by Rachel Cohn
We hadn’t vowed to write every day, and we hadn’t written every day. We hadn’t sworn to be true to each other, because there hadn’t been much to be true to. Every now and then I would picture her there, in a country I’d only seen in her photo albums. And every now and then I’d write to say hello, to get the update, to stay in her life for no real reason beyond fondness. I told her things she already knew about our mutual friends and she told me things I didn’t really need to know about her friends in Spain. At first, I’d asked her when she was going to come back to visit. Maybe she’d even said the holidays were a possibility. But I’d forgotten. Not because there was now an ocean between us, but because there had always been something in the way. Lily probably knew more about me in five days of back-and-forth than Sofia had known in our four months of dating.
Maybe, I thought, it’s not distance that’s the problem, but how you handle it.
When Dov, Yohnny, and I arrived at Boomer’s place a little after six-thirty, we found him dressed like a prizefighter.
“I figured this was a good way to celebrate Boxing Day!” he said.
“It’s not a costume party, Boomer,” I pointed out. “You don’t even have to bring boxes.”
“Sometimes, Dash, you take the fun out of fun,” Boomer said with a sigh. “And you know what’s left then? Nothing.” He trooped off to his room, came back with a Manta Ray T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and proceeded to put his jeans on right over his prizefighter shorts.
As we headed down the sidewalk, our own rock-bottom Rocky acted out his approximation of a boxer’s moves, punching wildly into the air until he accidentally connected with the side of an old lady’s grocery cart, toppling both of them. While Dov and Yohnny helped them back up, Boomer kept saying, “I’m so sorry! I guess I don’t know my own strength!”
Luckily, Priya didn’t live that much farther away. While we waited to be buzzed in, Dov asked, “Hey, did you bring the boot?”
I had not brought the boot. I figured if I saw some girl limping around the city wearing only one boot, I had enough of a recollection of the item to attempt a mental match.
“What boot?” Boomer asked.
“Lily’s,” Dov explained.
“You met Lily!” Boomer nearly exploded.
“No, I did not meet Lily,” I replied.
“Who’s Lily?” Priya asked. I hadn’t even seen her appear in the doorway.
“A girl!” Boomer answered.
“Well, not really a girl,” I corrected.
Priya raised an eyebrow. “A girl who’s not really a girl?”
“She’s a drag queen,” Dov said.
“Lily Pad,” Yohnny chimed in. “She does the most amazing version of ‘It’s Not Easy Being Green.’ It reduces me to tears every time.”
“Tears,” Dov said.
“And Dash has her boot!” Boomer said.
“Hi, Dash.”
Here she was. Over Priya’s shoulder. A little hidden in the hallway light.
“Hi, Sofia.”
Now, when I would have loved an interruption from Boomer, he fell silent. Everyone fell silent.
“It’s good to see you.”
“Yeah, it’s good to see you, too.”
It was like the full amount of time we’d been apart was falling between each sentence. There, on the front stoop, it was months of us looking at each other. Her hair was longer, her skin a little darker. And there was something else, too. I just couldn’t figure it out. It was something in her eyes. Something in the way she was looking at me that wasn’t like the way she’d looked at me before.
“Come in,” Priya said. “There are some people here already.”
It was peculiar—I wanted Sofia to hold back, to wait for me, like she would have when we’d been going out. But instead she led us into the party, with Priya, Boomer, Dov, and Yohnny between us.
Inside, it was hardly a rager. Priya’s parents were not the type to leave the apartment while their daughter had a party. And they were of the mind that the strongest beverage offered should be sugared soda, and only that in moderation.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” Priya was saying to me. “And that you’re not in Sweden. I know Sofia would have been disappointed.”
There was no reason for Priya to impart this information to me, so I immediately suspected there was much more to it than was being said. Sofia would have been disappointed. Did that mean she really wanted to see me? That she would have been crushed if I hadn’t shown? Was this in fact the reason Priya had thrown the party in the first place?
I knew this was quite a leap to make, but when I looked at Sofia again, I found some footing on the other side. She was laughing at something Dov was saying to her, but she was looking at me, like he was the distraction and I was the conversation. She gestured with her head over to the drinks counter. I moved to meet her there.
“Fanta, Fresca, or Diet Rite?” I asked.
“I’ll have a Fanta,” she said.
“Fan-tastic,” I replied.
As I got some ice and poured some soda, she said, “So how have you been?”
“Good,” I said. “Busy. You know.”
“No, I don’t know,” she said, taking the plastic cup from my hand. “Tell me.”
There was a slight challenge in her voice.
“Well,” I said, pouring myself a Fresca, “I was supposed to go to Sweden, but that had to be canceled at the last minute.”
“Yeah, Priya told me.”
“This soda has a massive amount of carbonation, doesn’t it?” I gestured to where the Fresca was foaming over. “I mean, when this all settles down, I’ll end up with, like, a demitasse of soda. I’m going to be pouring this drink all night.”
I took a sip just as Sofia said, “Priya also told me you were studying the joys of gay sex.”
Fresca. Up. My. Nose.
