It’s exam week, which as a music major is a piece of cake, because all the actual high-stakes performance tests (recitals, juries) are already over. Now it’s just easy stuff like Theory. That was Monday, along with Sociology. I had nothing yesterday or today.
Last night I slept with Leslie—literally. No sex. It was nice, but left me feeling weird. I had gone to open mic for the 3rd time, found the courage to play a couple of tunes on Cameron’s guitar, and then we all went across the street to the Corner Bar where the cool kids continued to sneak me portions of their pitchers of beer despite the Xs on my hands. Leslie began to make noises about not being able to drive home. “You walkt here, right? Could you drive me in my truck back to my place so I don’t get a DUI?” Sure. She gave me her keys; I gave her my coat. Everyone waved goodbye. On our way towards her old beater Ford on State Street she started leaning on me, all 100 pounds of her. Once we were in the cab she said “We could just go to your dorm, you know, since I live over in Sylvan Park—” Yeah, I wouldn’t want her to have to drive me back in the morning, that might be awkward. Found a parking spot on 18th, then as we’re walking up I’m explaining that my roommate is there but he’s probably asleep and also that we share a bathroom with the RA so keeping quiet is a must. Fine with her, no problem. “Les is more,” I thought.
Tiptoeing and whispering louder than we likely realized, we enterd the dark, stuffy air of the above-ground concrete bunker that is Killebrew 314. I clickt on my reading light. To my shock & horror, this illuminated the bathroom door and Jordan’s print-out of a poopdick that he’d put there over Fall Break. We never botherd to take it down. “Is that a turd?” Leslie askt. I could hear Sean in his bed, stifling laughter. “Yeah, you can ignore that,” I said & quickly switched on the lava lamp instead.
She was already climbing onto the thin, uncomfortable mattress that the school provides, jeans & everything. She’d only taken off her shoes. I slid in next to her and she immediately wrapt her teeny arms around me and prest her face against the side of my neck, sighing. My heart was thumping hard. I wasn’t about to reveal my virginity, but then again she wasn’t being too handsy, either—plus she was drunk. Her breath was boozy & hoppy. We were kissing for a while until I offerd her an Altoid, which seemed to finally kill the mood.
I didn’t get very much sleep. I stayed awake marvelling at the situation, trying to treasure each detail: her curly blonde hair, cherubic cheeks, soft lips, shoulderblades, smooth skin, long eyelashes, her polka-dot thermal top—she does kinda resemble Patti Mayonnaise after all.
Sean was up & gone by 7:30. I rold out of bed sometime after 8, still fully clothed, and booted up my iMac. Its startup chime woke Leslie. She definitely was not as thrild to be here as she seemed the night before. My desktop background is a pic of Frusciante from his early days with RHCP, where his hair’s real short & he has his original teeth (and hence his natural mouth-shape). She goes “Is that your boyfriend?” and rather than saying no that’s that guitarist I was telling you & Cam about last night I just said “Yup.”
She yawnd. “So, what—you charm girls back to your bed, and then don’t fuck them, huh.”
This was a big surprize. “I was charming you?”
As a high school senior I took an English literature course at the community college in Smyrna for dual credit, and met a girl about the same age as Les—21 or 22—named Miranda. Turns out she’d workt at the movie theater with some of my friends, went on a few dates with one in particular, nothing heavy. I later found out she has something of a cocaine habit as well. (It’s why I was sorta reluctant to try it with Ceej & Ryan.) Anyway, one cloudy day in April about a week after my birthday she invites me to drink rum at her place after class, and much like last night I stupidly agree, all innocent, never suspecting a thing—well, actually, when we started fooling around on the floor between the couch & TV I suspected she might give me head. With the ample false confidence of having just turned 18, and there’s liquor in my gut & it’s the first time a real, live woman is right next to me, showing femininity thru body language & the way hers fit against mine (unlike the tomboyish teenage limbs & torso of my singular high school girlfriend)—I suggested we move in that direction.
And it was the wrong thing to say. Miranda wanted to take things slow; she really liked me, had a crush on me since the day I walkt into class, wonderd aloud if I would even feel the same way tomorrow… I fuckt up a second time & honestly replied that I didn’t know what tomorrow would be like. Thirty minutes later she was driving me home in tears, with her brights on in the rain because her low beams don’t work.
So today Leslie gives me a kiss on the cheek goodbye, in spite of everything that had gone poorly this time. I watched her go, skinny & lithe, down to her truck, away on the dusty streets in the drab December morn. Sat here thinking, Did I lead her on? Whatever happend to taking things slow? Hell.