by Pamela Ribon
“I have some money saved up for my college fund,” Smith offered.
I took her hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be okay. Thank you, though.”
She smiled at me, as lines formed on the top of her head, making her look worried. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Man, this sucks. I’ll have the Action Grrlz rally until they hire you back.”
“I’m going to look for something new. Besides, they’d never hire me again. Smith, fifty-seven kids shaved their heads. Do you know how many pissed-off parents that is?”
“I’m already sick of all the popularity.” She popped her gum and puffed her cigarette.
“Poor you,” I said.
Smith laughed. “The best part is this totally fucked up the skinheads. Now these people are walking up to them wanting to talk about racial equality and shit like that. Getting all political on their asses. I love it.”
We watched a group of cheerleaders practicing. Tiny bald girls popped into the air, kicking and cheering, the sun glaring off the tops of their heads.
“It’s all so beautiful,” I said.
“I’m gonna miss you, Miss.” She kicked me in the back of my leg.
“I’ll miss you, too.”
“When does Dale need me for the shoot again?”
“Next month. You think your parents will let you do it?”
“I told them I’m getting paid for it, so I don’t see why not. I think it’ll be fun to make a movie.”
“You’re going to be awesome in it.”
We heard a screechy voice, a warbling birdlike caw calling out behind us. “Doris Smith? Are you smoking?”
We wheeled around to find Mrs. Langston, the cheerleading coach. We tossed our cigarettes far away simultaneously. “No, Miss!” Smith shouted at her.
“What class are you supposed to be in?” Langston asked.
“Homeroom,” Smith mumbled.
“Then get there.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Langston turned and stared at me for a very long time. I was the reason she was dealing with a double-bald basket toss. She turned sharply and stomped away.
I grabbed my things. “Call me if you want to hang out.”
Smith hitched her backpack up. “Dale said we might all get together next weekend and watch the tape of the rally. He had one of his movie friends make some edits for my submission to Hampshire.”
“Sure thing. Doris.”
She kicked dirt at me. “I rage against my name.”
Langston was coming back toward us. We ran away in two different directions.
000073.
Subject: Reason You Might not Like Me Anymore
Kurt,
I shaved my head. And if you ever see me again, I might still be bald. I kind of like the way it feels when the wind blows on the back of my neck. I like having people look at me twice. I like that sometimes I don’t recognize myself in the mirror and I wonder who that girl is with the pretty eyes for just a slight second before I realize it’s me.
I’d like to talk to you, when you get a chance. I have many things I’d like to say, if you’re ready to hear them. Just call. I’ll be home all night.
-Anna
-----
Subject: Hi.
AK,
I don’t know what to say about your head. I’m sure you look stunning, but you always have.
I’m being a chicken shit here. I was going to call you. I can’t. I don’t know how to say this, so I’m going to write it. We’ve always written the big stuff. Right? I think? I feel like it’s easier to write the big stuff. That way I don’t have to hear your voice. I’m a chicken shit. Deep breath. And…
Heather’s back. She wasn’t married. No French frogs. It was all untrue and now she’s back here and coming over in an hour. I’m supposed to figure out what I want. She said it’s going to be up to me.
Can you believe that? I waited all of that time for her to know what she wanted and in the end it’s all about what I want. I guess she wants me. I guess she figured that all out in the time it took for my heart to shatter and mend itself. Isn’t that just fucking great?
I’m mad at her. I’m mad she never called. I’m mad she waited so fucking long. I’m mad it took me falling in love with someone else for her to be pulled back to me. How did she know? How did she know, Anna? Why do things always seem to happen this way? The timing. Why is timing always so fucked up?
I don’t know what I’m going to do. There’s this woman here, finally here where I’ve wished her to be all of this time, and she’s going to be here in my home where I’d been wishing her to be, and now I don’t know if I want it anymore. All I have to do is say yes and I’m back in this relationship that used to be the most important thing in my life.
But now there’s you. But you’re far away. And you were with someone else, but now you’re not, but you could still get back together. We could still get back together. Nothing and everything could happen. Everything’s so fucking complicated.
-K
P.S. I realize I just told you that I’m in love with you. It wasn’t a mistake
-----
000074.
My Head
(Get Out!!!)
23 MARCH
These are the thoughts I’d like out of my head, in no particular order:
The nagging guilt over needing an oil change…the sinking feeling about the boy with the big decision…the craving for McDonald’s French fries…the deep, pitiful shame over still needing to do my laundry…the torture of the theme song to “Punky Brewster” currently playing in my right brain on repeat…the sinking feeling that the boy with the big decision just might make it and never tell me and I’ll just have to figure it out…the worry that tonight I’ll make a complete ass out of myself at the bachelorette party and will attempt to take home a stripper, male or female…the sweating over the dream I had last night where all the pages of this site were gone and replaced with naked pictures of me…the fact that everyone stopped reading my website once they saw me without clothes…the concern that since I’ve never traveled out of this country it makes me less of a person intellectually…the fear over the girl with the veil who will murder me tomorrow if I screw up.
