by Judy Blume
I got the feeling that Mom was talking about her old boyfriend so my father would see that it didn’t matter about Michael and me going together.
Then Dad surprised me by saying, “I went steady twice.”
“You?” I asked.
“Once when I was in tenth grade . . . I gave her my I.D. bracelet . . . and once when I was a freshman in college.”
He and Mom started reminiscing about their college days. I didn’t tell them that with Michael and me it’s different. That it’s not just some fifties fad, like going steady. That with us it is love—real, true honest-to-god love.
The next morning, at breakfast, Dad said, “I still think you’d be happier if you weren’t tied down to one boy.”
“You don’t understand,” I explained. “I’m not unhappy. I just miss him.”
“What about next year?” Mom asked. “You’re going to be apart then.”
My mother’s question sent me rushing to my guidance counselor first thing. When she saw me she said, “Oh, Katherine . . . I was just working on the final arrangements for Career Day . . . April 25 is just around the corner.”
“This isn’t about Career Day,” I said.
“Then what?”
“I’ve got to apply to another school . . . right away.”
“It’s late to apply,” she said.
“I know . . . but this is an emergency.”
She took my folder out of her files. “Let’s see . . .” she said, thumbing through it, “you’ve applied to Michigan, Penn State and Denver . . . all good schools.”
“But I really want to go to University of Vermont . . . either there or Middlebury.”
“Why this sudden change?”
“I’ve got a friend . . . and we want to be together.”
“Have you discussed this with your parents?”
“Not yet . . .”
“I’ll need their permission and even so . . . I can’t promise you anything . . . Middlebury’s tough and Vermont takes their own first.”
“I’m sure I can get my parents’ permission by tomorrow.”
But later, when I told Mom, she said, “No!” Just like that. “I don’t think that’s wise . . . you’ve already applied to three schools.”
“But Mom . . . you know what it’s like for me this week . . . being away from him.”
“You can see each other on vacations . . . and even weekends now and then . . . and if it’s that serious between you it’ll grow while you’re apart.”
“You really believe that?” I asked.
“Yes, Kath . . . I do. And you can always transfer after two years . . . or he can.”
“I thought you’d be on my side,” I said.
“I am,” she told me.
Just when I was feeling really down, knowing that we can’t be together next year, and that now I faced another weekend without him, the phone rang. It was Michael.
“I’m home,” he said.
“But today’s only Friday.”
“I know . . . I took the train . . . I got back this morning.”
“Wasn’t the skiing any good?”
“It was super.”
“Then why’d you come back early?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
When I answered the door two hours later, he took my hand and kind of brushed my cheek with his face.
“Hi,” I managed to say.
We went to the 8:00 movie and after it, on the way back to the car, Michael said, “Guess what I have?”
“VD?” I asked, laughing. I expected Michael to crack up over my joke, but he didn’t.
“Why’d you say a stupid thing like that?” he said, seriously.
“I don’t know . . . it just popped out.”
“That means it’s in your subconscious.”
“It is not! It was just the way you said it . . . you sounded like that commercial where the boy calls the girl and then she calls another boy and he . . .”
“Yeah . . . I’ve seen it.”
“I didn’t mean for you to take it personally.”
“Well, I did.”
“I’m sorry . . .”
“I had it once.”
We stopped walking and dropped hands. “You had VD?”
“I got it from this girl in Maine . . . the only time I ever got laid.”
“You’ve only been laid once?”
“Well, twice . . . but with the same girl.”
“That’s all?”
“What do you mean, that’s all? What’d you expect?”
“I don’t know . . . I thought you had lots of experience.”
“Yeah, well . . . the clap turned me off for a while.”
“I can imagine,” I said. We started walking again, this time without holding hands. “Did you tell the girl in Maine?”
“I couldn’t . . . I didn’t even know her last name. She was just somebody I met on the beach.”
“Oh.”
“Look, Kath . . . that was last summer . . . so don’t go worrying about it . . . I’m fine now.”
“Who said anything about worrying?” I asked, but I must have looked like something was wrong because Michael said, “Then what?”
“You should never take chances.”
“That’s easy for you to say . . . you always think of everything, don’t you?”
“I try to . . .”
We got to the car and Michael unlocked the door. “You probably never took a chance in your life.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, sliding into my seat.
“Nothing . . . forget it.” He got in, banged his fists against the steering wheel and said, “Oh, shit!”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He looked straight ahead.
“Can’t you at least tell me what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know . . .” he finally answered. “I’ve been waiting to be with you all week and now nothing’s going right. I’m all tangled up inside.”
“Same here,” I said.
“Damn . . .” he reached for me. We held each other and then, for some stupid reason I started to cry, which I never do, especially in front of other people.
“Don’t, Kath . . . please . . .”
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“Look,” he said, “let’s start over . . . okay?”
I nodded, then took out a tissue and blew my nose.
“Guess what I have?” Michael asked again.
