Second Helpings (25 page)

Really? He said that?

He sure did! Then she turned to Moe, who was by her side, as always. From what I hear, Tutti Flutie used to be quite the lady-killer, like you back in the day! They both slapped their arthritic knees in laughter.

Then what happened?

I got tamed by a tigress, Moe shouted. Gladdie purred. Oh, Christ.

No, I mean to Tutti Flutie, I said.

He wont say, Gladdie said. If you ask me, I think some dumb girl broke his heart!

I refuse to take whatever a senile ninety-year-old double-stroke victim says as fact.

Len is such a smart, cute, and polite boy, my mom piped up, dulled by Chardonnay and a few steps behind in the conversation.

My mom is right, you know. Len is all those things. He gave me the Best of Morrissey CD, Fast Times at Ridgemont High on DVD, and a yoga mat as nondenominational tokens of his affection. SO PERFECT. I bought himSO MORTIFYING!a tie. A very nice, not-too-shiny blue silk tie from Banana Republic, one that he said hed need for his Cornell interview next week. But Christ, its still a tie. I am so girl-friendly inept.

Lens family celebrates some vague combination of Christmas and Hanukkah, hence, the nondenominational gift-giving. Lens dad was Jewish. He was a cardiac surgeon who died of a heart attack when he was forty-three years old. If thats not ironic, I dont know what is. He died just a few months before Kurt Cobain, and I cant help but think that Lens obsession with the latter has something to do with the former. Len doesnt talk about his dads death, just like my family never talks about my dead baby brother, Matthew, and Hopes family never talks about Heath. I think this is how our parents generation would like to deal with everything: deny, deny, deny! I only know what I know because I asked and Len very reluctantly told me.

Anyway, Lens mom, Sandra, is Catholic. I havent met Mrs. Levy yettoo busy perfecting my applicationbut I will tomorrow night, before we head to Saras New Years Eve party. Chaos Called Creation was such a hit at the Anti-Homecoming that she asked them back. Im so lucky to be the girlfriend of a guitar god. Or so the freshman Hoochie Babies tell me. Anyway, Len says his mom is very eager to get to know the girl who is dating her son. Yikes. This freaks me out because it kind of makes this real.

Looking over my entries for the past month, I realize I have not written much about Len. I would love to say its because 1 have no words to describe my birds-are-singing, bells-are-ringing so-in-love delirium. But this would be untrue. In my nondocumentation of my relationship with Len, I have realized that I am unable to write about not only happy moments, as Ive already pointed out, but any moments that do not fall into the angsty category. Things are going well, I guess. We hang out, make out

The physical aspect of our relationship is progressing at a reasonable rate. Long kisses, vertical. Longer kisses, horizontal. Hands over the bra. Hands and mouth under the bra. Hands over my skivvies. Under Ack.

Im kind of relieved thats as far as it will go, if only because I would have no idea how to document my devirginization. I cant go into detail about stuff like this when its about me. I make it sound a lot nastier than it really is. Plus, when I describe it like this, in the most basic terms, it shows just how selfish I am about sex stuff. Im making Len do most of the work. He doesnt seem to mind that Im taking advantage of him. Wouldnt Manda be proud?

Speaking of, my skankiest classmate seems to think that were not moving fast enough. On the last day of school before break, after Len and I gently kissed each other good-bye before French (me) and Accounting (him), Manda marched up to me and asked, Have you guys fucked yet?

Thats none of your goddamn business, I snapped.

They havent fucked yet, she said matter-of-factly to Sara, who was hovering behind her. Then Manda turned back to me. You better do it soon. The longer you wait, the bigger a deal its going to be. Youre going to regret building it up so much. Then she sauntered off, her ass shaking with every step.

As much as I hated to admit it, I couldnt stop thinking about what Manda said. I told Bridget about it later that day.

Maybe shes right, I replied. Maybe I have built it up too much.

Bridget gently placed her hand on my shoulder. When its with the right person, its, like, totally worth waiting.

How would you know? You didnt hold out on Burke very long and he definitely wasnt the right person.

Bridget chewed on her ponytail instead of responding. I guess it was kind of cold to throw her dubious sexual decisions in her face like that.

Do you think Len is the right person? I mean, if he were willing? I asked. Like you said, were both cute, smart, uptight virgins.

