and I look for my truck. Where
did I leave the damn thing?
“Uh, th-thanks s-sho much for
a great evening. I have to go.
It’s-sh a long drive home.”
Carl assesses my obvious
condition. I can’t let you
behind the wheel like that.
You can stay the night at my
place. No worries. It’s clean.
“Uh … I d-don’t …” The words
blur. I can’t drive like this.
“Okay.” It’s a short walk
to Carl’s tenth-floor apartment.
Once inside, I call Dad, make up
a lie about staying the night
with some girl I met at a party.
He sounds relieved, but whether
that’s because he can tell I’m drunk
or because of the “girl,” I don’t know.
That accomplished, I take
a long look around. The place
is beautifully decorated. Tall
windows overlook the city.
Someday I’ll live like this.
I have to pee. Again Carl
reads my mind. The guest
bathroom is right there. Oh,
you’ll find new toothbrushes
in the medicine cabinet.
Sounds like a plan. Between
garlic, shallots, whiskey,
and wine, my mouth could
use a good scrub. I take full
advantage of the guest bathroom.
When I come out, smelling
of mouthwash and expensive
lavender soap, Carl is in red silk
pajamas. He hands me a matching
pair. Unless you sleep naked?
His message is clear, in his words
and in his eyes. I have the choice—
leather sofa or feather mattress.
I remember how he said, Lust
will do, and follow him to his bed.
A Poem by Whitney Lang
Follow Me
That’s what he said.
Follow me, and find
the meaning of love
in my bed.
I followed,
found sheets cold
as death. Neither of us
could warm them,
not me, not
him.
Not a maelstrom
of body heat so intense
it felt like fever. After,
we slept, chilled.
He tossed
and turned, lost
in some obnoxious
dream. And when we
woke, he ordered
me away.
Whitney
So Basically
Life sucks even more than it
did before. I mean, everything’s
the same on the Mom and Kyra
front. Kyra went back to Vassar,
along with two suitcases stuffed
with trendy new boutique clothes.
Mom went back to tennis and
whatever else she does at her club.
Dad went back to the city, where
he seems to stay for longer and longer
periods. He and Mom barely speak,
even on those rare occasions when
they happen to be in the same room.
Nothing much new there. What’s
new is no Lucas, and it has nothing
to do with his graduation, fast
approaching. He tells me he has to
study for finals, but we both know
that’s bull. He’ll ace them, like he
aces every test, stoned to the nth
degree or not. He’s brilliant.
Beautiful. And def avoiding me.
Near as I can tell, it started right
after I gave him my virginity.
Since that day, he doesn’t return
my phone calls, and if I happen to
catch him, he always has an excuse
for why he can’t see me. Did I do
something wrong? He won’t even
tell me that much. Only a couple
of weeks until school’s out, plus
summer vacation. Then he’s off
to college in San Diego. Not so far,
but far enough I won’t see him often.
I want to share this time with him,
burn him into memory so I can
find him there when I need him. How
can he be so selfish as to take that
away from me? One thing for sure.
I’m going to find a way to ask him.
The Way Practically Falls
Into my lap. It’s the Friday after
Mother’s Day. (Still musing over
how my mom got mad because
I didn’t give her a card. Some bullshit
sentimental tripe about what a great
mother she is? What’s her doctor
prescribing, and can I get some?)
I’m sitting on the grass at lunch,
not eating as usual, when a shadow
falls over me, drawing my attention.
“What’s up, Skylar?” She’s never
been a friend. What does she want?
Not much, she says. Just wondering
if you’re going to the party tonight.
She stands, left hand perched on
an all too obvious hipbone.
I may not eat much, but I bet
she throws up what she does eat.
Not that I care. “Party? What
party?” I haven’t heard a thing.
She smiles, and something in
how she smiles activates my radar.
There’s a party at Lucas’s house.
You did know about it, didn’t you?
Obviously, she’s pretty sure I didn’t.
But I can’t possibly admit it to her.
“Oh. That party. Um, I haven’t
decided if I’m going yet.”
Really? Her smile grows wider.
Does that mean you and Lucas
aren’t a thing anymore? She looks
like a coyote eyeing a jackrabbit.
Anger—and a fair bit of confusion—
throbs in my temples. What does she
know? “How is my relationship with
Lucas any of your business?”