This time I said, “I give up . . . what?”
“The key to my sister’s apartment.”
“That’s what you were trying to tell me before?”
“Uh huh.”
I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. The more I thought about it, the funnier it seemed, and the harder I laughed. In a minute Michael was laughing with me. He took my hand. “So . . . you want to go there?” he said.
“I’m not sure.”
“We don’t have to do anything . . . we can just talk.”
12
Sharon and Ike live in a garden apartment in Springfield. All the outside doors are painted green. “I hope nobody thinks we’re trying to break in,” I said, as Michael put the key in the lock, “because there’s an old lady watching us.” I pointed to a window.
“Don’t worry about her.” Michael pushed the door open. “That’s Mrs. Cornick . . . she lives downstairs . . . she’s always in the window.” He waved at her and she dropped the shade. “Come on . . . their place is upstairs.”
The stairs led into the living room. “It’s nice,” I said, looking around. There wasn’t much furniture but they had a fantastic Persian rug and three posters of chimpanzees riding bicycles. I walked over to a plant and held up a leaf. “Too much water . . . that’s why the edges are turning brown.”
“I’ll tell Sharon you said so.”
“No, don’t . . . then she’ll know I’ve been here.”
“So?”
“So, I just don’t want her to kn
ow . . . okay?”
“I don’t see why . . . but okay. You want something to eat?
“Maybe . . .” We went to the kitchen which was small and narrow with no outside window.
Michael opened the refrigerator. “How about an apple . . . or a grapefruit? That’s about all I see.”
“I’ll have an apple.”
He polished it off on his shirt, then tossed it to me. “I’ll show you around the place,” he said.
Since I’d already seen the living room and the kitchen we started with the bathroom. “Notice the indoor plumbing.” Michael demonstrated how to flush the toilet.
“Very interesting,” I told him.
“And hot and cold running water.” He turned on both faucets.
“Luxurious.”
“Also, a genuine bathtub.” He stepped into it and I pulled the curtain around him. While he was in there I wrapped the apple core in some toilet paper and hid it in my pocketbook. Michael jumped out of the tub, grabbed my hand and said, “Onward . . .”
We both knew there was just one room left to see. “Presenting . . .” Michael said, and he bowed, “the bedroom.”
There was a brass bed, covered with a patchwork quilt and a LOVE poster hanging on the wall, above it. There were also two small chests, piled high with books.
Michael jumped up and down on the bed while I watched from the doorway. “Good mattress . . .” he said, “nice and firm . . . in case you’re interested.”
“For jumping, you mean?”
“For whatever . . .” he lay down and looked at the ceiling. “Kath . . .”
“Hmmm . . .”
“Come here . . .”
“I thought we were just going to talk.”
“We are . . . but you’re so far away . . . I don’t want to shout.”
“I can hear you fine.”
“Cut it out . . . will you?”
I went to the bed and sat on the edge. “There’s one thing I’d really like to know . . .”
“What’s that?”
“Have you brought any other girls up here?”
“Your jealous streak is showing.”
“I admit it . . . but I still want to know.”
“Never,” he said. “I’ve never brought a girl up here.”
“Good.”
“Because I just got my own key.”
“You rat!” I yelled, grabbing a pillow and swatting him with it.
“Hey . . .” He knocked the pillow out of my hands and pinned me down on the bed. Then he kissed me.
“Let me go, Michael . . . please.”
“I can’t . . . you’re too dangerous.”
“I’ll be good . . . I promise.”
He let go of my arms and I wrapped them around him and we kissed again.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, looking down at me.
“Don’t say things like that . . .”
“Why, do they embarrass you?”
“Yes.”
“Okay . . . you’re ugly! You’re so ugly you make me want to puke.” He turned away and leaned over the side of the bed making this terrible retching noise.
“Michael . . . you’re crazy . . . stop it . . . I can’t stand that!”
“Okay.”
We lay next to each other kissing, and soon Michael unbuttoned my sweater and I sat up and unhooked my bra for him. While I slipped out of both, Michael pulled his sweater over his head. Then he held me. “You feel so good,” he said, kissing me everywhere. “I love to feel you next to me. You’re as soft as Tasha.”
I started to laugh.
“What?” Michael asked.
“Nothing . . .”
“I love you, Kath.”
“And I love you,” I said, “even though you’re an outsy.”
“What’s an outsy?”
“Your belly button sticks out,” I said, tracing it with my fingers.
“That’s not the only thing that sticks out.”
“Michael . . . we’re talking about belly buttons.”
“You are . . .”
“I was explaining that you’re an outsy and I’m an insy . . . you see how mine goes in?”
“Umm . . .” he said, kissing it.
“Do belly buttons have a taste?” I asked.
“Yours does . . . it’s delicious . . . like the rest of you.” He unbuckled my jeans, then his own.
“Michael . . . I’m not sure . . . please . . .”
“Shush . . . don’t say anything.”