Come on, Jess. Only you can answer that.

Shes right. But as history shows, my whole concept of love is usu-ally for shit. I dont know. I like him. I really do, even if I have to stifle the urge to complete all his sentences. My relationship with him is secure. Easy. Reliable. Len doesnt cause me any angst, which is why I dont feel the need to write about him. With him, I dont have to exorcise my demons by scribbling maniacally page after page after page. I wont be shredding any notebooks devoted to my sick obsession with him anytime in the near future, thats for sure.

December 31st

Dear Hope,

Im waiting for Len to pick me up for Saras New Years party. While I do, Ill make another futile attempt to better myself.

Six Goals for My Senior Year That I Hope Will Make It SuckaTeensy Bit Less (2002 Edition)

HHHH1.I will not be a college-unbound senior. Now that Ive completed my application to Columbia, I will not get caught up in the mass hysteria of the college selection process. I mean it. No more Petersons paranoia. None.

HHHH2.I will try to write, if not happy, then less miserable journal entries. If Im lucky enough not to be completely pissed about something, Lord knows I should document the rarity for posterity.

HHHH3.I will be nicer to Bridget and any other misguided individual who for reasons I cant comprehendpursues a friendship with me despite the inevitable and immutable incompatibility at its core.

HHHH4.I will ignore the Clueless Two. This still requires herculean effort, as their adventures are too front-page tabloid to go unnoticed by the anonymous author of Pinevile Low .

HHHH5. Now that Ive read Miss Hyacinth Anastasia Wallaces so-called Gen-Whatever masterwork, Bubblegum Bimbos and Assembly Line Meat-ballers, I will try to be more like the me I could be if only I were braver bolder ballsier. Applying to Columbia was a good start, but I need to do more.

HHHH6.I will try to appreciate my boyfriend, especially since he is not (a) a homosexual or (b) He Who Couldnt Remain Nameless.

Dubiously yours, J.

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the first

Ow. Ow . Ow. Ow. Ow.

My face hurts.

OWWWWWW.

Its 4:32 A.M. The light from my clock is like a laser, boring right through my brain.

OWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Im in my own bed. How I got here, I do not know. Im still wearing my clothes from last night.

Last night ?

Oh, Christ, my bra is missing. Uh-oh.

Its too early to call Len. Maybe I can IM him.

OWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Oh, sick. A flavor most foul. The Pineville High marching band performed a halftime show on my tongue. In stanky tube socks.

I just tried to get up. And I learned something else about my current situation.

Im still wasted.

OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

I just washed down ibuprofen and a multivitamin with a liter of Coke. Im sort of waking up.

My bathroom smells like puke. And did I mention that my bra is MIA?

Oh, God. What the hell did I do last night?

OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Whatever it was, I can wait until later to find out. Ow.

What Happened to Me Last Night

The following timeline was cobbled together through author flashbacks, eyewitness testimony, and other conclusive forms of evidence, i.e., missing undergarments.

HHHH 7:30 P.M. Len arrives at my house and chats with my parents. The word Cornell comes out of my moms mouth at least a dozen times. My dad smiles and gently punches Len in the arm. The subtext behind this allegedly good-natured gesture: Dont have sexual intercourse with my daughter tonight .

HHHH 7:45 P.M. Len drives me back to his house. We talked about the AP Physics test we took before vacation. We both know we aced it in a way that only two Brainiacs can.

HHHH 8 P.M. I meet Lens mom. I note that Mrs. Levy has an unfortunate figure: a size six on top, but shes packing at least twice as much down below. I almost make the mistake of mentioning Columbia, which I cant, because one can never underestimate the power of the parental gossip pipeline. Even without Ivy League cred, I win her over with my wholesome, overachieving charm. (Ironic foreshadowing.)

HHHH 8:15 P.M. We drive to Saras house. On the way, I brag about how Ive obviously won over his mother with my wholesome, overachieving charm. (More ironic foreshadowing.)

HHHH8:45 P.M. We arrive at Saras. The scene is very much like the one described in the Anti-Homecoming entry, only Pepe and Bridget arent there. (Bridget is in L.A. with her dad. Pepe is enigmatically MIA.) Not surprisingly, as this is a more exclusive party, Taryn and Paul are also absent.