Love until later,
Anna K
000075.
My bridesmaid dress was as itchy as my blond wig, and I could feel my panty hose twisting around my ass, squeezing my thighs like tiny pythons. I excused myself to the bathroom to fix them. It was down the hall from the bridal preparation room and was so small only one of us could go in at a time. I opened the door and almost tripped on Becca. She was on the floor with her head over the toilet and her dress hitched up around her hips.
“Oh, my God!” I said.
“Shut the door. Don’t tell anyone I’m here,” she hissed. “My mom thinks I’m fixing my hair.”
“Are you okay?”
She answered by vomiting into the toilet. I grabbed her veil and tied it in a knot on top of her head.
“Shit,” she muttered through a wracked sob.
“We shouldn’t have had those last tequila shots,” I said. My stomach was still queasy from last night, when I tried driving all thoughts of Kurt out of my head by consuming numerous shots at her bachelorette party. Becca had matched me shot for shot, and before I knew it, five women were having a contest to see who could outdrink the other. Each girl became more passionate than the next about how much she needed a drink and how much she could drink before she was unable to stand upright. It was a bad idea to have a bachelorette party the night before the wedding, but I seemed to be the only one having a hard time bouncing back. The other women swooped into the dressing room early in the morning, showered and beautiful, excited for Becca’s big day. I had shown up half an hour late, still not in makeup, growling at anyone who tried to have a conversation with me before I finished my third cup of coffee.
“I’m not hung over,” Becca said. “I’m terrified.”
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She leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths, wiping her mouth so hard with toilet paper that pieces of it stuck to the corners of her mouth. She carefully dabbed at her eyes, but her mascara had already run.
“Why did I want a wedding? Why? Every single person out there is here because they want to be at a wedding. It’s not about Mark and me. It’s about free booze and dancing and bridesmaid sex. I paid for all of these people to get drunk and in return they bought us knives and sheets. It’s a strange bartering system. It’s not about love.”
I wet a piece of toilet paper in the sink and fixed her makeup. She leaned her head back against the wall. I tried to breathe away from her face as I wished for a mint.
“Everybody is here because they love you, Becca. The wedding is just a way that we all get to be a part of the day you and Mark become a married couple. It’s a ritual. It’s a celebration.”
“It’s a sham. I cheated on Mark and he doesn’t know it and I can’t walk down that aisle.”
I wanted to find a time machine and go back to when my worst problem was crotch pythons. I took a few breaths and waited for the right words to find me.
“Do you love him?”
“I do, Anna. I love him so much. I don’t want to hurt him. But I can’t marry him without telling him the truth. Aren’t relationships supposed to be built on honesty and trust?”
“Not all of them,” I found myself saying.
Becca blew her nose into another piece of toilet paper and tossed it into the toilet with the others.
“Pretend I’m Mark and tell me,” I said. “Do it quickly and then you’ll feel better and then you can go out there and marry him.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “That’s so stupid.”
“You are getting married today, okay? You’re just scared and you’re using this thing as an excuse. You’ve wanted this for a long time. You are getting married today.” I said it again, hoping the words would penetrate her.
“But what if it doesn’t fix everything?” her eyes were brimming with fresh tears. “What if after we get married I still feel like something is missing?”
I didn’t know what to say. But I wasn’t about to break up her wedding, as it was minutes away.
“Becca, everybody feels like something is missing. We all feel that way all the time. That’s what keeps us moving forward. When we’re happy with our love lives, we hate our careers. If we have lots of money, we feel like we’re unloved. You got lots of wedding presents from your guests, so you think that nobody’s really your friend. You’re about to get married, so you think that you’re not good enough to love.”
She snuffed loud and hard. She moaned, “Yeah.”
“Telling Mark you cheated isn’t going to solve anything. If you really need to tell him, you will when the time is right. I can’t think of a worse time.”
“Do you think kissing is cheating?” she asked.
“What?”
She slid her body up along the wall. “When Mark asked me to marry him I got really scared. That night I drove to my ex-boyfriend’s house. We had dated for four years. He’s an idiot, by the way, and I hate that I did this. But I wanted to see if I could still feel something for someone else. I was about to hang it all up and be with Mark forever, and I didn’t know if I was making the right choice. Scott opened the door and I pushed myself into him and kissed him.”
I untied the knot in the veil on top of her head. “What happened?”
“His wife threatened to call the cops. And I felt really good. Like this was the right decision.”
“Then you didn’t cheat on Mark,” I concluded.
Her face relaxed. Her breath caught in her throat and I thought she was going to vomit again. Instead she said, “You’re such a good friend.” She held my arm, her perfectly manicured fingers pressing into my skin. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m sorry Ian almost ruined this.”
Once back in the dressing room, the group of ladies more qualified to address her bridal issues tended to her every need. When she stood at the doorway, bouquet in her trembling hands, she looked beautiful and confident. She gave me a warm smile.
