, I’d told him a million times that he had to call girls. Now it was me who was on the other end of it. I was pissed. I couldn’t call him; we were in a staring contest and I wasn’t about to lose. We always said we were friends first. We had promised this wouldn’t mess anything up and now it felt like it had.

  In the midst of my anger I had answered my own question. He wasn’t in love. He had just gotten wrapped up in the idea of it, but the second intimacy came into play he didn’t feel what he’d hoped he’d feel. I knew because I’d done the same thing in the past, but unfortunately, this time I was the one left holding my heart in my hands.

  I broke the silence with a phone call. I figured the only way to salvage this was to give him the rope he needed to get out of the hole he’d dug for himself. I didn’t know how to not have him in my life. I decided I needed to make it okay for him so that I didn’t totally lose him. Pretty pathetic, yes. But I was too invested and I figured if I played it cool now, we’d get back on track then maybe become wildly attracted to each other and give dating another shot. That’s when I thought sex could get better over time. Too bad my thirty-six-year-old self couldn’t have paid my nineteen-year-old self a visit then and told me that when sex is bad, it’s bad. There’s no changing it; you have to pick up your underwear and move on.

  I assumed he wouldn’t answer the phone, just as his best girlfriend had taught him to do when attempting to avoid a girl. I figured he’d tell Joby to take the call and pretend he wasn’t there, but I would leave a message, which would open the lines of communication. I was surprised when he picked up on the first ring. Obviously he did not have caller ID.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “I was just reading this Cosmo quiz. How to tell if having sex with someone you are friends with has ruined—”

  “I’m sorry,” he said right away. “I really am.”

  “It’s fine!” I shouted in a really exaggerated upbeat tone. “We’re all good. That was totally weird. Let’s not do that again. Gross! Oh, and I’m totally not reading Cosmo right now. That was just a hilarious joke.”

  Pause. “Oh, okay. You understand …?”

  “Look, it’s obvious we should just be friends; that’s what we are. Don’t worry about it and let’s not ever discuss it again!” I screamed.

  “Okay. You sure it’s all right? I feel kind of …”

  “Like an asshole?”

  Silence.

  “I’m joking! You’re not an asshole. I have to go to class, then I have a date later, so let’s talk next week!”

  “A date …?”

  “Yes. Why … are you jealous?”

  “I don’t know, I …”

  “I’m kidding. But I do have to get to class!” I slammed down the phone. That went really well, I lied to myself. Totally normal.

  Luckily the volume of my voice alerted all of my roommates to the situation and I didn’t have to come out and retell my sob story. Instead they were just in the living room waiting to give me a big group hug. Thank God I lived with the sorority girls, because the theater girls usually smelled like patchouli. That hug at least smelled like a nice Yankee Candle.

  I spent the next several weeks getting really intoxicated, even more than normal. I was trying to remember if I had ever felt that kind of pain before. I thought about Bucky. I thought about Rhonda Lewis and the hickey. I decided that this felt worse. I decided that when all of that happened I was a foolish kid. Now I was a nineteen-year-old woman and I could feel real feelings. I was feeling very dramatic. Thank God I was a drama major.

  ALCOHOL IS FOR CLOSURES

  Having my heart broken by Andy proved to be amazing for my sex life. In the theater department, the whole “dating the co-stars” thing isn’t exaggerated. It’s like what you hear about movie stars, but on a much more pathetic level. There was one exception: I was in a show called The House of Bernarda Alba, and I didn’t hook up with anybody during that time. It was an all-female cast and I wasn’t one of those “experimental” theater girls. If you’ve never heard of that show, it’s a Spanish tragedy. It never occurred to any of us that it was ridiculous for eight girls with Southern accents to be wandering around whining about our lost love, Pepe el Romano.

  Since I wasn’t taking men seriously anymore, I developed a crush on a guy named Steven. He was younger than me, eighteen to my twenty. I usually dated guys at least a couple of years older than me, so I was feeling good about how much I was branching out. Steven was really, really cute and really, really interested in me. He was also a virgin. I became very interested in what it would be like to date someone who didn’t have a sexual connection to anybody else but me. It seemed like that would make me really important.

  Steven and I started hanging out after rehearsals for a show that we were in called The American Clock. He played a young guy and I played an aunt. It made making out a little creepy but I worked through it. There was something very empowering about being a couple of years older than him. I felt as if I were this wise older woman who came into his life to teach him the ways of the world. It was really helping me with my role, too. He, on the other hand, was just ready to ditch his virginity.

  The sex itself wasn’t so bad, but t
hen again my standards were still low. It was at least better than with Andy. In college, sex is very rushed and things are pushed and twisted and you wake up wondering if your nipples will ever be the same. Let’s take this slow and find out what feels good doesn’t really start to happen until your late twenties. And that’s only if you figure out that it’s okay to ask for it. The bigger problem that I encountered with taking Steven’s virginity was the overwhelming feeling of responsibility that followed.

  Guys don’t have that feeling of responsibility after sex; at least Bucky didn’t. He was only interested in high-fiving the other morons in the locker room. That was not the case for me with Steven. The second we were finished, which was about two seconds after we started, I felt the weight of the world on my chest. Lying next to him, I started to panic.

  What am I supposed to do now? He probably wants to marry me. I’m not prepared for that kind of commitment. I’m moving to California the second I graduate. Successful actresses don’t date guys who have only fucked one girl. This is a disaster.

  I quickly called it quits. I couldn’t end things while we were still in the show, because I didn’t want his performance to suffer. So the day after it closed, I asked him to meet me in the park. He rode up on his bike wearing a silly-looking newsboy cap. We sat on a bench and talked for a couple of hours. Within the first five minutes, I told him we could no longer date. He said it was okay, then I cried and rambled on for the next hour and fifty-five minutes while he patiently comforted me for breaking up with him.