Her eyes go marble cold. Guess
it isn’t, if there is a relationship.
I heard you two broke up is all.
If I made a mistake, I’m sorry.
Off she goes, clearly knowing
something I don’t. But what?
And how does she know it? Looks
like I’m going to a party tonight.
I Talk Paige
Into driving me. Mom’s not home
when she picks me up, so I leave
a note: Gone to a movie with Paige.
More like a soap opera, probably.
I have no real idea what’s going
to happen, but I’ve got a feeling
it may not be pretty. I’ve been
over and over Skylar’s remarks,
and I can only conclude that Lucas
said something to somebody that
somehow got back around to Skylar.
Well, fine. If he’s having a party,
makes sense he’ll be there. And if
he’s there, he won’t be able to
ignore me. I’ll see to that, though
I will try playing “nice” first.
I don’t feel nice right now. I feel
angry. Ignored. About the same
way I feel around Mom and Kyra.
Suffering from “Nothing Syndrome.”
Lucas Was Supposed to Be
The antidote to that illness.
Instead he has become another
symptom. What is wrong with
me? Why aren’t I worth
loving?
I say none of this to Paige, of course.
She’s thrilled to be going to a party
with real, live guys and probable
substance abuse. Why spoil her fairy tale?
“Hang a left.” We turn into Lucas’s
neighborhood. Holy crud. This isn’t
a party. This is a major sometime-
tonight-a-neighbor-will-call-the-cops
freaking bash. And he didn’t
invite me? My earlier irritation
blossoms into full-bodied anger.
“Hurry up, would you?”
Where am I going to park? whines
Paige, cruising slowly past a mega-line
of cars. Looks like the whole
darn town is here! She turns
the corner and finally spies an empty
slot next to the curb. Always good
to get a little exercise before getting
buzzed, right? She giggles.
Usually I can handle Paige’s goofball
laugh. But not tonight. Not right now.
Still, I’m not going to snap. I’ll save
that for Lucas. Because suddenly,
without a doubt, I know I’ve been
dumped. But why? Why? A wave
of tears swells, hot and salty.
“Come on. I think I need a drink.”
There’s Plenty to Drink
People leak out of Lucas’s house,
onto the porch and lawn. Some
I recognize. Others I don’t, but
they all pretty much have one
thing in common—sixteen-ounce
red plastic party cups. “Let’s go
find the alcohol.” I don’t wait
for Paige’s response, just push
through the crowd, into the house.
I’ve only been here twice before,
and both times it was a lot emptier.
The alcohol seems to be in the kitchen,
at least that’s where most of the noise
is. I work my way through the human
knot, stopping twice to take a hit
off lit blunts. By the time I reach
the kitchen, I’ve got a nice little
pot buzz going on, something to
mellow the fog of anger. At least
until I walk through the door.
to find Lucas, zipper to zipper
with Skylar. No. How can that
be? Oh! My! God! That whore
was effing taunting me!
Not Only That
But she wanted me to come tonight,
wanted me to see them together.
I played right into it too. Well,
if she wants me in her face,
I’m all the way there. I stomp right
up to them, push between them.
“Excuse the hell out of me!”
Directed at Lucas, who is totally
blown away by my being here,
and not just at the party, but right
here, pressed up against him.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
Directed over my shoulder at
Skylar, who backs out of my way,
grinning like Hannibal Lecter
in Silence of the Lambs.
Lucas gives me the stupidest
huh? look ever. “What?” I spit.
“Didn’t expect me? Well, FYI, your—
your—friend, there, invited me.”
Now he looks confused. Friend—
who—what—what do you want,
Whitney? He glances back and forth
between Skylar and me, unsure
of what I’ll do next. I’ll make it easy,
not that he deserves it. “All I want
is to talk to you. I think you owe
me at least that much, don’t you?”
Uh, yeah … sure … He dares turn
toward Skylar, as if asking for her
permission. He never treated me
with such respect. Tears threaten.
No. Won’t cry. I make my voice
hard. “I’m sure she doesn’t mind,
do you, Skylar?” She shakes her head,
and I dismiss her. “Good. Lucas,
I’ll meet you in your bedroom,
okay?” He exits the kitchen without
looking at either of us. I start to
follow, change my mind.
