“The blue one is too tight. And my bra isn’t really thick enough to cover, uh, you know.” I knew my counter-arguments would be refuted. I knew that I was going to walk out of that room with the blue shirt, whether I wanted to or not. “No, no, no, Audrey. That’s the whole point of the blue shirt!” She gave me a look half filled with pity and half with embarrassment for being related to me. It was a look she gave often. A look she gave when explaining to her friends that she would be attending my fencing competitions in lieu of partying. I was used to the look. “I don’t know, Janelle. I don’t want to come across as some sort of slut. The shirt makes me—“ “Yes you do! Listen. Right now, Eric thinks you’re a nerdy girl who likes to fence and gets good grades and doesn’t really say much in class. You need to convince him that you’re a nerdy girl who likes to fence, gets good grades, doesn’t say much in class, and has a great body. I know you don’t like thinking that, but it’s the bottom line.” There she went again with her theories. “I can’t help but feel there’s more to it than that. I need to believe there’s more to it than that.” “There will be, by the time you’re twenty-five. Until then, you need to wear the blue shirt, giggle at his jokes, and pretend to be only slightly put-off by his sexual innuendos. Everything else will take care of itself.” The truth is, I didn’t even really care about Eric. To be honest, most of the guys I did care about and—to be even more honest, a lot of the guys I didn’t care about—seldom even acknowledged my existence. Eric, I suppose, was different in that I sort of cared about him and, in turn, he sort of acknowledged my existence. Tonight is our first date. And, actually, tonight is my first date with anyone. I hate taking Janelle’s advice on these sorts of things, but she’s my default option. I have no one else. And there’s no way I can trust my own instincts on these things. I got up, breathed in deeply, sighed melodramatically for Janelle’s entertainment, and put on the blue shirt. We were sitting on my bed, Janelle and I. She was trying to contain her laughter while I was trying to contain a wetter expression of emotion. She got up suddenly, silently, and shut the door. She stared at the ground as she spoke. “I’m sorry. This isn’t funny, I know. It seems like life to you right now. It seems like the world, but it’s not. Think about it. When you’re twenty-five, you’ll be at some all-night restaurant with your friends and you’ll tell this story. It’ll get better with age, though, like wine or internet speeds. And you’ll embellish a bit. And you’ll omit the superfluous stuff. And you’ll be left with a sense of nostalgia for this time, right now. Right here. Sitting on your bed and explaining the story to me.” Did she have to put herself in all of my stories? Did she have to force her way into my horrible date anecdote? I let out a chuckle at the thought of this, but I didn’t explain why. I didn’t feel it needed an explanation. She would make her own up, anyway. And it would be far less hurtful and far more imaginative than the truth. “See,” she said. “You’re starting to warm up to the idea of having gotten this over with. It’s already starting to become funny.” “It’s not that, I just—” I began to trail off. I jerked my head down and diagonally to the left. “I just wonder if Eric will be telling the same story. You know, when he’s twenty-five.” “We can only hope he waits until he’s twenty five to tell the story.” Janelle was right and I hadn’t even thought of that. Eric would tell everyone he knew about tonight. It would spread around my high school like herpes. I would soon be known as the nerdy girl who gets good grades and likes to fence and doesn’t say much and— I began quietly laughing at the thought of it. Janelle, finally sensing a release to the tension, joined me. Eventually our quiet laughter grew, evolved. Our hysterical energy bounced back and forth between us, both squinty eyed, both holding our stomachs, both bouncing up and down like buoys in a storm. I was thinking of the thick skin yet to be grown, of the defense mechanisms my mind was already situating. I won’t care what anyone else thinks about me, I thought, knowing the thought to be a lie. But I kept laughing. And so did Janelle, until we simultaneously sighed out of exhaustion, which made us laugh harder. And then we thought of why we were even laughing, and neither of us could place it. It was out there somewhere, maybe, along with the answers that Janelle thought she knew and the questions I was too afraid to ask. And maybe we’d never find it. And maybe Janelle would stick to false sincerity and aphoristic knowledge. And maybe I would stick to fencing. And living within my mind. And never realizing what makes certain people say or do certain things, myself, plaintively, included. Then Janelle tried to open my door to leave, but the doorknob broke off into her hand. And we both just sort of chuckled until she looked down at her hand, then up at me; a look half filled with amazement, and half with guilt. To assuage her and, possibly myself, I looked back and uttered, “Now that’s funny.” |