Crash Test Love

by Ted Michael

  So many possible responses rush in and out of my head. “I should go” is what I ultimately choose. “It’s late here, and I’ve got class early in the morning.”

  “Okay,” Ben says. “Sleep well, Garrett.”

  I think about my list of past boyfriends and the blank space next to Ben’s name meant for his last words. Now I have something to fill in: Sleep well, Garrett. The last thing he will ever say to me.

  Afterward, I am surprised by how much I feel. I hide underneath my covers and pour every single emotion I have onto my pillowcase. When I’m done, everything is wet with tears and there is a hollow, empty space inside of me where my feelings for Ben used to hide and where I thought my friendship with Amy still lived.

  DUFFY LYRICS RUNNING THROUGH MY HEAD AS I THINK ABOUT HOW BEN AND AMY BETRAYED ME

  “It was just my mistake, thinking you cared.”

  —Hanging On Too Long

  “My love for you has turned to hate.”

  —Delayed Devotion

  “In an instant you were gone.”— I’m Scared

  I’m such an idiot.

  I try to wash the redness from my face but it only worsens. I brush my teeth and brush my hair and brush every thought of Ben and Amy as far away from me as possible.

  In my room, I can’t seem to get comfortable anywhere. I stare longingly at my phone. Who am I supposed to call about this? About discovering that my best friend has betrayed me and my ex-boyfriend has completely moved on. To my best friend. There’s always the J Squad, who should be my logical choice. My girlfriends. Of course they’ll care, right? I try London’s cell phone. No answer. Then I call Jyllian, only it goes straight to voice mail. I’m about to dial Jessica when it hits me, and I have to sigh at the total fucked-up-ness of the fact that the one person who I want to call, who I know can comfort me, who at this point knows me better than anyone else, is the one person whose sympathy I don’t deserve. Who I promised myself I didn’t want to depend on. Yet, I want—need—to talk to him, to see him. Where does that leave me?

  He picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Hey, you.”

  “Can I come over?” I ask.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “No,” I tell him. “Not really.”

  “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  I get dressed and make myself look as presentable as possible. I pack an overnight bag and tell my parents that I’m staying at London’s. They don’t ask why I look like I’ve been hit in the face with a brick. I suppose it’s a good thing, because if they knew what just happened and where I’m actually going, they would never let me leave.

  HENRY

  INT.—MY BEDROOM, SATURDAY NIGHT

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  Garrett nods. Her face is red and I can tell she’s lying, but I don’t press her. I know how it is to have something on your mind and not feel like sharing.

  “So … wanna watch a movie or something?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

  “Okay.” Garrett shrugs off her coat and falls onto my bed. I’m sitting with my back propped against the wall; she rests her head on my leg and looks up at me. “What do you want to watch?”

  “I was thinking maybe Shakespeare in Love,” I say. “You’ve never seen it, right?”

  “But it’s so long.”

  “You rushing off somewhere?”

  “No, it’s just that we’ve watched a lot of sappy love stories recently and I’m in the mood for something else.”

  “Sappy? This is funny,” I tell her, pointing to the DVD case. She picks it up and turns it over, reading the back.

  “I thought it was really serious.”

  “No way,” I say. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen it. Come on. For me?”

  She laughs. “Okay.”

  I get up and fiddle around with my setup; I’ve watched this movie so many times that it’s all scratched up. I blow on the DVD and rub my shirt along the edge. It takes a few minutes but eventually the Main Menu page appears. I settle onto my bed with Garrett.

  “Ready,” I say. My insides are gooey and my feet are pulsing and my arm is so close to hers. We lie just like that, barely touching. I cannot think of anything more incredible than being with her.

  Even though I’ve seen Shakespeare in Love before, watching it with Garrett makes it brand-new. It seems fitting that, after viewing the Top Ten romantic movies “of all time” at Huntington Cinemas together, I can share this with her alone. Just the two of us.

  The movie is exactly as I remember it. There is comedy and there is drama and most of all there is love, love that pours out of each scene, out of the playhouse, out of Gwyneth Paltrow and Joseph Fiennes—out of every word they say and every way they touch; love for money and fame, love for the theater, but above all, true love. Garrett laughs a lot, which makes me happy.

  There’s a scene toward the end where everything goes wrong: Joseph Fiennes, who plays Shakespeare, has lost the love of his life, Viola De Lesseps (Gwyneth Paltrow), and he’s sure the play he’s getting ready to debut, Romeo and Juliet, is going to be a disaster because there is no one to play the role of Juliet. But then Viola appears—he didn’t know she was at the performance, and she’s memorized all the lines because he’s recited them to her in bed each night. She enters the stage—at a time when women are forbidden to perform—and he watches her from a few feet away, and he is trembling at how much he loves her, how much he is moved by her. Even though she has just married someone else and will be leaving England for America, and their love can never be realized, it’s real.

