by Blake Nelson
She holds her foot out and I scrape the mud off hers, too. She steadies herself by gripping my shoulder.
We are standing very close. I hold her ankle. I clean her shoe.
When I stand up, she’s there, those blue eyes are watching me, waiting for me in the dark.
I kiss her.
She is ready for it this time. She welcomes it. She kisses me back.
We separate briefly, letting the weight of what is happening move through us.
Then I slip my hands inside her coat, grip the curve of her waist, pull her closer still. Our foreheads rest together. We kiss more, slowly, intimately, breathing each other’s air.
Eventually, we end up in the Camry, in the backseat. We really start to make out then. She gets like I’ve never seen her, breathless and pressing against me. I am getting like that, too. We’re older now; we know what we want.
“This is getting a little intense,” she finally gasps, in the quiet of the backseat.
“I know,” I breathe.
“Should we stop?”
“I don’t know.”
“I feel like…, ” she whispers. “Like maybe…”
We keep going. We go and go and go.
“Do you have something?” I finally say, my shirt off, my face damp and hot.
“What do you mean?”
“You know.”
“I don’t—”
“We need something.”
She sighs. She breathes. “In my coat. Hand me my coat.”
She has a condom in her coat. This is a huge surprise.
But I say nothing. I reach into the front seat, find the coat, and hand it to her. She untangles it, digs through the pocket. She finds the condom. She hands it to me.
I fumble with the plastic wrapper. I can’t open it.
“Here.” She takes it from me, tears it open, and hands it back.
I fumble with it more. She watches me. “Is it on right?”
“I don’t know,” I gasp.
“It has to be on right.”
“I think it is—”
She checks it. It’s okay. She puts her head back. “Oh God,” she whispers to herself.
We do it. I kiss her while we do it. I hold her, I stroke her hair. I lose myself in her. I can’t believe how good it feels. I am lost to the world. I am in another place…
Afterward, a deep silence settles over us. I lift my head and stare into her eyes. I touch her flushed face, stroke her mussed hair, kiss the side of her cheek.
I rest my head on her shoulder and she strokes my neck.
Outside, the pond sits silently, waiting to be drained.
PART
6
AFTERMATH
The next morning, I wake up in my bed. It’s Saturday morning. I stare at the ceiling. I’m not a virgin anymore.
I lift my head and look around my room. Everything looks pretty much the same. Same posters. Same Post-it notes stuck to the wall over my desk. Same dirty clothes spilling out of the closet. I look at my arm, at the back of my hand. It all looks the same.
I get out of bed and go to the bathroom. It’s the same bathroom I’ve been using my whole life. Libby has left her Flintstones toothpaste out. I put it away.
Some people are in a hurry to grow up. They can’t wait to get to high school, to get their license, to get their first kiss, their first girlfriend, their first sexual experience. I’m not like that. I mean, I’m glad to move forward with my life. But it makes me sad, too. Once you move on, you can’t go back.
I look at myself in the mirror. I don’t look different. I guess I’m not really different. Maybe losing your virginity isn’t such a big deal after all.
But then I think of Sadie. I remember how she kissed me, how her body felt underneath me. The whole situation with us, we’re not even going out. So why did we do that?
Sadie’s changed so much. She has sex with people now.
So do I. Now.
I go downstairs. Mom is gone. Dad is in his study. Libby is on the phone in the TV room. I make myself some cereal and try to eat it. I can’t. I don’t feel like myself, not at all.
I can’t stay in the house. My bike’s lying on its side in the garage, I pick it up and pedal down the street to Shari’s. I assume I’m going to calmly order their $5.99 breakfast, but as soon as the waitress brings me my coffee, I see that is impossible. I drink half the coffee, pay, leave.
I don’t know where to go, or what to do.
I find myself at the library, but it’s Saturday and it’s crowded with people and I can’t imagine going in. I stop for a second, though, and sit on the bench outside. I think about Sadie more. I love her. I loved her. I don’t know what I feel. She has changed so much. So have I. We had sex. When you have sex with people, it’s different. It’s not just messing around. It’s the big leagues. It’s playing for keeps. Jesus, what have I done?
But no, I’m glad. I guess I am. I don’t know. I don’t know anything.
I go home. There’s a basketball game on TV, which I try to watch. I see nothing. I couldn’t care less. I go upstairs and sit in my room and I feel like I’m going to cry.
Later, I call Gabe. He asks me what’s up. I tell him.
“Dude,” he says very quietly.
“I know,” I say. I don’t talk very long. There’s not much to say. I hang up.
All day, I have thought about when I should call Sadie. I have to call her today, that seems clear enough. But whenever I think that, I immediately think, “I’ll call her later.”
Now it is later. I look at the numbers on the phone.
I don’t call her. I go upstairs and get in my bed. I stare at the ceiling. I know what it feels like to be in love. I’ve been lucky in that way. I’ve been in love. But what this feeling is, I don’t know. It’s not regret exactly. Or sadness. But it’s not joy or happiness either.
Maybe it’s knowledge. Maybe it’s my first glimpse of the truth of grown-up relationships.
