by Jessica Pan
RACHEL. HE DOESN’T SPEAK ENGLISH WELL ENOUGH TO KNOW IF I AM HALLUCINATING.
Fjdaklfjdsaklfjdkasljfdakslfjdaklfjdsalkfdsjferssjfkdjaljfdkjiwreirueiawojakfjdskl!
Okay, I go die now.
Love,
The Girl Who Rufied Herself
JANUARY 25
Rachel to Jess
Jessica. You roofied yourself? YOU ROOFIED YOURSELF?
Also, you don’t know how to spell roofie.
Your hallucinations sound amazing. Do you think that sleeping pills work that way for everyone?
Just...kidding?
Stay away from anything stronger than vitamin C! You probably wore yourself out from having too much sex. But Bruno sounds like the ideal man to hibernate with for winter. I feel like I want to give you a sexual blessing. Mazel tov!
I haven’t been “blessed” for about a year now—the only thing even vaguely romantic in my life is Saul.
Before our date, I showed my friend Sally from work Saul’s online pictures of him filling a suitcase with Jell-O (to take to a picnic). She said he looked borderline insane. I can see that. He’s the guy who will wear any hat at any time, even when it is not a hat but a poinsettia, and also he is at an Orthodox Jewish wedding. And he’s holding a baby squirrel. And he’s an investment banker. He is less like a man, and more like the incarnation of Mad Libs, where his whole personality is composed of randomly chosen words.
So naturally, I am still smitten with him.
I know that right now you are also remembering the countless conversations you and I had about why he never made a move, to my complete and utter confusion. But when he told me that he’ll be in town for a few weeks, I really wanted to see him.
I met Saul at a restaurant around the corner from my house. He was very easy to find, because he was wearing a tie that was covered in bottle caps. He cried, “KAPELKE-ELF!” from across the restaurant and gave me a big hug. I ordered us a bottle of white wine, and he kept making sure my glass was full. I even liked him after he dusted off and kissed a wayward French fry that had fallen astray. He is way too nice to everyone and everything, but I could use some nice in my life.
He still resembles Larry David, whom I’ve always had a thing for (they are the only two men in the world who are so funny that you forget they look like Larry David).
Even though I hadn’t seen him in months, we sat close and he reminded me about a bunch of happy memories at Brown. But I had work in the morning, so after lingering over our wine, I walked him to the subway to point him in the direction of the friend’s house where he is staying.
And here I am: going to bed alone.
But now, at home, why am I thinking about Saul and a future with him? He doesn’t even live in New York! He lives in Boston! And focusing energy on him when I spend all of my time trying to find a way to move to Paris is completely beyond me. If he came to Paris, he’d wear a baguette on his head and try to eat a beret.
I’ve finally adjusted to waking up at normal hours and not feeling dead all day. I’ve started leaving early for work to get coffee around the corner before I get on the train. I sit in the window seat of the café and watch all the harried commuters scramble to work. I think about the French Fulbright committee and how I really hope they pick me. And I think about you, all the way in China, probably having sex with Bruno for the fourth time that day.
Love,
Kapelke-Elf
FEBRUARY 1
Jess to Rachel
Fuuuuuuuuuck.
Fuck.
This morning the condom broke.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.
PICK UP YOUR PHONE. WHO SLEEPS AT 3 A.M.??????????? WHO DOES THAT?!?!?!?!??!
I don’t know how this happened. Just, like, that in one moment, everything was fine, and the act was over, and then...
I panicked. I just fucking panicked. I sat straight up and as soon as I saw what happened, I went crazy. I asked him if he had STDs over and over again. I yelled: DO YOU HAVE ANY STDS? HOW MANY GIRLS HAVE YOU SLEPT WITH? EVER? DID YOU ALWAYS WEAR A CONDOM? WHY DID THE CONDOM BREAK? WHY DID IT BREAK? WHY? WHY? WHY?
He was speechless and then began answering in fragments—he had an HIV test before he was given his Chinese visa. He’s slept with three Chinese girls since he’s been in China.
WHAT KINDS OF GIRLS? WHAT KINDS OF GIRLS?????? NICE GIRLS OR SLUTTY GIRLS? WHAT KINDS OF GIRLS, BRUNO???????????????????????????
I threw my clothes on and ran outside to catch a cab back to my apartment. It had snowed the night before, but I didn’t even register the snowfall until I was already inside the taxi. I shouted my address to the driver and slumped against the seat as I tried frantically to recall every single Seventeen magazine article I had ever read.
But all I could remember were the fucking dumb theories girls would ask about that turned out to NOT be true. Like girls who write in asking if after they have unprotected sex, can they hop backward and not get pregnant? Or rinse with vinegar to prevent STDs. I COULDN’T REMEMBER ANY OF THE ADVICE OR FACTS!
I can’t believe how stupid I am. I can’t believe how blissful I was, how delighted I was to be sleeping with a beautiful Brazilian, becoming empowered, being a woman who feels SEXY for once, having an adventure, when ALL I WAS ACTUALLY DOING WAS FUCKING A STRANGER WHO COULD HAVE AIDS AND NOW MAYBE I FUCKING DO TOO.