First I Pour
A hefty shot (okay, more like four)
of Cuervo Gold. No need to bother
with salt or limes, no worries
about tequila burn going down.
It feels good. Great. May make me sick
tomorrow, but it’s stoking the courage
I’m in desperate need of. Another stiff
pour and I head for Lucas’s bedroom,
feeling tequila heat creep back up
from my belly, all the way to my face.
My ears are ringing too. Hope I can
remember the way to his bedroom.
Both times I was here before, that’s
exactly where we ended up. Nothing
major happened then, but now I wish
it would have. At least if it’s over
between us, and it’s def looking that
way. But why? I still don’t get what
happened. All I did was finally say
okay. All I did was say, “I love you.”
Lucas Is Sitting on the Bed
Wearing a completely unexpected
expression—pity. Can that be right?
What the hell? A deep swallow
of Cuervo sandpapers my throat.
I go over to Lucas, drop down on
my knees, rest my hands on his legs,
look up into his eyes, “Lucas, will
you please tell me what’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and
for some stupid reason, that makes
me think there’s hope for us. But
when he finally speaks, his voice
is ice. When you first told me you
were a virgin, I didn’t believe you.
But when I figured out you were telling
the truth, I totally wanted to pop your
cherry. You were my first virgin, and
you’ll probably be my last. Because …
sorry, but virgin sex really isn’t very good.
I jerk my hands off his legs, wobble
to my feet. “F-fuck you! I c-c-can’t
believe tha’sh all I meant to you.” One
more gulp and I repeat, “Fuck you!”
I Stumble Out the Door
Go in search of Paige. I have to
get the hell out of here! My heart
knocks in my chest. My face is on
fire—with booze and embarrassment.
How could I have believed he loved
me? How could I have given my love
to such an asshole? “Paige?” Did I just
yell that? Everyone is staring. Maybe
that’s because tears cascade down my
face, which is probably streaked black
with mascara. “Has anyone seen Paige?”
Someone points toward the living room,
where my dear friend Paige has hooked
up with some guy I sort of recognize
from school. They’re making out like …
like they’re really into each other.
She looks at me, clearly torn between
wanting to help me and preferring to stay
right where she is. “Never mind,” I say.
“I’ll find another ride home.” On my
way to the front door, I pass Skylar,
staring at me with—fuck that!—pity.
“Hope you’re not a virgin. Oh, wait.
Forgot who I’m talking to.”
Now What?
I go outside, sit on the sidewalk, will
myself not to get sick. Can’t call Mom
to pick me up, not here. Don’t know if
I’ve got enough cash for a taxi home.
I reach into my purse, find my wallet.
When I open it, a business card falls
out. Perfect Poses Photography.
Wha … ? At the bottom is a name.
Bryn Dawson. Bryn? Oh yeah,
hot monkey, the guy from the mall.
I remember his face, the way his eyes
looked at me. Don’t suppose he …
Nah, Friday night, he’s out somewhere,
with some hot female orangutan.
So why does my hand reach
for my cell phone, and why do my
fingers dial his number? One ring …
This is stupid. And now he’ll have my
number. Two rings … Hang up, stupid.
I can just imagine Paige, asking me
what the hey I’m thinking. Three rings …
See? He’s so out with someone else.
And why would you think, even if he
wasn’t, that he’d even remember you?
Must Be Fate
Because someone, I’m assuming him,
answers on the fourth ring. “Bryn?
This is Whitney. You probably don’t
remember me, but we met at the mall
and you gave me your card. …”
Definitely must be fate, because he
does remember me. I break down
into an inebriated crying binge.
He’ll hang up now for sure. But
when I tell him, “Sh-shorry to bug
you, but something bad just happened
and I really need a ride. …”
He barely hesitates before he answers,
No problem, Whitney. Always happy
to help a damsel in distress. Give me
twenty minutes. And directions.
A Poem by Ginger Cordell
Directions
Why doesn’t life come
with them? “Go straight
until you hit sixteen, take a
right,
then proceed slowly
until you’re positive
it’s okay to hang a
left
toward where you belong.”
I guess in someone else’s world,
parents are road maps,
who tell you
which way
is the correct direction
to travel. But without
a map, how
do I
know the best route?
Without guidance,
how do I know
which way to
go?