Scenes From the City: A Knitting in the City Wintertime Surprise (10 page)

“Just don’t have sex with any of them,” Greg blurted this, drawing both mine and Fern’s attention.

His mouth was curved downward at the edges, and his eyes no longer appeared teasing. He cleared his throat, glanced at his hands, then lifted his gaze to Fern’s.

“Just until…until she’s exclusive with someone,” he explained.

Fern gave him an irritated flick of her wrist—I’d noticed she used her hands often in conversation—and turned back to me, “Don’t listen to him. Sex up as many boys as you like.”

I feigned a light chuckle. A girl in my art history study group did this often when she became uncomfortable, hoping to lighten a suddenly strained mood. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be sexing anyone up for a while.”

Fern’s smile was wistful, and her hazel eyes took on an almost motherly glint. “Oh, that’s right. You’ve never been kissed, have you?”

My heart stuttered, skipped a beat; it was tripping on mortification and overwhelming embarrassment. Everything went silent, and time stood still. I had no idea what to do, how to react, how to behave. I’d never experienced or witnessed this type of situation before.

I kept thinking,
Now he knows…now he knows I’ve never been kissed…now he thinks I’m a freak.

All I knew was that I wanted to fall into a black hole and disappear. An unpleasant hot and clammy
sensation
spread over my skin; I was sweating for no reason. I felt Greg’s eyes on me, and they were like two laser beams burning into my skull. My scalp itched.

“That’s right,” I said, swallowing thickly, nodding jerkily, forcing a smile. “Not yet.” In a fit of desperation, I decided to add a bit of self-deprecating cheerfulness as I continued, “But I have high hopes for Valentine’s Day.”

Instinct told me to run, to escape, so I did.

I stood suddenly, pushing the chair to the side to clear my path, and darted out of the room as I called over my shoulder, “Well, thanks for your advice; that’s what I needed.”

I fled back to my room, and I didn’t know why. Some sense of urgency spurred my steps; my throat was tight, and I felt like I was going to cry. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.

I’d experienced embarrassment before, the frustration associated with failing in front of thousands of spectators and millions of TV viewers. As an Olympic contender I’d learned how to move past failure, put it out of my mind, focus on the next goal, the next competition. Obsessing about mistakes was counterproductive to success. I always learned from my mistakes. Then I moved on.

  But this was different. This horrible feeling was due to an audience of one and wasn’t about failure or a mistake; it wasn’t about something I could control. There was nothing to analyze for future improvement. I felt irrationally embarrassed and melancholy and wretched, like I’d been kicked repeatedly.

Try as I might, I couldn’t bring myself to feel grateful for this new experience.

***

Two days before
Valentine’s Day, I came home to find Dara’s side of the room packed into suitcases. She explained that she was going to go home for a week. Things were getting too crazy with her and Hivan; she said she needed a break.

I helped Dara take her bags down to the car and gave her a hug before she departed, fresh tears in her blue eyes. She was a really nice girl, and I felt sad for her.

I wandered back to my suite but was stopped in the hall by a few girls on the floor.

“You’re Dara’s roommate, right?” a tall blonde asked, indicating with her head toward my room.

I nodded. “That’s right.”

“Is it true? Did she go home to have an abortion?”

I stared askance at this stranger,
too shocked by the audacity of the question to process whether or not it might be true.
“I- I don’t- I mean, no. I should say, not that-”

“Gail, don’t be such a bitch. It’s none of our business.” This comment came from a petite redhead.

“I just asked a question.” The one called Gail held her hands up as though defending herself. Now I recognized her; Fern had told me during our grand tour weeks ago that Gail was the floor gossip. She meant well but couldn’t help herself from getting into everyone’s business.

“It’s nothing like that,” the redhead continued, her expression stern. “Dara just needs a break from her prick boyfriend.”

“Did they breakup?” Gail’s eyes became wide, searching.

“Do you ever stop?” The redhead shook her head at Gail’s antics, then turned to me. “I’m Maddie. I think we met before. Dara says you’re the sweetest.”

I smiled at Maddie and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m telling you, there is something going around, some kind of Valentine’s Day bad mojo. Everyone is breaking up.” Gail delivered this with squinted eyes, pursed lips, and a head nod for emphasis.

“Oh, yeah…” A blonde girl, approximately my height who’d been silent thus far, waved her hands in the air excitedly. (I remembered her name was Sarah or Silvia or something like that.) “That’s right! Did you all hear about Vanessa and Greg?”

I stilled, but my heart took off, my wide eyes betraying my avid interest. “No, what happened?”

I knew I would dislike myself later for gossiping, but for now I indulged with the hunger of a voracious animal. My pulse doubled in the three seconds it took for her to share the news.

She glanced over her shoulders then leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He broke up with her last week. She’s devastated.”

My heart soared then dipped, and I felt at once elated and miserable about my elation.

Since our last interaction,
Greg and I had
passed each other a few times in the hall. Usually he was with Vanessa, and the three of us would exchange polite greetings—though sometimes he would ask about my manifestos and beleaguer me with pointed glares. I would laugh good-naturedly and give a noncommittal shrug, feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable each time.

Last week I saw him at a party. Now that I’d succumbed to Fern’s overtures and pressure to socialize, I’d gone to my very first party, and Greg was there. Upon seeing him, I promptly spun on my heel and maneuvered to a different room. I left shortly thereafter, unable to relax.

If I knew he was going to be part of a group gathering, I didn’t go.

If I saw him on campus, I walked the other way.

I’d spotted him at the gym several times and took an alternate route to my destination.