As soon as I got home I ran into a hot shower to try to scrub my entire body clean. I was in there so long that the hot water ran cold and I just leaned against the toilet (because I still shower over a fucking toilet) and I cried. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know Bruno’s past. I don’t even know Bruno. Why didn’t I listen to the fervent religious people of the Bible Belt who preached no sex before marriage? Why did I think none of that applied to me? Is this my punishment? What if I have HIV? What if I have herpes? What if I have thrown my life away just to feel sexy and exotic?
I got out of the shower and went to an expat hospital clinic where I had to tell a stern Australian-Chinese female doctor that I need the morning-after pill. Then when I told her I also wanted to be tested for STDs (ALL OF THEM), she was visibly shocked.
“Did you even know this person?”
NO.
She told me to take two pills immediately. I did. Then I reread the instructions which say, “Take one pill. Twelve hours later, take second pill.” What?? I read this moments after I had swallowed both.
Also, I am supposed to be SICK right now and I don’t feel ANYTHING. I would like to be writhing in pain just so I know they are working.
I hate sex now. I am so over sex.
Can you PLEASE call this number:
1-800-330-1271 (toll-free)
Because I can’t figure out how to call it from China.
I need to know if I fucked up the effectiveness of this pill by taking BOTH pills at the same time. I took them five hours after I had sex. Plan B pills.
I didn’t want half-Asian babies THIS BADLY, Universe. Never making a joke again.
Please, please, please call the number for me.
Jess
FEBRUARY 1
Later that day
Rachel to Jess
Calm down and don’t worry! This happens to people all the time!!!!
You are doing everything right, you really are. You will be okay, I know you will, but we will make sure of it nevertheless. I’m so sorry my phone was off—I hope that you could reach Astrid. Practicalities: I just spoke with that number and they said that some places, like Planned Parenthood, actually tell you to take them both at once. They also said that some people don’t have any side effects at all and that you may get your period a week early or a week late, but if it’s more than a week late you should take a pregnancy test.
I am going to call my sister (the nu
rse one, not the college student one) to confirm (I will not tell her who it is).
You will be okay.
More soon when I get home from work.
Love,
R
FEBRUARY 1
Later that day
Jess to Rachel
thank you thank you thank you
love you love you love you
FEBRUARY 2
Rachel to Jess
Are you okay? Did you ever get side effects? I conferred with my sister and she said that the only reason to take them twelve hours apart is because most people get bad cramps and both at once will make it worse. But if you didn’t have any side effects, it doesn’t mean it’s not working. Your period should come normally. She also confirmed this with a doctor she works with.
This might lighten the mood for you. When I called the Plan B hotline, I was at work (they were only open during normal business hours—this is not when most of us have baby emergencies, people!). I waited until Joan and Sally were in a meeting outside the building, but we have an intern who I just couldn’t shake. I went down the hall, but it still echoes. I refused to say on the call that it was for “my friend” because who am I—one of those girls who writes into Seventeen? No.
The intern comes out of the office to go to the bathroom and I turn around to see her just as I’m screeching at the Plan B people: “I’m not going to get pregnant, RIGHT?” She scuttled back into the office. When I came back in, she just looked up at me with big eyes.
“IT’S FOR MY FRIEND!”
Whatever, she leaves in a month.
You will like sex again.
You don’t have an STD. I promise. Promise, promise.
If you are really worried, go back and talk to your doctor. But everybody I talked to seems convinced that you’ll be fine.
Now might not be the time to ask, but what’s going to happen between you and Bruno?
And let me know how you are.
Love love love love,
Rachel
FEBRUARY 7
Jess to Rachel
Relief.
My doctor called and I do not have HIV. I do not have any STDs. I am not pregnant.
There are fireworks exploding all over the city for Chinese New Year and everyone is out on the streets celebrating and I’m celebrating my news too.
As you can expect, I’m feeling so much better than before, but I’m also trying to distract myself from thinking about Bruno because he flew to São Paulo this morning. The next time I saw him after the debacle, he was really sweet, but careful around me. We still slept together, tentatively, and then he left this morning. When I crawled back into my empty bed, my room seemed so quiet and lonely. I never imagined sharing so many intimate moments with someone and then having him disappear from my life forever. I’ll never call him, I’ll never write him, I’ll never look him up. All we had rested on the physical. I kissed him knowing it was going to be the last time.
And this coincides with my two months with Chris ending. He’s heading back to New Zealand forever tomorrow. Even Maxwell said that he’s heading back to the United States soon. For so many people, Beijing is just a brief stopover. It feels like I just got here, but everyone I like is leaving.
At least I have Astrid, who is pulling me out of the gray bleakness. I don’t have to be alone right now, because she’ll always invite me over and stay up all night with me and offer to share her bed. Her love is so unconditional. I don’t care about Maxwell anymore and I don’t care that she and I spent our first few months in China fighting—at least she knows me and cares about me and I could really confide in her about everything that has happened. I don’t know what I would have done without you two.
She lives alone now, and I’m going to as well. I looked at an apartment on the twentieth floor of a high-rise—it has a windowed wall and I can see all of eastern Beijing when I stand at the window and look out. I decided to move in next week and get serious about how I’m spending my time in this country.