  This scene has never truly struck me until now.

  When it’s over, we are so entwined it’s difficult to tell what is hers and what is mine. Her hands have crawled underneath my shirt, our legs are crisscrossed, our feet are touching. Everything is warm. I have never felt closer to another person.

  “So, did you like it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “I loved it,” she says without hesitation.

  “Love is a pretty strong word.”

  She moves her body away from mine. I am momentarily upset, but then she is on top of me, staring right at me. “I know.”

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” I say.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us, okay?”

  She looks nervous. “Um, okay.”

  “Back when we first met, Duke and Nigel assumed we hooked up and, well, I sort of let them think that we did.” I wait for a reaction but don’t get one. Garrett is completely still. “I don’t know if you heard any rumors like that or not—”

  “Why would you let them think that?”

  “I guess it was easier than explaining that we didn’t, and that I maybe had feelings for you, because I didn’t really understand my feelings and they scared me. They still do, kind of. I never imagined I would see you again, let alone that you’d be going to East Shore. And once I saw you at school … I could have told Duke and Nigel the truth, but I didn’t. I don’t have a good reason, and I’m sorry.” I finish saying all of this and feel incredibly raw. “I’m just really sorry, Garrett.”

  I’m not sure what to expect. Will she yell at me or smack me or start to cry? Any—or all—of those responses would be acceptable. But she just looks at me. What is going on in her head?

  “It’s okay,” she says finally, her voice steady. “I’m glad you told me.”

  “So you’re not mad?” I ask.

  “No. I understand.”

  She puts her hands on my cheeks.

  “Hey, blue eyes,” I say, staring at her. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  I kiss along her forehead, her eyelids, down her nose, and then her lips, which open to meet mine. My kisses drip onto her neck, her shoulders. I close my eyes and sigh; when I open them her shirt is off and she’s pulling mine off too. I unclasp her bra an
d hold her breasts in my hands, feeling their weight, and take one of her nipples in my mouth. The room is dark except for a muted light in the corner that makes everything glow. It feels like the very first time I have ever felt another person’s body above my own. She whispers my name and it’s as if I have never heard it before. I am nervous. I am shaking. I am so hard it physically hurts. Each time I touch her, she sizzles.

  So this is what it’s like to be with someone you love. Someone you care about. I never knew it could be this good.

  Something within me screams, This is it! This is the moment! It feels right, like what’s supposed to happen next, the culmination of these past few weeks, what we’ve been building toward.

  “So,” I say between breaths, “here’s the big question.”

  “What?”

  I smile. I’m trembling. “Should I get out a condom?”

  No response. I have no idea what is hiding behind her eyes.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I don’t think we should,” she says.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  I can’t tell what she’s thinking.

  I want to ask: Why not?

  I want to ask: WHY NOT?!

  I want to ask: Are you not attracted to me? Or is there another reason?

  I know that Garrett’s not a virgin. She’s told me as much. And I understand that sex is special. Reserved for someone you truly care about. Someone you maybe even love. But isn’t that exactly what we have? Something special? Something that’s maybe, well, love? And if you’re going to cross the line between friends and not friends, between watching a movie with your clothes on and taking your clothes off and hooking up, why not have sex?

  It’s me. It must be me.

  We lie next to each other for a few minutes; I have no idea what to say. I am embarrassed. I am confused. Part of me wants to get up out of bed, get into my car, drive to someplace far, far away and never look back. Another part of me wants to talk about why she doesn’t want to sleep with me. A third part of me doesn’t want to talk about it because I am afraid of the answer.

  I am paralyzed with fear. I suddenly feel very naked.

  “I guess I ruined the mood,” I finally say.

  “No,” she says. “You didn’t.”

  She slides her body over mine and we start traveling to where we were before, but my heart isn’t really in it. I can’t stop thinking about why I’m not good enough. About what the problem is. I feel pathetic and disgusting.

  About ten minutes later, I ask: “How about now?” It’s sort of lighthearted, but I also hope/wonder/pray that she has changed her mind.

  She laughs. “No.”

  We roll around and mess up the covers and with every kiss I hope that maybe something will be different. “Now?” I ask.

  “Nope.”

  Eventually, I stop trying. We finish and she takes a shower. I stay in my room and wonder what just happened. Why can’t I be happy that we spent time together? Why does the fact that we didn’t have sex mean that the night was a failure?

  Garrett crawls back into bed with me and says goodnight. I try to fall asleep but I can’t. I stare at the ceiling and will myself not to cry. We may be in the same bed, but there is an ocean between us. How is it I’ve never had a problem getting random girls to sleep with me and yet the one girl I have ever really wanted to share myself with turns me down? Why have I attached so much weight to this one physical act?

  What does that say about me?

  Garrett sneaks out the next morning before my dad wakes up. She says she’ll call me.

