So the stage is set, but I’m not sure what comes next. Neither of us has mentioned our latest round of e-mails, even though I know we’re both thinking about them. I hate how it’s so much easier to be open and straightforward to a computer screen than to an actual person.
Wes notices the poster hanging on the back of my door. “Who’s that dude?”
“Oh. That’s a portrait of Herophilus.”
“Oh, him,” he says sarcastically.
I laugh. “He was an anatomist back in BC, but he was way ahead of his time. I wrote about him in my college essays on why I want to be a doctor.”
Wes nods, but he looks sort of uncomfortable and is massaging his left shin. “I could use a doctor. I overdid it yesterday at practice.”
I take my copy of Gray’s Anatomy off the shelf. “Want to see which of your muscles is sore?”
“Yeah, sure.” Then he laughs. “You read this stuff for fun, huh? I prefer Stephen King and Tom Wolfe.”
“Yeah.” I sit down by his right side. “I guess I never grew out of picture books.”
I prop Gray’s on my lap and angle it toward Wes. “This is a diagram of the leg, see?”
“Wow. My, um, gas-troc-nemius must be what’s hurting,” he says, pointing to the calf area. “Cool. I didn’t know we had a muscle actually called the Achilles tendon. I thought it was just a nickname, like funny bone .”
I flip the page to a full-body view of the muscular system.
He flinches. “I’m glad we have skin to cover all of that.”
“Is this grossing you out? Sometimes I forget some people don’t have the stomach for this type of thing.
Amy never did.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s cool seeing what’s underneath.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to catch his eye, “it is.”
Wes lies flat on his back again. After reshelving the book, I sit next to him so we’re both facing the same way, except I’m leaning back on my elbows—I know this position makes my Bs look bigger. I purposely didn’t put my hair up in a ponytail tonight so it would spill all over my shoulders.
We remain silent as the sun continues to set. Amazingly, the mood’s not that awkward tonight. It’s kind
of nice we can space out together without it feeling boring. Gradually the room darkens to black, and the only light comes from my computer’s “starfield” screen saver. Soon the aroma of baking brownies envelops us, and the air-conditioning currents brush the ends of my hair lightly over his chin. Now Dave Matthews’s “Crash” comes on. My mouth is literally watering, Wes smells so good right now.
I can tell something’s about to happen, the same way you just know someone is looking at you or that you’re going to get an electric shock if you touch the doorknob.
He raises his right hand and reaches over my left shoulder, but then he puts it back down.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Why? What is it?”
“No, it’s just—”
“Just what?”
“Just…your hair.”
“My hair?” Is he annoyed by my hair touching his face?
“Yeah, I love the color. I can almost see it in the dark. I like it even better than Jessica’s.”
I’m not sure whether he’s referring to his dog or his childhood friend, but I don’t ask for clarification.
He continues, “Your hair was the first thing I noticed about you.”
“Thanks, I inherited it from my mom,” I tell him. “I like your hair too. It’s so blond and sunny.”
“Thanks…Dom?”
“Yeah?”
“I—Damn.” He sits up cross-legged and shakes his head.
“What’s wrong?”
Wes leaps to his feet and walks to my window. “This is embarrassing.”
“What is?” I smile, knowing we’re getting somewhere.
“I want to do something. I’ve been wanting to do something for a long time. It’s just that…”
I don’t prod him. I just wait.
After a few seconds he continues, “Dom, as you may have deduced, I’ve never…gone out with anyone before.”
“Really?” My heart jumps. “No, I didn’t deduce.”
“Well, it’s more than that. I’ve never…done it, or done anything. Heh, maybe that’s my Achilles heel,”
Wes mutters, his voice drenched in vulnerability. Then he turns around and leans against my windowsill.
“And the fact I’ve never done anything stops me from ever trying anything.”
“Oh,” I say, genuinely surprised, and pleased. “So, you’ve never done, like, anything ?”
“I think you’d be surprised at how little play we dudes get. We make up such bullshit,” he says defensively.