Honestly, the STD thing has really scared the shit out of me. I’ve led a charmed life, a lucky life, and if I’m not careful, I’m going to waste it. Two years from now, I don’t want to realize that I’ve squandered my time in Beijing by just messing around.
I’m trying to get up the nerve to send some pitches to other magazines to freelance, although it’s a relief to be off work during this holiday. Before the break, Victoria and I sweated over a double issue of our magazine—twice as much work in the same amount of time. All you need to know about a double issue is: Fuck the double issue.
It sounds like a war zone here, with staccato explosions of firecrackers going off all night. They’re thought to scare away evil spirits, so maybe we should both light a few.
I’m going to go eat dumplings with Astrid, because it’s tradition. The more dumplings you eat during the New Year celebration, the more money you’re supposed to make in the coming year. I am going to go eat thirty thousand dumplings.
Love,
Jess
P.S. Oh, and it’s officially the Year of the Rat, which means it’s your year to wear red underwear every day. Apparently it brings good luck.
FEBRUARY 11
Rachel to Jess
Oh God, please send me a pair of red underwear from China! I need all the luck I can get! I think Year of the Rat is an understatement....
That’s my way of telling you that I slept with Saul.
Saul invited me to hang out with his friends at a bar in Park Slope, not far from where I live in Brooklyn. You might remember how sometimes he has great friends and sometimes he has bad friends, because he does not discriminate? They were all there. Also, he wore his bottle-cap tie again. How did this get invented? More importantly, how did this get worn, twice?
I had invited Rosabelle out with me, but she went back home for the weekend. I came alone. And so, for most of the night, I made small talk with his random friends in the corner, while Saul made his rounds. Or rather, held court. It’s like he walks around with a permanent spotlight on him. People see that he’s there and immediately head toward him to tell him about random news, like their refrigerator light bulbs burned out or how they took up beekeeping, and he actually cares about what they say.
Around 4 A.M., he tore himself away from his entourage and walked me home.
The fact that the walking was the best part of the entire night should tell you something. It was chilly and crisp outside and he swung my hand as we walked. It wasn’t difficult to get him into my apartment, as this has been four years in the making. I just said, “Do you want to—” and before I’d even finished my sentence he said, very quickly, “Definitely.” Before we even made it into the living room, he pulled my face to him. And kissed me.
Nineteen-year-old me rejoices.
It pains me to write about what happened because I know Jane Austen just wouldn’t approve, but you know I’m going to anyway.
He was so romantic. And then...so awful.
I made him take off his bottle-cap tie. He kissed my neck a lot, but really quickly. It reminded me of the way I would kiss a hyperactive dog on the head. Or of a hyperactive dog itself.
I had to get up and get a condom from Buster. Buster gave me a wink. But Saul had followed me and so he, Buster, and I were all standing in the hallway for this weird condom pass-off. Which Jane Austen novel did this happen in again?
He lasted...and lasted and lasted, so long that at the end, he suggested that I just go down on him and get it over with.
Except I heard it as “let’s get down on the floor and get this over with.” So I did (because if that’s what’s going to make this end, then fine by me). He just stared at me. Then, as he looked at me on the floor while he was perched on the bed, I realized what he’d actually said, and the whole thing was completely ruined for me. The biggest
thing Saul had going for him this whole time is how romantic he can be, and suddenly that whole persona felt like such a façade.
I wish it just ended there but it didn’t. As soon as we were both done, he put his hand to my neck, in what I thought might be a caress. But when he kept it there, I realized: He was taking my pulse. To figure out whether I was faking or not.
From romance to disgust in fifteen minutes or less.
I don’t understand how someone who can be so kind and caring can become so selfish during sex. I barely recognized Saul when we were in bed (or I was looking up at him from the floor). I thought being with him would make us feel closer, but I just feel exposed and semi-nauseated about the whole thing.
To tell the truth, I’m slightly scared that I did something wrong. Why did he take so long? Do I not know how to have sex? It brought up all of these old insecurities....Was he not that into me even though I’d worn a great dress and red lipstick?
I’m sad that he wasn’t the guy for me. But thank God I realized this before I wasted much more time on him. I don’t ever have to worry about screwing things up with him, because he has definitely lost any chance with me. He invited me to a party at his place on Friday, but...I don’t think so.
Sometimes I think I really don’t know what’s best for me. Getting what you want can be the worst sometimes.
Saul hits exactly zero points on my list, by the way. But is it kind of my fault? I forgot to add “Will not be too vulgar or bossy in bed.” I didn’t realize how specific that list had to be.
Do you think that Frenchmen will be this way? I don’t know, but I do foresee a lot of mistranslations and misunderstandings like “get down on the floor” occurring. As in, “Uh-oh. SORRY. Where did you say to touch you?”
Lots of love,
Rachel
P.S. Did you see that Bill Broadwick was published in The Atlantic? Hate. Life.
FEBRUARY 20
Jess to Rachel
The last time I saw Saul, he jumped out of a closet and shouted, “PAN-demonium!” as he tackled me to the ground. Then he tried to put a hookah on my head.