After I was done coughing, I said, “I’ll bet she didn’t mention the French pianism, did she? I’ll bet she left that out entirely.”
“You are studying French penises?”
“Pianism. Good lord, don’t they teach you anything in Europe?”
This was a joke, but it didn’t come out sounding entirely like a joke. As a result, Sofia was miffed. And if American girls make being miffed a sweet-and-sour emotion, European girls always manage to add an undercurrent of murder to it. At least in my limited experience.
“I can assure you,” I told her, “that while I believe gay sex to be a beautiful, joyful thing, I do not think that I myself would find it particularly joyful, and thus my reading about its joys was all a part of a greater pursuit.”
Sofia looked at me archly. “I see.”
“Since when do you have an arch expression?” I asked. “There is a certain feistiness in your voice, too, that heretofore has not been present. It’s extremely attractive, but not really the Sofia I knew before.”
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” she replied.
“WHAT?”
She gestured behind me, where there were at least half a dozen people waiting to get some soda.
“We’re in the way,” she said. “And I have a present for you.”
The path to the bedroom was not a clear one. It felt like every two steps we took, someone stopped Sofia to welcome her back, to ask her how Spain was, to tell her how amazing her hair looked. I hovered on the side, in the boyfriend position once more. And it felt just as awkward now as it had when I’d really been her boyfriend.
After a while, it appeared that Sofia had abandoned the bedroom plan, but when I moved to get myself some more Fresca, she actually took hold of my sleeve and extricated us from the kitchen.
Priya’s door was closed, and when we opened it, we found Dov and Yohnny making out.
“Boys!” I cried.
Dov and Yohnny quickly refastened their jackets and put their hats back on over their yarmulkes.
“Sorry,” Yohnny said.
“It’s just that we haven’t had a chance to
…,” Dov continued.
“You spent all day in bed!”
“Yeah, but we were exhausted,” Dov said.
“Completely wiped out,” Yohnny echoed.
“And—”
“—it was your mom’s bed.”
They scooted past us, through the doorway.
“That happen a lot in Spain?” I asked Sofia.
“Yes. Only they’re Catholic.”
She went over to what I assumed to be her bag and took out a book.
“Here,” she said. “This is for you.”
“I didn’t really get you anything,” I sputtered. “I mean, I didn’t know that you were going to be here, and—”
“Don’t worry. It’s your embarrassment at not having the thought that counts.”
I was completely disarmed.
Sofia smiled and handed over the book. Its cover screamed LORCA! Literally, that was the title: LORCA! Which wasn’t very SUBTLE! I started to thumb through.
“Oh, look,” I said. “It’s poetry! And in a language I don’t speak!”
“I know you’ll go out and buy a translation, just to make me believe you’ve read it.”
“Touché. Absolutely true.”
“But really, it’s just a book that means a lot to me. He is a beautiful writer. And I think you’d like him.”
“You’ll have to give me Spanish lessons.”
She laughed. “Just like you gave me English lessons?”
“Why did you just laugh?”
She shook her head. “No, it was sweet when you did that. Well, sweet and condescending.”
“Condescending?”
She began to mimic my voice—inadequately, but enough so that I knew she was mimicking my voice. “ ‘What, you don’t know what a pizza bagel is? Do you need me to explain the derivation of the word derivation? Is everything copacetic—I mean, all right?’ ”
“I never said that. I never said any of that.”
“Maybe, maybe not. That’s just how it felt. To me.”
“Wow,” I said. “You could’ve said something.”
“I know. But it wasn’t my thing, to ‘say something.’ And I liked that you never minded explaining things. I felt there was a lot that needed to be explained to me.”
“And now?”
“Not as much.”
“Why?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
Sofia sighed and sat down on the bed.
“I fell in love. It didn’t work out.”
I sat down next to her.
“All in the past three months?”
She nodded. “Yes, all in the past three months.”
“You didn’t mention …”
“In my emails? No. He didn’t want me talking to you at all, not to mention talking to you about him.”
“I was such a threat?”
She shrugged. “I exaggerated you a little at first. To make him jealous. It worked in making him jealous, but didn’t work so much in making him love me more.”
“Was that why you didn’t tell me you were coming?”
She shook her head. “No. I only knew I was coming last week. I convinced my parents I missed New York so much that they had to take me here for the holidays.”
“But really, you wanted to get away from him?”
“No, that wouldn’t work. I just thought it would be nice to see people. Anyway, what about you? Are you in love with anybody?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Ah. Then there is someone. The Joy of Gay Sex?”
“Yes,” I said. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”
So I told her. About the notebook. About Lily. Sometimes I looked at her while I was talking. Sometimes I was talking to the room, to my hands, to the air. It was too much at once to be so close to Sofia, yet also trying to conjure some closeness to Lily.
“Oh my,” Sofia said when I was through. “You think you’ve finally found the girl in your head.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, like most guys, you carry around this girl in your head, who is exactly who you want her to be. The person you think you will love the most. And every girl you are with gets measured against this girl in your head. So this girl with the red notebook—it makes sense. If you never meet her, she never has to get measured. She can be the girl in your head.”