“Hey, I don’t have much experience either,” I say as I stand up.
“Much?” Wes is still facing the window but looks at me over his shoulder. I can barely see him in the darkness. Only his blue eyes reflect the computer light. “So, you’ve…kissed before?”
“Well, just a few superquick ones at camp and parties and stuff, but they don’t really count since I didn’t like the guys. Um, haven’t there been any girls you wanted to kiss?”
Wes turns back toward me but looks at the floor. “Sure there were girls, but, I don’t know, I was too chickenshit to try, or else they had boyfriends, or they were pretty but lacking any sort of personality, so I didn’t think it was worth the effort…or we were friends and I was scared to screw that up.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “I understand.”
“But, Dom…” He lifts his head and looks straight at me. “There’s never been a girl I wanted to kiss as much as I want to kiss you right now.”
Happiness. Joy. Ecstasy. Elation. Heaven. Nirvana. Whatever you want to call it, this is it. The totally, completely, and absolutely sublime euphoria of reciprocation. I swear it feels like I’m floating.
“Okay. Cool. I mean…” I force the words around my pounding heart. “I would like that. I want that too.”
Wes marches toward me, grabs my shoulders with both hands, and kisses me. It’s dry, soft, and still, but powerful.
When he releases me a couple seconds later, a jubilant, conquering look washes across his eyes.
“Wow.” He smiles, his voice emboldened. “Dom, I’d like to do a lot more of that with you. Would that be okay?”
It takes all my self-control to stop myself from jumping up and down like a five-year-old. I can’t believe the most perfect boy I’ve ever met in my life is saying this to me. To me! “Yes,” I laugh, “that’d be okay.”
“Dom?”
“Yeah?” I tremble.
Please say that I’m beautiful, that you love me, that it was love at first sight!
“Um…I think I smell something burning.”
“Ames, you there?” I press my ear to the phone as I spin around in my swivel chair.
“Am I here? Am I here? I’m having convulsions on the floor, but yeah, I’m here. Oh, wow.” I hear Amy setting down her brush and ripping off her smock. “Thank God, Dom. I was seriously starting to worry he was gay or asexual or something. Turns out he was just a rookie.”
“I was worried he secretly liked that Jessica Sky girl…but he likes me !”
“Hold on a minute. This all happened last night? You waited a whole frickin’ day to tell me?”
“I’m really really sorry about that. This morning, I don’t know, I was just processing everything. Then I had to deal with going to Grandma’s. My family doesn’t even know yet.”
“Okay, okay. So, the brownies are burning…”
“Well, after that it was pure chaos for two minutes. Our smoke detector went off, so Wes raced to open the terrace door, and I threw open the kitchen windows and turned on the oven fan. The brownies were like charcoal, and it took an hour for the smoke to clear. I was scared the sprinklers would go off, but Wes said it would have to get a lot hotter for that to happen.”
“Did things get �
��a lot hotter’ between you two? A little stove-top stuffing in the kitchen?”
“Yeah, right. For a while we were just sitting on the couch in the living room, and he tried to make me feel better by telling me how when his family lived in Charleston, his brother, Arthur, accidentally burned down their garage with a dropped cigarette. Eventually I calmed down, and then…we made out until eleven!”
“Sweeeeet! How far did you get? Did he come in his pants?”
“No!” I laugh at her relentless vulgarity. “Nobody, you know, came. We did nothing below the neck.”
“No Big O? Too bad.”
“There was nothing ‘bad’ about it. I had no idea making out was so fun.”
“Isn’t it, though? Aren’t boys’ tongues so warm and wet and spongy?”
“Well, that sounds gross, but yeah, it was nice. I was surprised how…natural it felt, how easy it was to get into the rhythm of it. I mean, we were just kissing normally for a few minutes and the next thing I know I’m pressing my tongue into his mouth.”
“So Gersh is a good kisser?”
“Totally! I mean, I think he is. The first few seconds were weird, I guess because it was so new, and our teeth kept knocking together. But soon we were sucking face just like they do in the movies.”
