All Very New Friends

Sunday night was a night for new friends and for old ones to slip away or get mad. None of us wanted to deal with Motherfucker, so I missed one of the only chances I may ever have to see the Cramps play. Instead, we went to The Park. Upstairs, there were boys in the hot tub. Tommy Hottpants was running around mostly naked and dripping wet. I stopped him to say hi, but he just said, “I have to find my clothes!” and ran off.

Dave and I got into a little fight over a boy named Nathan. We’d both been talking to him and I think Dave wanted to call dibs, but you can’t do that with me. You can’t tell me not to flirt with someone. The minute you tell me no, I want it more. And it gets me in the mood to be mean. So I followed Nathan to the bathroom, lost him, and found him again on the stairs. Dave called me twice in the 10 minutes we were gone, and then he kept asking me if Nathan and I had made out. I wouldn’t answer him. I just smiled and drank and he kept on asking. Finally, I told him, no, I hadn’t made out with Nathan. He looked skeptical, so I leaned in close and whispered, “But that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna.” Dave left shortly after that.

There were four of us now: Me, Nathan, Nathan’s friend Ben, and Ben’s friend Glen. Ben and Glen were both short-ish and looked like they should be boyfriends or brothers. For some reason I kept talking about all of us having a potluck dinner. I felt really tall amongst these three not-quite-short guys, sort of awkward and out of place, like a beanpole teenager who hit his growth spurt too soon.

We were all flirting with each other and I don’t think anyone was quite sure who would pair up or in what combinations. I thought it would fun if we all hopped in bed together and it seemed like they might all be thinking the same thing. We walked to a diner, the four of us, all very new friends, but feeling like it was really important that we all stay together. We laughed a lot.

At the diner, I caught my reflection in the mirror behind the counter. It looked like a sloppy caricature; something hacked into white stone, immobile: tiny mouth, too high cheekbones, beady eyes. It didn’t look anything like what I see when I look at myself in the mirror.

I got home at 6 a.m. and crawled into bed feeling worn out, bruised, stretched thin. But I couldn’t sleep. I kicked back the knotted sheets and grabbed my parts and it just left me – the whole night, the day before, the twisted, gnarled feeling in my muscles, the whirl inside my head – it shot out of me in a few quick, merciful spasms.

I woke up the next day, at 1:45 p.m., thinking that everyone I knew was mad at me.