That moment when the music swells and everyone in the church turns to see the bride—that’s what the entire day is about. For just a second everyone in the room is marrying the bride, and this is the first glance at her. She couldn’t possibly be any more perfect.
The entire wedding melted away as I looked at her face beaming from beneath her veil as she marched in step closer to us. I could see her eyes wet with tears. She whispered something in her father’s ear and he laughed. People stood abruptly to take photographs, quickly ducking back down and out of the way—a Whack-a-Mole of wedding guests all capturing a moment in time.
Will that ever be me up there?
As everyone sat down, my eye caught Ian’s. He was standing across from me, a groomsman, and thankfully Becca and Mark hadn’t made him my escort. I was standing across from my ex-boyfriend for as long as it took to unite two souls in holy matrimony. Ian and I held each other’s stares for a moment, and then both looked away.
He always did look incredible in a tux. It did something to his shoulders, and he looked like he was about to pick you up and carry you off into a sunset. I thought about the weddings we had gone to together during our relationship. The one where I ended up getting lost and chased by a goose. The one where we had sex in the basement of the reception hall. The one where he caught the garter and it sat between us on the ride home, bringing up the subject that both of us actively ignored.
We must not have wanted it. Not badly enough. I wondered why I could be so hurt by him when I knew he wasn’t what I wanted forever. I wanted him to be the one who was hurt by all of this. There was sadness in two people breaking up, sure, but what destroyed me was the notion that I wasn’t necessary to someone anymore. I was disposable. I wanted to be the one who walked away. Then I knew I was worth something.
I saw Ian smile out toward the crowd. He gave a quick nod of his head. I followed his glance to a redhead sitting on the groom’s side. That must be her. His new girlfriend. The one who knew him because of me.
I was the reason they were together. They weren’t even grateful. Not only had I gotten them together, I made him the person she loves. I only told the good stories about us. Stupid me—I should have been more honest. I should have talked about his bad habits or the fights we got into over nothing. It was all my doing. I couldn’t stop spilling stories. She loved him because I was never anything but complimentary. She loved him because of how much I loved him.
He owed me, big-time.
I followed her gaze and saw Ian watching her. He was smiling. She waved. He blushed and looked at his shoes. I watched them flirt, listening to the priest explain love and commitment.
I decided to name Ian’s new girlfriend Mitzi. I made her a shoe salesgirl.
Then it was my turn to speak, and I read a poem written by Becca’s father that discussed devotion, honesty, and purity. I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to stand there comparing myself to this girl who had what I no longer wanted. And if I no longer wanted it, why did it kill me to not have it? Why couldn’t I make real progress away from Ian?
After exchanging “I do’s” with Mark and before walking back through the church, Becca ran to me and kissed my cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered. As much as I didn’t want to be standing across from Ian at that moment, I knew that it was a good thing I was.
I started drinking the second we hit the reception. Everyone was dancing and laughing, dental work sparkling in the chandelier light. Children ran around circular tables, threatening to take down tablecloths with each careless step.
I played with the stem of my glass and let my feet slip out of my shoes. They hurt like a bitch.
Ian sat down beside me in a rush of air.
“Hi,” I said quickly.
“I don’t want to talk long,” he said. “But I’d like to know what makes you think yo
u’re entitled to every single relationship of mine?”
I sat up defensively. “Ian, I already apologized.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about Stephanie? She called me last night panicked because she thought I was getting married. She said you were going to a wedding and some guy was going to make a big decision without you. I told you to take that site down.”
People took away whatever they wanted from my entries.
“She just made an assumption. I never said you were getting married. She only e-mailed me once, and she asked me not to tell you.”
“Then she tells me that reading your journal made her feel like she was never very special to me. Seeing how I treated you the same way I treated her made her feel like just some girl.”
I didn’t know what I was about to say, but I knew it wasn’t going to start with an apology. “We do feel less special, Ian. We all do. I wouldn’t have known this before, but you treat us all exactly the same way. We mommy you, and then when you leave we feel like complete failures and furious that you left a better person because of us. Then you keep us hanging on for months, hinting that you might come back, keeping us wondering what we’re supposed to do to get all of your attention.”
“Well, we fucking love ourselves these days, don’t we?” He spat it at me, then drained his champagne glass. It didn’t faze me, as it’s impossible to look tough drinking out of a champagne glass. “You call up all of my exes and tell them that bullshit?” he asked.
“I didn’t tell Stephanie any of that. I didn’t tell her anything. She figured it out on her own. That’s another thing you do, Ian. You date smart girls. Smart girls that wise up eventually.”
He tossed a napkin on the table and stood up. “So when are you going to wise up, Anna?” He leaned down and put his face close to mine. I could smell his breath, still sweet with champagne, but with a sharp twinge of cigarettes. It made me wince as he spoke. “We’re over. We’ve been over. Quit looking like a pathetic puppy.”