“When are you going at it again?”
“Well, he has track every day this week, so we can’t see each other until Friday night, which sucks.
But…he did send me a rather effusive e-mail today.”
“Yeah? Let’s hear it!”
“Okay,” I chirp giddily as I punch it up on my computer. “The subject line is ‘Hey, beautiful,’ dated today, Sunday, March third. Um. ‘Dear Dom, I’m sorry this will be short. E-mail is so empty, so sterile, so…well, it’s nothing like the real thing, because there’s nothing really there—no smells, no tastes, nothing to feel or listen to. Just weightless characters on a faceless screen.’”
“Oh my God, Dominique, what a poet! No wonder he’s gonna major in English.”
“There’s more, hold on. ‘I can’t even count the number of times today I stopped in my tracks (pun intended) and shook my head, smiling as I replayed last night in my mind again and again. Dom, you are all at once the subject, object, predicate, preposition, and period of my thoughts (can you tell I’ve paid attention in grammar class?). Wes. P.S. My parents guessed about us. At breakfast this morning they said I looked so “pale and wan” that a pretty Shorr girl had to be the culprit.’ Then he put a smiley face.”
“I’m melting, I’m melting,” Amy shrieks, mimicking the Wicked Witch of the West. “I can already see the headline of the EFM Examiner: ‘Strong and Silent Sprinter Swaps Spit with Shorr Science Quiz Savant.’”
“Ha ha.”
An hour later, after Amy and I hang up, I reread Wes’s e-mail a few more times and look at myself in my full-length mirror. One of the best parts of hooking up with Wes is my battle-scarred appearance afterward. My lips are swollen from kissing him so much. My cheeks and chin are red and raw from rubbing against his stubble. When he left last night, my hair looked like it had been through a blender from his running his fingers through it, and it took forever to brush out. But I love it all—I am Wes-ed, Wes-inated, Wes-erized. I know that sounds strange, but I mean it. Suddenly my body is good for something more than just carting me around—it means something to someone else. I have never felt this alive and healthy before, and despite what Amy says, I can’t imagine feeling more orgasmic than I do right now.
The next morning I slink into the dining room to break the news to my parents. I’m actually excited to hear their reaction because I know it’s the last thing they expect. I take in a lungful of air and begin.
“Um, guys, I have to talk to you.”
“Yes, sweetie?” Mom responds indifferently as she spreads cherry preserves over her toast. Dad doesn’t seem to hear me at all as he skims the morning paper.
“Well, just so you know…”
Wes and I are going together. Uh-huh, we’re a couple. The most handsome and brilliant guy in Florida wants me, and I want him too. In some ways, I think I love him more than I do you two. I certainly think about him more than I think about you guys.
“Saturday night, you know, two nights ago, remember you were at that banquet and I told you Wes came over and we made brownies? Well, we talked a lot, and we decided to, um, go out. So we’re going out.”
Mom and Dad exchange glances and then look up at me. I’ve actually stunned them into silence. Then Dad says, “Could he have spiked the brownies?”
“Very funny.”
I flee to Shorr before they can make any other comments that might puncture my high. But that evening when I’m back home at my computer, Dad knocks on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I call as I turn off my monitor to hide my latest e-mail in progress to Wes.
He enters beaming. “I just wanted to say congratulations again on your victory today, hon!”
“You mean finally getting a date?”
Dad smiles. “I mean Science Quiz, my little champion.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Truth is, I am pretty pleased with myself for helping win our last tournament, though I’m not shedding any tears over the end of SQ. It can only mean more time to spend with my new favorite extracurricular.
“Hey, don’t I get a hug?” he asks, extending his arms.
“Yeah, sure.” I reluctantly turn away from my computer and go to him.
After kissing Wes that weekend, touching my father suddenly feels weird. I don’t know why it should, it’s just Dad. But then again, he’s a guy too, with a penis. Ick! I simulate hugging him by placing my limp hands on his shoulders and tensing up my arms. The second he releases me I retreat to my desk chair.