  I bum around for the rest of the afternoon. I sit down at the piano and play through one of Gavin DeGraw’s songbooks and go for a run. I toss a ball around with Max in the backyard. I cannot stop thinking about last night.

  Maybe it’s not a big deal. There are a million reasons why she could have said no. Most of them probably make a lot of sense. After all, I know she was upset about something when she first came over. But all I am convinced of is this: She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t want me.

  I have never cared what anyone thought of me before. It never mattered. Now, though, it does, and the idea that two people who are clearly so right for each other can feel so differently about one special act—sex—confuses the hell out of me. Isn’t love, in its most basic form, physical? Isn’t that what separates the way you feel about a friend from the way you feel about a girlfriend? An emotional connection isn’t everything—what about sparks? What about fireworks? What about an explosion?

  But explosions are fleeting. I know this from experience. And when they’re over, you’re not left with all that much. There are girls I’ve been with whose names I can’t even remember. So I guess the difference between hooking up with someone you don’t really care about versus hooking up with someone you do care about is like the difference between lighting a sparkler in your backyard and Fourth of July fireworks. It’s so much better when there’s a connection that runs beneath the skin. It’s so much better when there’s love. Or at least the possibility of love.

  I know Garrett feels it. I know she does. So why did she say no?

  Around five, Duke and Nigel show up unannounced on my front porch.

  ME

  Uh, hey, guys. What’s up?

  DUKE and NIGEL

  What’s up with you?

  They walk past me and deposit themselves at my kitchen table. They look serious.

  ME

  So?

  NIGEL

  When were you gonna tell us that Garrett works at the movie theater with you?

  Ouch. I am one hundred percent caught.

  ME

  How did you guys find out?

  DUKE

  Some freshman girl saw you two—

  NIGEL

  (interrupting)

  What does it matter how we found out? We found out. You lied to us.

  ME

  I didn’t lie, technically.

  NIGEL

  What do you call it, then?

  ME

  Omitting the truth?

  DUKE

  You’re whipped, man.

  NIGEL

  Whipped.

  ME

  What?

  NIGEL

  We don’t want you seeing this girl anymore, Henry. She’s messed with your head. You don’t hang out with us anymore, you don’t return our calls, and now Destiny’s Sweet Sixteen is, like, a week away and we have nothing planned.

  DUKE

  Nothing. And it’s your fault.

  They’re not wrong. I haven’t been hanging out with them, and Garrett has messed with my head. A day ago, I would have told Duke and Nigel to back off, but after last night I’m not so sure anymore.

  ME

  Fine. So I’ve been hanging out with Garrett a lot. I’m sorry.

  DUKE

  Not good enough. We want our old friend back.

  NIGEL

  This is exactly why we don’t hook up with the same girl more than once. They’re like witches. They hypnotize you.

  ME

  First of all, you guys don’t really hook up with anyone, so there’s that. Second, nobody’s hypnotized me, and Garrett isn’t a witch. I hang out with her because I like her.

  NIGEL

  You used to like us, too, Henry. We’ve been friends for a long, long time, and it sucks to see you throwing all that away because of some girl—no matter who she is. We don’t deserve to be treated like this.

  DUKE

  It sucks even more that you’re seeing her behind our backs. And lying about it! We’ve been there for you a lot, man, especially … you know.

  ME

  Especially what?

  DUKE

  After your mom left.

  ME

  My mother doesn’t have anything to do with this.

  NIGEL

  She has everything to do with this. We know you haven’t had it easy, Henry, but it’s not like we’re living perfect lives either. Fr
iends share things, and they help each other. They don’t keep secrets.

  I let Nigel’s words sink in. He’s right, of course. I’ve been pushing them away because of Garrett, because of the feelings for her I don’t really understand. Even though Duke and Nigel mean well, they have no idea what’s going on in my life. Which is my own damn fault.

  I look at them with sad eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  DUKE

  Let’s all kiss and make up, okay? We have a lot of work to do for Destiny’s big day.

  His words hit me like a punch. Planning for a Sweet Sixteen—even if it will be on MTV—is the absolute last thing I want to do right now. I’m exhausted. Everything about the night before comes back to me in a flash. I’m worried about Garrett and sad about myself, and I can’t deal with debating what kind of stupid prank to pull at a party that doesn’t even matter.

  ME

  You know what? Count me out.

  NIGEL

  Come again?

  ME

  I’m out. Not interested. You can mess with Destiny’s party on your own.

  DUKE

  (like he’s about to cry)

  You don’t really mean that, do you?

  ME

  I do.

  Duke and Nigel look at each other; obviously, they’re shocked.

  NIGEL

  I don’t know what’s happened to you, buddy, but something is very, very wrong. And we’re gonna do whatever it takes to get you back to your old self. Do you hear me? Whatever it takes.