I was outright avoiding him. Our short exchanges had yielded the strongest attraction and connection I’d felt for another person. Avoiding Greg felt like the smart thing to do if I wanted to find a connection with someone else.

As well, the thought of facing him again now that he knew I’d never even been kissed filled me with metric tons of dread.

“Oh my God, why? What happened?” Gail nearly squealed the question, grabbing the other blonde girl’s hand as though the news might make her lose her balance.

“I don’t know the particulars, only that Vanessa has been crying non-stop, and Greg was the one who broke up with her. I don’t think she saw it coming.”

“She’s gorgeous.” Maddie said this wistfully, her eyes losing focus. “If she can’t keep a boyfriend, then what hope do the rest of us have?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Maddie.” Gail scrunched her nose. “Maybe she didn’t know how to keep her man happy. Greg is…well, that’s a lot of man right there. Vanessa might be beautiful, but beauty fades. Greg knows that.”

The other blonde chimed in, “Yeah, she had her chance. They’ve been dating for over a year.”

I felt my eyebrows jump at the calculating look in their eyes. It seemed that I wasn’t the only one who’d appreciated Greg from afar.

The absurdity of the situation hit me abruptly, and I almost laughed out loud at myself. I’d received the news of Greg and Vanessa’s break up with the same greedy, hungry appetite as any girl who likes a boy with a girlfriend. In my fantasies the fact that Greg no longer had a girlfriend might mean that I had a chance with him.

I looked around at the starry eyes of these three girls, all imagining the same fantasy, all beautiful in their own way, and I recognized that reality painted a very different picture. But more than that, I didn’t like what I saw: three lovely girls celebrating the heartbreak of a fellow female.

My competition days were long over. Besides, I’d never been a person who could feel joy at the sorrow of another.

I chose to embrace the feelings of melancholy instead, that a nice girl like Vanessa had apparently had her heart broken.

I
tsked
. “I hope she’s okay. I’ve only met her a few times, but she seems really nice. Does she have someone to talk to?”

All three of them stared at me. After a brief moment each of them had the decency to look various shades of ashamed.

“Uh…yeah. Vanessa and her roommate, Carly, are really tight. I’m sure Carly will help her deal.”

“That’s good.” I nodded, then repeated something Fern said often, “Girls need to stick together, support each other.”

Gail looked me up and down, like I was strange and she was suddenly uncomfortable.

  “That’s right,” she said, then took a step back. “I have laundry to do. Come on, Maddie.”

Maddie gave me a shy grin, and the three girls disappeared down the hall.

I watched them go, then turned to my own suite and shut the door behind me.
I was greeted by rare silence, q
uiet enfolded me. It was Thursday. Fern was at class then would be gone till all hours as she had no classes on Fridays. Dara was gone, and stillness replaced the constant soundtrack of her breakups and makeups with Hivan.

For the first time in months, I had a quiet evening to myself.

I would not think about Greg.

I would not think about Greg.

I would not think about Greg…

I decided to take a nap.

***

I was woken
up by a knock on the door. My eyes were blurry, unfocused, as I glanced at my nightstand. When it finally came into view, my alarm clock told me it was just past 11:30 p.m. I sat up, rubbing my eyelids, and staggered to a standing position.

“Who is it?” I called, giving myself a moment to find my balance, my voice raspy with sleep.

“How is it possible that you’ve never been kissed?”

I sucked in a breath, suddenly quite awake, and I’m sure my heart stopped.

It was Greg’s voice, and he sounded…different. His accent was thicker, more pronounced, though his speech was slower.

“Fiona?” he called when I remained silent.

I swallowed, finding my throat and mouth very dry, and managed to croak, “Greg?”

“Open the door, would you?” came his muffled reply.

I took a step toward the door, but then stopped, hopping from foot to foot. “Greg…what are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“No, not in the building. What are you doing in my suite? It’s almost midnight.”

“I’m quite drunk,” he said; despite his imbibed state, his tone was still flat and matter-of-fact. “And because I’m intoxicated, coming to your room in the middle of the night feels like the only thing to do.”

I shook my head, glanced around the room, my hands balling into fists. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know him, not really. We’d spoken only a handful of times. Opening the door to a very tall, very strong, and very drunk almost stranger in the middle of the night felt like the beginning of every cautionary tale young girls are told.

“Maybe you should go sleep it off,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

I heard a thud; something hit the door. I suspected it was his forehead.

He sounded pained when he said, “That’s a good idea. Send me away. Very wise of you…”

I flexed my fingers then balled them into fists again, waiting for some sound marking his retreat and mentally mourning my good sense. My brain liked this guy, my body liked this guy, and my heart was beyond infatuated with him.

But my intrinsic sensible nature wouldn’t allow me to do anything stupid. In all things I’ve always been well-reasoned.

Then he said, obviously having not moved from his spot at the door, “I want to be your first kiss.”

I rocked on my feet, the already dark room dimming and spinning slightly, and I pressed my hand to my violently fluttering stomach.

“Greg…” I breathed his name reflexively, shocked, found myself at a loss for words.

My silence didn’t seem to matter to him because he said, sounding quite tortured, “I want to be your first everything.”

I reached my hand out and leaned against the dresser to my right, steadying myself.

Greg continued speaking to the door, his voice laced with an edge of frustration, “And it makes no fucking sense because I don’t even know you, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I saw you during the first week of class last semester, and, Christ, you’re gorgeous, but you’re so…different, sad…ethereal. You walked right past me for months, but I saw you every time. Though you hide it, I see the sorrow in you…or maybe you don’t know…”