Young Love
I really hadn’t expected John to be so tired, but college had completely worn him out. For the first two days of his visit, all he did was sleep. Most of the time, I cuddled with him on the bed, but I was too excited to fall asleep, too grateful to be lying there with him again, just like when we used to take naps together after school. Too happy that he breathed the same, smelled the same, right down to his apple shampoo. Yet, I knew that falling in love would have to wait until John had energy, or at least until he was conscious.
When John finally snapped out of his exhaustion, it was Monday afternoon. Kevin was out on a job somewhere, and my mom, who normally would’ve been working from home, had taken the day off—bless her heart—to go shopping with her friend, Ellen. We had the entire place to ourselves, and John was full of vigor. But all he wanted to do was talk about my fight with Emily.
“You never actually told me what it was about,” he said.
“Yes, I did. Sort of.”
“Okay, well then, let me see if I remember. You disagreed with some of her recent actions.”
“Right.”
“And so you decided to bring them to her attention.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And that’s when things got ugly?”
“That’s right,” I said. John laughed. “What’s so funny?”
“You are.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re protecting her, Stella. You’re mad enough to say you’re never speaking to her again, but you’re still protecting her. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
He was right. I was protecting her. But I was also protecting myself. I guess I could’ve gotten around the Warren issue somehow and still given John the gist of our argument. But I wouldn’t have been able to stand it if anyone thought less of Emily for one terrible thing she said to me. I was the only one with that right. And she had a right to be angry, too. It’s not as if I was completely innocent. But the details were delicate in that they could only be understood—and wildly distorted—by Emily and me. I could never share them with anyone, not even John. Especially when it meant wasting a precious opportunity alone on my bed when his primary aim wasn’t sleep.
“I didn’t say I’m never speaking to her again,” I explained, in hopes of moving on. “I just said I was putting our friendship on hold for a while.”
John smiled. “That’s not what you said.”
“Well, that’s what I’ve decided.”
“Just don’t wait too long. She may start seeing other people.”
“What do you mean?”
“While the two of you are on hold—she may start seeing other women.” I smiled, remembering how he used to refer to Emily as “my girlfriend’s wife” back in eleventh grade. And as punishment for teasing me, I hit him on the shoulder with my fat purple teddy bear, Marlayna. “Damn it, that hurt.”
With all my courage, I leaned forward. “Let’s see if I can make it up to you.” And that’s when I kissed him, without being invited or seduced.
When I pulled away, he looked happy—like, perhaps, he’d been waiting seven months for it, too. And then he grabbed my face and kissed me, in a way that made up for lost time and all my fears that we might never get together again.
John was in complete control. Summit Valley’s boy wonder had grown into quite the sexy man since we’d met. I wondered if he’d been working out. Was that what made him so assertive? Either way, it was a good thing. And there we lay, shirtless and breathless under the covers, kissing as if we’d missed each other for seven years and yet with as much understanding as if no time had passed at all.
I don’t remember all the details of getting naked. I just know that he was gentle, sweet, the same way he always was, regardless of what he was doing. I didn’t feel nervous and it never once seemed like we were rushing things. There was only a thrill and a warmth and one overwhelming awareness that consumed us—knowing that, together, we were changing our lives.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear.
I brought his face back to mine. “I want to.”
The look in his eyes was priceless, but he still asked if I was sure. I reached into my nightstand drawer and handed him a condom. He didn’t need any convincing after that.
When it was all over, John and I lay there cuddling, just like we were used to, only this time naked and with a new bond between us. The wall inside of me had finally crumbled. I was no longer a champion of nothing, but a girl who had just had sex with the boy who held her heart. Life could not get any sweeter.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“I’m thinking we should probably wash these sheets before my mom gets back.” Obviously that’s not the only thing I was thinking about. I just didn’t want to be sappy.
“Why? Does she normally inspect your sheets when you have boys over?”
“No… It’s just that they feel all wet and sticky, and if she sees me washing them later, she might get suspicious.”
“Well, anything you feel is from you,” he said, pulling me closer.
“Ew, it is not.”
“Wanna bet? I wore a condom, didn’t I?”
“So.”
“So,” he teased me. “Did you buy them yourself?”
“Umm-hmm.”
“How embarrassed were you?”
“I was mortified. How did you know?”
“Because I know you,” he said. And inside, I smiled—and thanked God and every star in the sky that I hadn’t slept with Dan Jacoby senior year.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we did that.”
“Me, too.”
“I’d never done it before.”
John squeezed me tighter, kissing the back of my neck. “I know.”
“Was it that obvious?”
He laughed. “No. Not at all. I just figured.” And then we were both quiet. And I think a part of me knew the answer to my question before I even asked. But I guess it’s only human nature to require confirmation.
“Was it your first time, too?”
John propped himself up on his elbow to face me, his eyes brimming with apology. “It wasn’t anything like this.”
“What does that mean?” I asked, my voice betraying me with its waver.
“I didn’t love her.”
All at once, I was in tears—messy, hysterical tears—and I didn’t want to be around him anymore. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I sat up in bed, struggling for cover. On TV, they always make it look so easy—wrapping oneself in a sheet to walk across the room. In real life, when you’ve just lost your virginity and the guy you’re in love with tells you he’s slept with somebody else, graceful exits aren’t as likely. Especially when said Love of Life’s leg is weighing down part of the sheet you are groping for, and the rest is twisted up with the bedspread. Not being able to see through your tears only adds to the confusion. Wasn’t it just like sweet, gentle John to sit up and help me escape?
