guy Ray who really wants to be with me and I do, too, but . . .”
“If he’s a pleasant fellow and it feels right, then why not?” she asks.
“I don’t know if I love him. I mean, Ray’s nice and he brings me CDs that he knows I’ll like. His clothes are always neat and clean and he takes me to real restaurants instead of college hangouts. I’ve invited him to come and visit this Friday before he leaves for New York. So it’s sort of now or never.” I decide not to go into detail about the ultimatum.
“As the great Persian poet Rumi wrote, you must open your hands if you want to be held,” she quotes.
One could easily assume it’s Olivia’s firm belief that some well-placed verse has the capacity to solve most of the world’s problems.
“But for the rest of my life he’ll always be the first,” I say.
“Yes, eventually somebody has to be,” she agrees. “Now, do I need to give you The Talk?”
“Yes. I need
all
the talks.”
I turn my face back to the wall and this time Olivia doesn’t seem to mind speaking to the back of my head.
“Number one, don’t make the mistake I made. Be sure to tell him it’s your first time. And I certainly wouldn’t count on any orgasms in the near future.”
Quickly turning my face back around I give her a questioning look.
“You know, climaxes,” she says.
“Yes, I mean, I’ve read . . .”
“Men have them all the time, of course, but it can take years for women to have a single one while actually making love.”
“Why?”
“Same old story, like they say about Ginger Rogers—she did everything that Fred Astaire did, except on six inch heels and backward.”
“But it doesn’t seem fair,” I say. “We have the hymen, we have the cramps, we have the babies, and we don’t get the orgasms for maybe years! What do we get?”
“A higher threshold for pain.” Olivia smiles wryly. “And believe me, it comes in handy when you sew children’s Halloween costumes.”
“That’s it?” I ask. “That’s The Talk?”
“Well, there’s one other good thing for the girls,” she says slyly.
“Please tell me before I have a sex change.”
“Multiple orgasms.”
“Maybe
that
explains my mother having nine kids.”
“Speaking of
children,
be sure to use a condom. Men think they’re the only ones who despise them, when they’re universally abhorred. If only the Christians understood that free condoms can advance committed relationships and the institution of marriage more than all the abstinence crusades and prayer vigils in the world.”
“In health class they taught abstinence,” I say.
“That’s because the so-called ‘educators’ hired by parochially minded school board members are afraid that teaching safe sex will encourage promiscuity. Yet they claim to teach English and I don’t see anyone running around speaking
it
properly.”
“What about afterward?” I ask. “Then will I know whether or not we’re truly in love?”
Olivia runs her fingers over my disheveled hair. “Sometimes you don’t search for love, exactly, but for what makes you feel alive.”
I let out a teenage moan. It’s all too complicated. However, I know what’s not alive, and that’s the gardens. It’s time to get to work on both the yard and then the design competition. Love will have to wait.
“I’d better start working on the lawn while I can still use the mower and not a scythe,” I say.
Olivia rises and looks out the window. “It’s such a shame to cut the grass. Grass is so democratic. Walt Whitman said it was the handkerchief of the Lord and also the beautiful uncut hair of graves.”
“Well, Bernard is currently paying me fifteen dollars an hour to give the grass a crew cut,” I say. “But definitely call me if Mr. Whitman is offering twenty to leave it alone.”
Chapter Seventeen
THE YARD IS READY TO BE CONDEMNED BY THE DEPARTMENT OF Agriculture. In the way back, just beyond the orchard, where the woods begin, I spy a
“If he’s a pleasant fellow and it feels right, then why not?” she asks.
“I don’t know if I love him. I mean, Ray’s nice and he brings me CDs that he knows I’ll like. His clothes are always neat and clean and he takes me to real restaurants instead of college hangouts. I’ve invited him to come and visit this Friday before he leaves for New York. So it’s sort of now or never.” I decide not to go into detail about the ultimatum.
“As the great Persian poet Rumi wrote, you must open your hands if you want to be held,” she quotes.
One could easily assume it’s Olivia’s firm belief that some well-placed verse has the capacity to solve most of the world’s problems.
“But for the rest of my life he’ll always be the first,” I say.
“Yes, eventually somebody has to be,” she agrees. “Now, do I need to give you The Talk?”
“Yes. I need
all
the talks.”
I turn my face back to the wall and this time Olivia doesn’t seem to mind speaking to the back of my head.
“Number one, don’t make the mistake I made. Be sure to tell him it’s your first time. And I certainly wouldn’t count on any orgasms in the near future.”
Quickly turning my face back around I give her a questioning look.
“You know, climaxes,” she says.
“Yes, I mean, I’ve read . . .”
“Men have them all the time, of course, but it can take years for women to have a single one while actually making love.”
“Why?”
“Same old story, like they say about Ginger Rogers—she did everything that Fred Astaire did, except on six inch heels and backward.”
“But it doesn’t seem fair,” I say. “We have the hymen, we have the cramps, we have the babies, and we don’t get the orgasms for maybe years! What do we get?”
“A higher threshold for pain.” Olivia smiles wryly. “And believe me, it comes in handy when you sew children’s Halloween costumes.”
“That’s it?” I ask. “That’s The Talk?”
“Well, there’s one other good thing for the girls,” she says slyly.
“Please tell me before I have a sex change.”
“Multiple orgasms.”
“Maybe
that
explains my mother having nine kids.”
“Speaking of
children,
be sure to use a condom. Men think they’re the only ones who despise them, when they’re universally abhorred. If only the Christians understood that free condoms can advance committed relationships and the institution of marriage more than all the abstinence crusades and prayer vigils in the world.”
“In health class they taught abstinence,” I say.
“That’s because the so-called ‘educators’ hired by parochially minded school board members are afraid that teaching safe sex will encourage promiscuity. Yet they claim to teach English and I don’t see anyone running around speaking
it
properly.”
“What about afterward?” I ask. “Then will I know whether or not we’re truly in love?”
Olivia runs her fingers over my disheveled hair. “Sometimes you don’t search for love, exactly, but for what makes you feel alive.”
I let out a teenage moan. It’s all too complicated. However, I know what’s not alive, and that’s the gardens. It’s time to get to work on both the yard and then the design competition. Love will have to wait.
“I’d better start working on the lawn while I can still use the mower and not a scythe,” I say.
Olivia rises and looks out the window. “It’s such a shame to cut the grass. Grass is so democratic. Walt Whitman said it was the handkerchief of the Lord and also the beautiful uncut hair of graves.”
“Well, Bernard is currently paying me fifteen dollars an hour to give the grass a crew cut,” I say. “But definitely call me if Mr. Whitman is offering twenty to leave it alone.”
Chapter Seventeen
THE YARD IS READY TO BE CONDEMNED BY THE DEPARTMENT OF Agriculture. In the way back, just beyond the orchard, where the woods begin, I spy a
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