I can say is he’s never laid a hand on me. He doesn’t have to. He does it all with words.
So I know how Rennie feels, sitting under the burning naked lightbulb as you’re the prisoner being interrogated. Having your being poked and prodded, unfolded, like an origami project, revealing partsof yourself, the little white slips of paper you thought no one knew about. The nice thing about being drunk is that all that’s blotted away. The nice part about being stoned is that it doesn’t really seem to matter because all I care about is being here and now with my best friends in the world. But now Rennie’s being unfolded by us, by Cherry specifically, and I don’t want it to happen but at the same time I’m glad it’s not me and so, despite myself, I join in too. “Virgin schmirgin.”
That of course makes us all laugh hysterically. Rennie blushes, and she knows it’s no good trying to deny anything. She throws herself on her back onto Cherry’s bed and she’s still howling, but it’s so very obvious our Rennie has gotten herself laid.
“Who is he?” Cherry shrieks and jumps on top of Rennie, pulling her arms behind her head. “I’m not letting go until you tell me.” And it’s such a ridiculous scene, like Cherry and Rennie are in a slapstick comedy, that I burst into laughter again, and it’s catching, Cherry’s laughing too and Rennie’s shaking her head from side to side, tears coming out her eyes.
“Kent maybe,” I say in a moment of making sense-ness
(God, where did words go?)
that’s rare for me when I’m high. “Friday, after me and Brandon disappeared with the vodka.”
But the answer in her eyes isn’t yes. “Maybe it’s not a he at all,” says Cherry, “maybe it’s a she. Oh, come on, don’t look so scandalized,” she says to me, and now I blush, feeling unworldly. “Open your horizons, Aim, it’s 1988 after all.”
“It’s not Kent, and it’s not a woman, and that’s all I’m saying.”
“Oh, just tell us, we’re your best friends,” I beg. “Is it someone at school?”
“Would I deign to fuck one of the lowlife jockstraps from the senior class? Are you serious?” The words are supposed to come out lightly, I’m sure, but Rennie’s got a secret and she’s not telling for a reason, and I decide to drop it.
“Listen, let’s put on
Degrassi,
” I say. Watching
Degrassi
when we’rehigh is the best because no one can stop laughing when Snake or Wheels or BLT calls somebody “narbo” or “broomhead” (what with the fuckedup names and wacky slang, Canada must be the Land o’ Insanity, eh?), plus Joey Jeremiah’s stupid fedora, and the band Zit Remedy with their one and only song. Oh, God, I’m giggling just thinking about it.
But Cherry presses on. “I’ll bet he’s married. That’s why you’re not telling us.” Rennie just gives a nod, and Cherry lets her up. “I knew it. I won’t make you say who it is.”
Now I
am
scandalized, and the news almost kills my buzz, my best friend sleeping with a married man? What kind of married man would mess around with a high school girl? I only hope she’s not in too deep, surely we can talk her out of this. “Rennie, why? What would possess you to do something so . . . ” I don’t want to say
stupid
so I settle for “risky?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Just—”
“Is that who you were drinking with? When you said you were at play practice?” demands Cherry. And she’s so lucid when she’s stoned, so logical. I can’t be that way, it’s all I can do to follow the conversation: yes, we’re talking about Rennie; yes, she’s no longer a virgin; yes, she’s sleeping with a married man; and my mind won’t process any more.
Rennie nods, and Cherry says, “If you get pregnant I’ll kill you.”
“He can’t get me pregnant, he and his wife will probably have to adopt at some point.”
I can tell by her eyes that it really hurts to say “his wife.” There’ll be a bigger
So I know how Rennie feels, sitting under the burning naked lightbulb as you’re the prisoner being interrogated. Having your being poked and prodded, unfolded, like an origami project, revealing partsof yourself, the little white slips of paper you thought no one knew about. The nice thing about being drunk is that all that’s blotted away. The nice part about being stoned is that it doesn’t really seem to matter because all I care about is being here and now with my best friends in the world. But now Rennie’s being unfolded by us, by Cherry specifically, and I don’t want it to happen but at the same time I’m glad it’s not me and so, despite myself, I join in too. “Virgin schmirgin.”
That of course makes us all laugh hysterically. Rennie blushes, and she knows it’s no good trying to deny anything. She throws herself on her back onto Cherry’s bed and she’s still howling, but it’s so very obvious our Rennie has gotten herself laid.
“Who is he?” Cherry shrieks and jumps on top of Rennie, pulling her arms behind her head. “I’m not letting go until you tell me.” And it’s such a ridiculous scene, like Cherry and Rennie are in a slapstick comedy, that I burst into laughter again, and it’s catching, Cherry’s laughing too and Rennie’s shaking her head from side to side, tears coming out her eyes.
“Kent maybe,” I say in a moment of making sense-ness
(God, where did words go?)
that’s rare for me when I’m high. “Friday, after me and Brandon disappeared with the vodka.”
But the answer in her eyes isn’t yes. “Maybe it’s not a he at all,” says Cherry, “maybe it’s a she. Oh, come on, don’t look so scandalized,” she says to me, and now I blush, feeling unworldly. “Open your horizons, Aim, it’s 1988 after all.”
“It’s not Kent, and it’s not a woman, and that’s all I’m saying.”
“Oh, just tell us, we’re your best friends,” I beg. “Is it someone at school?”
“Would I deign to fuck one of the lowlife jockstraps from the senior class? Are you serious?” The words are supposed to come out lightly, I’m sure, but Rennie’s got a secret and she’s not telling for a reason, and I decide to drop it.
“Listen, let’s put on
Degrassi,
” I say. Watching
Degrassi
when we’rehigh is the best because no one can stop laughing when Snake or Wheels or BLT calls somebody “narbo” or “broomhead” (what with the fuckedup names and wacky slang, Canada must be the Land o’ Insanity, eh?), plus Joey Jeremiah’s stupid fedora, and the band Zit Remedy with their one and only song. Oh, God, I’m giggling just thinking about it.
But Cherry presses on. “I’ll bet he’s married. That’s why you’re not telling us.” Rennie just gives a nod, and Cherry lets her up. “I knew it. I won’t make you say who it is.”
Now I
am
scandalized, and the news almost kills my buzz, my best friend sleeping with a married man? What kind of married man would mess around with a high school girl? I only hope she’s not in too deep, surely we can talk her out of this. “Rennie, why? What would possess you to do something so . . . ” I don’t want to say
stupid
so I settle for “risky?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Just—”
“Is that who you were drinking with? When you said you were at play practice?” demands Cherry. And she’s so lucid when she’s stoned, so logical. I can’t be that way, it’s all I can do to follow the conversation: yes, we’re talking about Rennie; yes, she’s no longer a virgin; yes, she’s sleeping with a married man; and my mind won’t process any more.
Rennie nods, and Cherry says, “If you get pregnant I’ll kill you.”
“He can’t get me pregnant, he and his wife will probably have to adopt at some point.”
I can tell by her eyes that it really hurts to say “his wife.” There’ll be a bigger
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