“You make it sound like I don’t want to get to know her.”
“Of course you want to get to know her. But at the same time, you want to feel like you already know her. That you will know her instantly. Such a fairy tale.”
“A fairy tale?”
Sofia smiled at me. “You think fairy tales are only for girls? Here’s a hint—ask yourself who wrote them. I assure you, it wasn’t just the women. It’s the great male fantasy—all it takes is one dance to know that she’s the one. All it takes is the sound of her song from the tower, or a look at her sleeping face. And right away you know—this is the girl in your head, sleeping or dancing or singing in front of you. Yes, girls want their princes, but boys want their princesses just as much. And they don’t want a very long courtship. They want to know immediately.”
She actually put her hand on my leg and squeezed. “You see, Dash—I was never the girl in your head. And you were never the boy in my head. I think we both knew that. It’s only when we try to make the girl or boy in our head real that the true trouble comes. I did that with Carlos, and it was a bad failure. Be careful what you’re doing, because no one is ever who you want them to be. And the less you really know them, the more likely you are to confuse them with the girl or boy in your head.”
“Wishful thinking,” I said.
Sofia nodded. “Yes. You should never wish for wishful thinking.”
ten
(Lily)
December 26th
“You’re grounded.”
Grandpa stared at me in all seriousness. I couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Grandpas give out dollar bills and bicycles and hugs. They don’t give punishments to grandchildren! Everybody knows that.
Grandpa had unexpectedly driven back to NYC, all day and night, all the way from Florida! Once he got home, he immediately went looking for me and my brother to check on us, only to find my brother passed out in bed, lost under a sea of blankets and snotty tissues, and worse, his Lily Bear not only not upstairs in her Lily pad but nowhere to be found in her own family’s apartment.
Luckily, I arrived home around three-thirty in the morning, within minutes of Grandpa’s discovery of my disappearance. He’d only had enough time to nearly have a heart attack, and to search for me inside every closet and cabinet in the apartment. Before Grandpa had a chance to call the police, along with my parents and several thousand other relatives to instigate a full-on worldwide panic, I waltzed in the door, still breathless and flushed from the night’s club scene excitement.
Grandpa’s first words to me when he caught sight of me were not “Where have you been?” That came second. First was “Why are you only wearing one boot? And dear God, is that my sister’s old majorette boot from high school on your foot?” He spoke from the kitchen floor in my apartment, where he was lying down, trying to determine, I believe, if I was hiding beneath the sink.
“Grandpa!” I cried out. I ran to smother him in day after Christmas kisses. I was so happy to see him, and exhilarated from the night out, despite how I’d ended it by sacrificing one of my great-aunt’s shoes to the gumshoes and neglecting to return the notebook for Snarl.
Grandpa wasn’t having my affection. He turned his cheek to me, then went for the “you’re-grounded routine.” When I failed to meet his pronouncement with fear, he frowned and demanded, “Where have you been? It’s four in the morning!”
“Three-thirty,” I corrected him. “It’s three-thirty in the morning.”
“You’re in a world of trouble, young lady,” he said.
I giggled.
“I’m
serious!” he said. “You’d better have a good explanation.”
Well, I’ve been corresponding with a complete stranger in a notebook, telling him my innermost feelings and thoughts and then blindly going to mystery places where he dares me to go….
No, that wouldn’t go over so well.
For the first time in my life, I lied to Grandpa.
“This friend from my soccer team had a party where her band played a Hanukkah show. I went to hear them.”
“THIS MUSIC REQUIRES YOU TO GET HOME AT FOUR IN THE MORNING?”
“Three-thirty,” I said again. “It’s, like, a religious thing. The band’s not allowed to play before midnight on the night after Christmas Day.”
“I see,” Grandpa said skeptically. “And don’t you have a curfew, young lady?”
The invocation not once, but twice, of the dreaded young lady term of endearment should have put me on high fear alert, but I was too giddy from the night’s adventures to care.
“I’m pretty sure my curfew is suspended on holidays,” I said. “Like alternate side of the street parking rules.”
“LANGSTON!” Grandpa yelled. “GET IN HERE!”
It took a few minutes, but my brother finally moped into the kitchen, trailing a comforter, looking like he’d been woken from a coma.
“Grandpa!” Langston wheezed, surprised. “What are you doing home?” I knew Langston was relieved now to be sick, because if he wasn’t, Benny would surely have spent the night, and overnight companions of the romantic sort have not yet been authorized by the designated authority figures. Langston and I both would have been busted.
“Never mind me,” Grandpa said. “Did you allow Lily to go out on Christmas night to hear her friend’s music?”
Langston and I shared a knowing glance: Our secrets needed to stay just that, secrets. I initiated our covert code from childhood, batting my eyelids up and down, so Langston would know to confirm what had just been asked of him.
“Yes,” Langston coughed. “Since I’m sick, I wanted Lily to go out and try to have some fun on the holiday. The band was playing in, like, the basement of someone’s brownstone on the Upper West Side. I arranged a car service to take her home. Totally safe, Grandpa.”