too.”
“We only did it once like that,” I tell her.
“You know how they are,” she says.
I do. All the boys in Jeff’s crowd are obsessed with anything concerning sex. One ripped off a tag from an airplane life jacket that said jerk to inflate, and he wore it in his fly for the day until a teacher made him take it off. They all have this ongoing joke about doing it from behind. They answer every question that way: “What are you doing?” “Doggie.” “How would you like that prepared, sir?”
“Doggie.” They think it’s hysterical, but we girls roll our eyes.
“That’s so canine,” we tell them, which makes them laugh even harder.
Now, though, I’ve been caught. Now Rebecca knows my rolling my eyes has been a bunch of crap. I think back to the time Heath and I had sex like that. I didn’t particularly want to. But Heath begged, and wanting to please him, I did. The whole time I hated it, how impersonal and dirty it felt, as though I could have been anyone beneath him.
Later, I call Heath.
“Why did you tell him?” I ask accusingly.
“I don’t know,” he says. “That’s what guys do. Haven’t you ever heard of the locker room?”
I take a deep breath, frustrated.
“You didn’t seem to care when my friend was outside that time and I let him know we were having sex,” he says. “I would say you even liked it.”
“Fuck you,” I blurt.
“Fuck you too.”
I close my eyes, wanting to get us back to how we were. I’m not really mad at him. I’m mad at myself, that I do these things and
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L o o s e G i r l
then pretend I don’t. I spend half my life lying about who I am and what I want. I don’t even know who I am most of the time.
“Listen,” I say. “Let’s just forget it, OK?”
“Whatever,” he says.
But I can tell he’s still annoyed.
The next time we talk, he tells me he wants to break up.
I sit on the floor of my bedroom, my body empty, my heart wrung.
“Why?” I plead.
“It’s just not fun anymore,” he says.
“We can make it fun again.” I close my eyes, knowing I sound desperate.
“Kerry,” he says. I grip the phone, holding on to my name, his voice saying my name. “It’s over.” He wants to get off the phone, be done with it. He and his friends call having a girlfriend “dealing,”
and now he doesn’t want to deal anymore.
“Can we at least talk in person about this?” I ask.
He sighs. “You can come here now, I guess.”
Twenty minutes later I park the Civic in front of his house. Before I have a chance to get out, he comes out the front door and slips into the passenger seat. Keeping me away from his home again. My heart is pounding, my mouth dry.
“What did I do?” I ask.
He leans his head back against the seat, revealing his pale neck, his Adam’s apple. I wish so much he would just gather me in his arms, but I know that isn’t going to happen.
“I just wanted to have some fun, you know?” he says.
“We were having fun.”
“Yeah. But things changed. You’re starting to sound like me, do you know that?”
I stare at him, confused. “I am not.”
“You are,” he says, a million miles from me in the next seat. “You say ‘dude’ and ‘baked.’ Those are things I say. And you make your
•
80 •
A H o u s e w i t h N o M e n voice do the same things mine does. I don’t like it. You just want too much.”
I lean back, that sick feeling spreading through my body. The feeling of being seen, exposed. My ugly needs giving me away once again.
“I’m over it.”
I nod. I get it. My wanting makes me unlovable. It’s something I already know.
“Let’s just say we had a nice time and move on,” he says, and smiles. This doesn’t bother him at all.
My throat is tight with despair, but I smile back. We hug and he gets out of the car. I watch him go up the stairs to his door and disappear inside. He doesn’t look back.
At home, I put on Roxy Music and listen to the song “More Than
“We only did it once like that,” I tell her.
“You know how they are,” she says.
I do. All the boys in Jeff’s crowd are obsessed with anything concerning sex. One ripped off a tag from an airplane life jacket that said jerk to inflate, and he wore it in his fly for the day until a teacher made him take it off. They all have this ongoing joke about doing it from behind. They answer every question that way: “What are you doing?” “Doggie.” “How would you like that prepared, sir?”
“Doggie.” They think it’s hysterical, but we girls roll our eyes.
“That’s so canine,” we tell them, which makes them laugh even harder.
Now, though, I’ve been caught. Now Rebecca knows my rolling my eyes has been a bunch of crap. I think back to the time Heath and I had sex like that. I didn’t particularly want to. But Heath begged, and wanting to please him, I did. The whole time I hated it, how impersonal and dirty it felt, as though I could have been anyone beneath him.
Later, I call Heath.
“Why did you tell him?” I ask accusingly.
“I don’t know,” he says. “That’s what guys do. Haven’t you ever heard of the locker room?”
I take a deep breath, frustrated.
“You didn’t seem to care when my friend was outside that time and I let him know we were having sex,” he says. “I would say you even liked it.”
“Fuck you,” I blurt.
“Fuck you too.”
I close my eyes, wanting to get us back to how we were. I’m not really mad at him. I’m mad at myself, that I do these things and
•
79 •
L o o s e G i r l
then pretend I don’t. I spend half my life lying about who I am and what I want. I don’t even know who I am most of the time.
“Listen,” I say. “Let’s just forget it, OK?”
“Whatever,” he says.
But I can tell he’s still annoyed.
The next time we talk, he tells me he wants to break up.
I sit on the floor of my bedroom, my body empty, my heart wrung.
“Why?” I plead.
“It’s just not fun anymore,” he says.
“We can make it fun again.” I close my eyes, knowing I sound desperate.
“Kerry,” he says. I grip the phone, holding on to my name, his voice saying my name. “It’s over.” He wants to get off the phone, be done with it. He and his friends call having a girlfriend “dealing,”
and now he doesn’t want to deal anymore.
“Can we at least talk in person about this?” I ask.
He sighs. “You can come here now, I guess.”
Twenty minutes later I park the Civic in front of his house. Before I have a chance to get out, he comes out the front door and slips into the passenger seat. Keeping me away from his home again. My heart is pounding, my mouth dry.
“What did I do?” I ask.
He leans his head back against the seat, revealing his pale neck, his Adam’s apple. I wish so much he would just gather me in his arms, but I know that isn’t going to happen.
“I just wanted to have some fun, you know?” he says.
“We were having fun.”
“Yeah. But things changed. You’re starting to sound like me, do you know that?”
I stare at him, confused. “I am not.”
“You are,” he says, a million miles from me in the next seat. “You say ‘dude’ and ‘baked.’ Those are things I say. And you make your
•
80 •
A H o u s e w i t h N o M e n voice do the same things mine does. I don’t like it. You just want too much.”
I lean back, that sick feeling spreading through my body. The feeling of being seen, exposed. My ugly needs giving me away once again.
“I’m over it.”
I nod. I get it. My wanting makes me unlovable. It’s something I already know.
“Let’s just say we had a nice time and move on,” he says, and smiles. This doesn’t bother him at all.
My throat is tight with despair, but I smile back. We hug and he gets out of the car. I watch him go up the stairs to his door and disappear inside. He doesn’t look back.
At home, I put on Roxy Music and listen to the song “More Than
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