Maybe I’m getting too old for our bear hugs.
Dad takes a seat on the foot of my bed. “So, Dom, now that Science Quiz is over, do you think you’ll have time to go fishing in Sanibel with Mom and me this Saturday?”
“You know I don’t fish anymore. Plus, I’ll be seeing Wes.”
“Yeah…about that Wes kid.” Dad rests his elbows on his knees and puts his preachy face on.
Obviously, this is what he came in here to talk about. “Dom…in some way, I’m actually damned proud of you because I know how much you wanted him, and you didn’t stop till you got him. I was wondering why you were so happy yesterday, and I gotta tell you, it’s great to see you like this…. Just promiseme
you’ll be smart about…just don’t let him pressure you into doing anything you shouldn’t be doing. And you shouldn’t be doing much, got it?”
“Sure, Dad.” I give him a serious look and nod, praying he’s not going to go into more detail.
“And you know you can talk to your mom and me about anything, right?”
“Yep.” I nod more vigorously, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave.
“By the way, why didn’t he come to your match today?”
“Dad, he had track practice, and it’s really bad to miss that. Anyway, he’d never expect me to miss SQ
for a meet…. Was that question meant to make me doubt him?”
“Dom.” He shakes his head. “I was just curious. I was looking forward to seeing him again now that you two are, um, dating.”
“Okay.” I turn back to my computer. “Dad, I need to finish some homework now. I’ll come in for dinner soon.”
Later that night Grandma calls to congratulate me on the SQ finals, the broadcast of which she watched on a local TV station. Last time we spoke on the phone she made me feel like a hunchbacked alien for being single, so I assume the recent progress in my love life will please her.
“Is he going to be a doctor or lawyer?” she asks as soon as I mention Wes.
I roll my eyes. “I think most doctors and lawyers are kind of old for me, Grandma.”
“I just want someone who can provide for you, sweetheart.”
“Well, maybe I’m going to be the doctor in the family.�
��
“If you’re a doctor, then how will you have the time to make a home for your husband and take care of children?”
“Anyway,” I huff, counting to five to refuel my patience, “this boy’s so nice and incredibly smart. He’s a track star.”
“A what star?”
“You know, running? Like in races.”
“Does he try to have intercourse with you?”
“Grandma!” I gasp. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no!”
“Good. Remember, no ring, no ring-a-ding-ding. Because once you spread your legs for him, do you know where he’ll race once he’s done? He’ll race to another woman, that’s where. I expect my only granddaughter to wear white to her wedding and for it not to be a sham. If he loves you, he’ll wait.”
“Y-you know what?” I stammer, my face suddenly hot. “I thought you’d be happy for me. Instead,
you’re telling me to dump him for a lawyer, that I shouldn’t work, and that he’s going to leave me if we have sex? Please! I’m going now, and hopefully I’ll forget how you ruined my good news like you always ruin everything. Goodbye!” I flip down the cell.
A few seconds later Mom bounds into my room. “Are you okay, Dommie? We heard yelling.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that, God, Mom, I was in such a good mood too. Grandma drives me crazy sometimes.”
“You’re lucky you have one, though. Remember that.”
After Mom leaves I lie down and punch a pillow. Maybe I was unduly horrible to her and should apologize. She really didn’t say anything all that bad. She’s just old-fashioned. And lonely. Before I met Wes, I guess I was lonely too. I mean, I suppose I was happy enough, but now that I think about it, I don’t remember about what.
I swallow my pride and dial her number.
Going to school Friday is pointless. I feel like a wild animal at a zoo, except the cages are made of windowless walls, lockers, bulletin boards, and splintery brown doors leading to dead-end classrooms, where poor schoolteachers who have given up on their own lives and probably haven’t gotten laid in years find their only pleasure in testing us on depressing subjects. I resent having to learn about Crime and Punishment, the slave trade, and the division of cancer cells when all I want to think about is Wes.
Anatomy of a Boyfriend Page 7