Whatever it is, it is older than I am. It is ancient. It is something from the very deepest parts of life.
May 7
ALICE: Hello? May I speak with James Hoff, please?
ME: This is James.
ALICE: Hi, James. This is Alice Weitzman.
ME: Hey, Alice.
ALICE: I wanted to call and personally let you know that the city council has chosen not to allow our petition in their hearings.
ME: Are you serious? Can they do that?
ALICE: Yes, unfortunately they can. As you know, we barely had the required number of signatures, and many of those were challenged. That’s something the city council does when groups don’t have an overwhelming volume of signatures. You really need to have twice as many signatures as are required by law.
ME: Oh.
ALICE: There’s nothing we can do about it now. We didn’t have enough publicity. I tried calling a friend at Channel 2, but she said it’s not important enough, it’s just a pond and some woods, there’s no principle at stake.
ME: Why does there have to be a principle? Can’t it just be a pond and some woods?
ALICE: The press is like that. It’s hard to hold people’s attention. We knew that—we just didn’t have time to work around it. Anyway, it’s only one setback, this is a battle being fought on many fronts.
ME: Yeah, but that sucks.
ALICE: I know. That’s why I called. To let you know how much we appreciate your help.
ME: I can’t believe they can do that.
ALICE: Well, they can, and that’s what happens sometimes. My main hope is that you might be willing to petition for us in the future. You seem to have a talent for it.
ME: Sure. Of course. So what happens to the pond now?
ALICE: The pond is already drained. They did it over the weekend.
ME: They did?
ALICE: Yes.
ME: Jeez.
ALICE: I hope you’ll stick with us, James. We always need people, but we especially need young people. Young people give life to
things. They give people hope.
May 12
It’s been awkward sitting with Sadie in the cafeteria. She’s made a lot of new friends since last year. The Activist Club girls. Jill Kantor from the paper. These two guys from her Spanish class who are from Central America. I don’t really know any of these people.
Gabe tries to help out. He sits with us, but he really wants to sit with Renee and keeps looking over in that direction. And anyway, it’s getting close to the end of the year and people are bored with the cafeteria, they want to be outside, in the sun. Especially now that the Garbage Eater is gone. The cafeteria feels especially dead.
We eat. People come and go. Eventually it’s just me and Sadie sitting there.
SADIE: I had a talk with Will this morning.
ME: Why were you talking to him?
SADIE: He’s having trouble with the fact that you and I are sort of…back…
ME: Yeah? Well, tough luck for him.
SADIE: He said he still loves me.
ME: And what did you say?
SADIE: I told him the truth.
ME: And what’s that?
SADIE: That I love him, too. Or I did. You know…
ME: You told him you loved him?
SADIE: I told him I cared about him. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t anything. He was always very sweet to me. I feel bad for him. I feel like I’m…not being fair to him.
ME: In what way?
SADIE: He thinks maybe I liked you all along. Or that you were waiting in the wings. I tried to tell him it wasn’t like that. It was very unexpected.
ME: You sound like you’re not that happy about it.
SADIE: I’m happy. I just…I know what he means. I can see what he’s saying.
ME: That reminds me of something I wanted to ask you.
SADIE: What.
ME: About the condom.
SADIE: What about it?
ME: Where did it come from? Do you always carry a condom in your coat pocket?
SADIE: What do you mean?
ME: I mean, you never had a condom in your pocket when we went out.
SADIE: We were sophomores!
ME: Well, yeah, but it’s still a little weird. You carry a condom around in case you meet some guy?
SADIE: Of course not. I just think it’s a good thing to have. Someone might need it.
ME: Like who? Like your friends?
SADIE: Well, someone might…
ME: I was surprised. That’s all. It doesn’t seem like you.
SADIE: I’m sorry if it upset you.
ME: It didn’t upset me. It surprised me.
SADIE: We’re older now.
ME: You had sex with Will, didn’t you?
SADIE (looking at me): Why are you asking me that?
ME: Because I want to know.
SADIE: Well, if you have to know…yes, I did.
ME:——
SADIE: Is that a problem?
ME: No. But you could have told me.
SADIE: I’m sure I would have. At the right time.
ME: And when was that going to be?
SADIE: Whenever. God, look at you, you’re totally freaked out about this.
ME: No, I’m not.
SADIE: Yes, you are. I can tell you are.
ME (shaking head): Jesus. I mean, come on. Of all the people…
SADIE: There’s nothing wrong with Will Greer. I was very close to him. People grow up, you know.
ME: I’m sorry, but something about that doesn’t seem right to me.
SADIE: As I recall, nothing about anything seems right to you. It’s sort of the nature of your personality.
After the condom conversation, I feel like I need to back off. I need to regroup. Maybe I’m thinking, I’ll show Sadie. I won’t talk to her for the rest of the day. See how she likes that!
So I avoid her and I don’t call her that night. Then the next day I don’t look for her at school. But then about lunchtime, I totally change. I feel like I love her more than ever, and I have to forgive her. Not even forgive her—she didn’t do anything wrong—but let the whole thing go. There’s nothing to be done. It happened. It’s over. I have to be mature about this. I have to be an adult.