“But Michael . . .”
“Like always, Kath . . . that’s all . . .”
We both left on our underpants but after a minute Michael was easing mine down and then his fingers began exploring me. I let my hands wander across his stomach and down his legs and finally I began to stroke Ralph.
“Oh, yes . . . yes . . .” I said, as Michael made me come. And he came too.
We covered up with the patchwork quilt and rested. Michael fell asleep for a while and I watched him, thinking the better you know a person the more you can love him. Do two people ever reach the point where they know absolutely everything there is to know about each other? I leaned over and touched his hair. He didn’t move.
The next night Michael picked me up at 7:30 and we headed straight for the apartment. I knew we would. Neither one of us could wait to be alone together. And when we were naked, in each other’s arms, I wanted to do everything—I wanted to feel him inside me. I don’t know if he sensed that or not but when he whispered, “Please, Kath . . . please let’s keep going . . .” I told him, “Yes, Michael . . . yes . . . but not here . . . not on the bed.”
“Yes . . . here . . .” he said, moving over me.
“No, we can’t . . . I might bleed.”
He rolled away from me. “You’re right . . . I forgot about that . . . I’ll get something.”
He came back with a beach towel. “Down here,” I called, because he couldn’t find me in the dark.
“On the floor?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“The floor’s too hard.”
“I don’t mind . . . and we won’t have to worry about stains.”
“This is crazy.”
“Please, Michael . . . just give me the towel . . . I hope it’s not a good one.”
He lay down next to me. “It’s freezing down here,” he said.
“I know . . .”
He jumped up and grabbed the quilt off the bed. We snuggled under it. “That’s better.” He put his arms around me.
“Look,” I said, “you might as well know . . . I’m scared out of my mind.”
“Me too.”
“But you’ve at least had some experience.”
“Not with anyone I love.”
“Thank you,” I said, kissing the side of his face.
He ran his hands up and down my body but nothing happened. I guess I was too nervous. “Michael . . . do you have something?” I asked.
“What for?” he said, nibbling my neck.
“You know . . .”
“Didn’t you finish your period?”
“Last week . . . but I’m not taking any chances.”
“If you’re thinking about VD I promise I’m fine.”
“I’m thinking about getting pregnant. Every woman has a different cycle.”
“Okay . . . okay . . .” he stood up. “I’ve got a rubber in my wallet . . . if I can just find it.” He looked around for his pants, found them on the floor next to the bed, then had to put on the light to find the rubber. When he did he held it up. “Satisfied?” he asked, turning the light off again.
“I will be when you put it on.”
He kneeled beside me and rolled on the rubber. “Anything else?”
“Don’t be funny now . . . please . . .”
“I won’t . . . I won’t . . .” he said and we kissed. Then he was on top of me and I felt Ralph, hard, against my thigh. Just when I thought, Oh God . . . we’re really and truly going to do it, Michael
groaned and said, “Oh no . . . no . . . I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry . . .”
“What’s wrong?”
“I came . . . I don’t know what to say. I came before I even got in. I ruined it . . . I ruined everything.”
“It’s all right,” I told him. “It’s okay . . . really.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe not to you . . .”
“It could have been all that talking. We shouldn’t have talked so much.”
“Next time it’ll be better,” Michael said. “I promise . . . Ralph won’t fail me twice.”
“Okay.” I took his hand and kissed it.
“Let’s just sleep for a while, then we can try again.”
“I’m not tired,” I said, “but I’m very hungry.”
“There’s nothing to eat here.”
“We could go out.”
“Get dressed and go out?”
“Why not?”
“Yeah . . . I suppose we could,” he said.
We went to Stanley’s for hamburgers and on the way back to the apartment we stopped at a drugstore so Michael could buy some more rubbers. I stayed in the car.
“Let’s try the living room,” Michael said when we got back.
“I couldn’t . . . not on that beautiful rug.”
“Oh, hell . . . it’s got so many colors nothing would show on it anyway . . . and it’s softer than the wood floor.”
“I don’t know . . .” I said, looking at the rug.
“I’ll double up the towel.” He spread it out. “There . . . that should take care of it.”
This time I tried to relax and think of nothing—nothing but how my body felt—and then Ralph was pushing against me and I whispered, “Are you in . . . are we doing it?”
“Not yet,” Michael said, pushing harder. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t worry . . . just do it!”
“I’m trying, Kath . . . but it’s very tight in there.”
“What should I do?”
“Can you spread your legs some more . . . and maybe raise them a little?”
“Like this?”
“That’s better . . . much better.”
I could feel him halfway inside me and then Michael whispered, “Kath . . .”
“What?”
“I think I’m going to come again.”
I felt a big thrust, followed by a quick sharp pain that made me suck in my breath. “Oh . . . oh,” Michael cried, but I didn’t come. I wasn’t even close. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I couldn’t hold off.” He stopped moving. “It wasn’t any good for you, was it?”