HHHH9:30 P.M. Len kisses me, then leaves me to set up his guitar god gear. I look around for someone to talk to and dont see anyone worth the effort. I feel very loserish and lonely, wondering how I could be a senior in high school and have so few people I can talk to.

HHHH 9:35-ish P.M. An inebriated Scotty comes up to me and goes off on how my boyfriends band aint shit no matter what Manda says, and how he wants to kick the livin shit out of that fuckin Dreg Marcus for even thinking he has a shot with his hot-piece-of-ass girlfriend. I fear that there will be a brawl before the night is over.

HHHH 10 P.M. Chaos Called Creation goes on. Len looks damn good. Damn good . I must say that Im sort of psyched to be his girlfriend at that moment. Marcuss T-shirt says OXYGEN. It takes me a few brain-banging minutes, but I eventually get the joke. 2002 = 02 = O2 = the chemical symbol for oxygen. Very clever. Nothing about this or him reminds me of what I was doing on last New Years Eve. And yet I find myself thinking about my private tour of the Five Wonders of Pineville: the Champagne of Propane, the Augies Auto Parts Car-on-the-Roof, Der Wunder Wiener, the Purple Dinosaur, and finally, the Park That Time Forgot but I cannot. (Ironic foresh Oh, Christ. Forget it.)

HHHH 10:30 P.M. Midway through the set, I spot Scotty, who is doing the heterosexual jock version of dancing, i.e., swaying his arms, shuffling his feet, and clapping at irregular intervals. He smiles serenely and sweats profusely. Tonight he has obviously added E to his andro stack.

HHHH 11 P.M. Show over. I go to kiss and congratulate Len in a very girl-friendly fashion, but he and the rest of the band have to pack up their stuff. They are distracted by Hoochie Babies and older G-string groupies. Manda is among them, and I want to hurl. I cant handle watching her shove her tits in Marcuss face. Im feeling very, very tense.

HHHH 11:03 P.M. I look at my watch and all of sudden I remember something very significant: Hope moved to Tennessee exactly two years ago. Seven hundred and thirty days have gone by and Im no better now than I was one minute after her car pulled out of the driveway. Wherever she is ringing in the New Year, she is surely having more fun than I am.

HHHH 11:04 P.M. I am totally, completely, irreversibly alone.

HHHH 11:05 P.M. I wander around the partysticky with beer, sweat, and sexual tensionand somehow end up next to Scotty, who is ignoring his girlfriends hobagity display.

HHHH 11:15-ish P.M. I ask Scotty how hes doing and he responds by wrapping his arms around me and telling me that he loves me, and he loves everyone, even Marcus and the rest of the band, which he has decided doesnt suck after all even though he really loves this Gorrilaz song that is now vibing through the speakers, spreading its happiness and gladness and sunshine-in-a-bagness. But what he would really, really love more than anything is if I danced with him. I ask him what hes on, even though I already know. Only Ecstasy could reverse Scottys testosterrific rage in just under a half hour. I look over toward the stage and see Manda pushing up on Marcus while Len looks on. Scottys eyes are closed and his mouth is open as if to say, Ahhhhhhh I want to feel as mellow and untroubled as he looks. Ive never tried any illicit drugs before. What Would Jenn Do? Im useless but not for long . This could be the night for my sole experimentation, the harmless one I get out of the way so I can say, Yes, Ive tried it, but I didnt like it, when asked next year at college. What Would Jenn Do ? Trying something once does not make me Heath or Marcus or Robert Downey, Jr. It does not make me a bad person. It does not make me a weak-minded individual who gives into peer pressure to fit in, because I am not giving into peer pressure. I am giving into me-pressure, the only kind that can squeeze my brain like an orange juicer and leave nothing but a pulpy mess behind. What Would Jenn Do? E kills memory, and I sort of hope that it will help me forget about last New Years Eve, even though I know the memory loss is really more of a longterm effect and not a one-time-user effect. What Would Jenn Do? I ask Scotty if he has any more and he beams. I ask him if he is willing to share the love and his mouth explodes with pearly-white pleasure. He doesnt balk, even though its me, Jessica Darling, textbook goody-goody and Class Brainiac asking him to help me do something very unlike the me everyone thinks I am, myself included. He hands me a pill with a Nike swoosh. J ust Do It . And I do what Jenn would do. I wash it down with beer. I wait. The future is coming on