The only problem is, I’m not an adult.
I end up with Gabe at Fred Meyer’s after school. We wander the aisles. He picks up the nerf football and motions for me to go long. But I don’t. I walk along beside him, lost in my own gloom.
That night I eat dinner at Gabe’s. His mom makes the lasagna she always makes. I’m so out of it, I drop a huge chunk of it down the front of my shirt. Gabe’s mom comes running to the rescue. She wets a sponge, hurries over, dabs the stain off my shirt.
She loves me, I realize. Gabe’s mom loves me. After all the horrible things I’ve said about her. She loves me.
God, what’s wrong with me?
Later, Renee calls Gabe and wants to know what’s up. Nothing is. She and Stephanie come pick us up anyway. Renee’s got her mom’s car and they wanna drive around. It’s a beautiful spring night, so that seems like the thing to do. We drive around, wasting gas. I don’t even care. Waste all the gas you want.
It gives me a chance to think, though. And when I get home, I call Sadie. I call her on her cell, at like midnight, and she answers. I tell her I’m sorry and I won’t say anything more about her and Will.
“I’m really more worried about other things,” she says.
“Like what?” I say.
“Just like, if getting back together is a good idea.”
I take a breath. “It’s hard, I know.”
“Maybe it’s too hard. And if it isn’t happening naturally…then what’s the point?”
“I know.”
“And what about the summer? I’ll be leaving for the eco-park at the end of June. What are you going to do? Sit around and wait for me? You’ll want to do stuff, too.”
“I know. I don’t know about the summer.”
May 18
More car issues. Dad wants me to get my car now, before summer starts. Mom wants this, too, for practical reasons. They both act like it’s insane for me not to have my own vehicle. One person, one car—that’s how it’s supposed to work. If not, someone might be inconvenienced.
At the same time, my dad is continuing to present the car as part of a “package deal.” Taking the car will mean that I will apply to college. And go. All of this makes perfect sense to my dad. College is unthinkable to him without a car. I guess that’s how it was in 1979.
To me, a car seems like the last thing you need at college. That’s why they have college, so you can rise above that crap, at least for a couple years.
My mother keeps trying to smooth things over. She thinks I’m being extreme, unrealistic, and that my resistance is all some weird resentment against Dad.
All of which is probably true.
But I also just don’t want one. I don’t want to put gas in it, I don’t want to insure it, I don’t want to park it, I don’t want to look at it. If I am the first teenager in the world to refuse a car, so be it. The Garbage Eater ate tater tots off the floor.
I’m not going to own a car.
May 22
Sat with Sadie at lunch today. Things seem better between us the last couple days. We’re hanging out, eating lunch together, joking around. It’s feeling more natural. Of course, I have begun thinking forward to the weekend. I’m hoping we’ll have sex again.
It’s also been really nice out. People are walking around in shorts and sandals. We had sixth-period social studies outside on the main lawn, right where the Garbage Eater used to do his Buddhist chants. We sprawled on the grass and fell asleep as the teacher droned on about the Three Branches of our Representative Government.
I had the thought: The Garbage Eater fought the administration and he is gone. I did not, and I am still here.
So who won?
May 23
Weirdly hot today. Ninety degrees.
A bunch of seni
ors attempted “senior skip day” and went to the river and promptly got caught. Hard to imagine significant political upheaval from a generation that can’t pull off “senior skip day.”
So now they’re not going to graduate unless they do some makeup class work. Everyone is up in arms about that.
I went looking for Sadie after school but she had already left. I couldn’t find Gabe either, so I had to bus it home. Which sucked.
May 24
Ninety-four degrees today. A record.
People were eating outside at lunch. I sat with some other people, then Sadie and Teresa from Activist Club came and sat with us.
People were talking about the heat wave. Someone mentioned the rise in global temperatures and I joked that maybe a canned food drive would help. I was being sarcastic, of course. When I glanced over at Sadie, she gave me a brutal look.
Later, when everyone else had gone in, Sadie was still glaring at me.
“What?” I said. “I was just trying to be funny.”
“If you don’t respect what I do, just say so. But don’t start making fun of things like the canned food drive.”
“I wasn’t making fun of it, I was just saying—”
“You were making fun of it.”
“I didn’t mean it against you—”
“I don’t care how you meant it. The food drive gives food to people who are hungry.”
“Okay, you’re right. I shouldn’t make fun of that.”
We both sat there, not looking at each other.
“I have to go,” she finally said, wadding up her paper lunch bag.
I watched her walk away. “Jesus,” I said to myself.
After last period, I find Gabe and we walk through the heat toward the parking lot. That’s when I see two girls standing in the loading area. There’s something about them, they stand out for some reason. We get closer. One of them is bizarrely skinny and dressed in this strange tube top thing. I say to Gabe, “Who is that?” Gabe doesn’t know. But as we get closer, I see who it is. It’s Tasha. The eighth grader from Sun River. In short shorts and an eighties tube top thing that’s supposed to look sexy but looks ridiculous on her because she’s fourteen and has no body…