“I’m sorry,” he said, gathering the sheet for me. “Stella, I’m sorry. It meant nothing. This was different.” He put his hand on my shoulder, and for a moment I forgot my mission. His touch, his voice, everything about him was so soothing and genuine. I turned to him and let my head fall forward, resting it against his chin as I continued to cry. But as his arms tightened around me, I grew angry—to be receiving comfort from the one who’d hurt me in the first place, to have forgiven him so quickly. More than that, I was angry that he could still see me, that he’d become privy to my secret side—the side that was obviously still so hung up on him, I was crying like a possessive slob over the fact that he’d been with other girls. I jerked away suddenly, crashing into his nose, which instantly began gushing blood.
“Shit!” was about all I could manage to say. But before leaving the room, I grabbed a box of tissues from my desk. “Here,” I said, tossing it onto the bed. “Don’t forget to tilt your head back.” It wasn’t an apology, but it was the most I could muster at the time.
I’d been in the bathroom all of about thirty seconds when John’s voice sounded outside the door.
“Stella, please let me explain.”
“What’s to explain? I understand everything now—perfectly.”
“That’s not fair. Come on.”
“Fair? Was it fair to tell me you didn’t want a commitment just so you could go around screwing other girls?”
“It was one other girl, Stella, and it was only one time.”
“And why should I believe that?”
“Have I ever lied to you before?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Stella…”
“No. I guess you haven’t…. Who was she?”
“Just some girl I met last fall at a party. I’ll probably never even see her again. She was only in town visiting a friend. It was stupid, Stella, really. I’m telling you, it meant nothing.”
I was relieved to hear it hadn’t been someone from school, some brilliant bitch that he actually saw on a regular basis. But she had to have been pretty. I mean, she had to have had some sort of redeeming quality for John to have made the admittedly stupid decision to have sex with her.
“What did she look like?”
John sighed. “I was drunk, Stella. I don’t know.”
“Was she thin?”
“This is weird, Stella. Do we really have to talk about what she looked like?”
“Yes.”
John sighed again. “Fine. She was thin.” Pass the salt, please. “And she had long, dark hair—like yours, but not as nice.” Ha! Perhaps, we were even then. But, there was still one more thing.
“What about her chest?” I asked.
“Not as good as yours.”
“How do I know you’re not just saying that?”
“Have you seen your chest?”
I smiled, basking in my triumph over the anonymous hussy who’d gotten to John Lixner first. “So, what are you saying? That no one’s are as good as mine?”
“Well, I don’t know from experience, but I’d feel confident in making that claim, sure…. Will you come out of the bathroom now?”
“Well, wait. I’d like to hear you make that claim first.”
“Stella, you have the most beautiful breasts in the world.” We both laughed, but I felt unexpectedly aroused. John had never been this forward with sexual compliments. In fact, he’d never given me a sexual compliment at all. Of course, he had been coaxed into it, but what was a little coaxing among friends who made sheets wet and sticky?
“John? Can I ask you something else before I come out?”
“You can ask me anything.”
“Why did you do it? Was it just to get your first time over with?”
“No. It wasn’t even that calculated. I know the whole ‘it just happened’ excuse is a really bad cliché, but I don’t know how else to describe it. I don’t want to blame the alcohol because that’s a total cop-out, but it definitely played its part. I’d erase it if I could, Stella. I’ll always regret that my first time wasn’t with you. I always thought it would be. But if it’s any consolation, I’ll never forget today. And not just because you tried to beat me up afterward.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I said.
“Same here.”
“I know.”
“So, are you coming out or what?”
“Wait. You never told me her name.”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m always gonna wonder.”
“Stella.”
“What?”
“Stella—that was her name.”
“Oh, get serious.”
“I mean it. That was her name. I was only checking her out because she kind of looked like you from the back. Then she comes over and says her name is Stella. I thought somebody put something in my drink. It shocked the hell out of me.”
“That is kind of weird.” And flattering, for two reasons. One, that John thought enough of my rear view to remember it fondly at parties. And two, because he’d told me this other Stella was thin.
“She was a nice girl, from what I remember, but her face looked nothing like yours. I don’t want to be mean, but she had, like, one of those beakish bird noses—you know which kind I’m talking about? That shocked me, too. I just expected her face to match her body.”
“You mean you expected her to look more like me?”
“I think so.”
“So, am I supposed to take your sleeping with another girl as some really big but twisted form of flattery and leave it at that?”
“Please?”
“Brace yourself,” I said. “I’m opening the door.”
I came out to find John naked in the hallway, blotting his nose with a tissue.
“I think we should wash the bedding,” he said. “There’s blood all over the sheets…and I think some of it’s yours.”
I reached up and kissed him gently on the nose. “Not just yet.”
We washed the sheets just before my mom got home and spent the rest of the week making them good and dirty again. By the time John left, we’d had sex seventeen times and had definitely recaptured our love. But distance and youth would prevent us from making it last in long-term reality—or even beyond spring break.