Tiffany Scandal - Jigsaw Youth

We sit at the kitchen table in silence. A clock in the distance announces that it is one o’clock. She reaches for the remote and puts on reruns of telenovellas.

I meet Hope at a bar, to talk and play some pool. An audience grows around us, but we don’t give a fuck. The more she drinks the closer she gets. The more I drink, the more I stop giving a shit.

The bar closes and she wants to keep drinking. We swing by a 7-Eleven and pick up cheap wine. My place is just around the corner. Hers several blocks away.

Inside my apartment, Hope is digging through the kitchen for glasses and an opener. I shut my bedroom door, hoping it’ll stop me. Hope clears her throat behind me. She’s naked, holding two glasses of wine. And before I know it, we’re fucking on an IKEA rug in the middle of the living room floor.

When I wake up, I find myself remembering what Christian did to me. The bruises. I run to the bathroom and vomit. Hope knocks on the door, asking if I’m okay. I tell her I’m fine, I just had too much to drink.

Two days later, I get an angry Facebook message from Hope’s girlfriend. Her profile picture is her and Hope, and the caption reads “me with the love of my life” and one of the comments is Hope, saying, “love you so so much babes.”

I had no idea. I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t.

She sends another message, telling me that I ruined her life. That she hopes I die.

I tell her I understand and wish her well.

I make it a point to ignore Hope.

But she shows up at the next show we’re playing. Ira shoots her a stinkface. Hope approaches me like we’re still together, getting all touchy-feely. She wants me to follow her to the bathroom.

I tell her to fuck off.

She’s speechless.

I join Ira and the others, and hold up my middle finger.

When the caterpillars eating your insides turn to butterflies.

You’re so beautiful.

Eye contact from across the room. Feeling like your stomach is going to turn inside out. You’re still shy, bashful. Your palms sweat. You fumble over words.

Still trying to make an impression. Trying to not act too hard.

I want you to like me as I am.

Your reflection is glowing.

You can’t stop thinking about it.

Days into weeks. Your sheets soaked in sweat and her fluids. Hands in constant motion, bodies that feel like magnets. Nothing else as important.

The two of you make heads turn.

Constant smile on your face, like you’re about to eat something you shouldn’t.

When it gets heavier.

Dilated pupils. Racing heart at the stupidest things. Each kiss means something, even when it shouldn’t. But hugs help with pain. Comfort is other places besides sleep.

Everything slows down.

The myth of lesbian bed death.

Sheets revert to a functional thing.

You cease to be lovers, become instead like decorations on a bed.

You don’t talk about sex anymore.

But it’s a one way street.

Feels like we’re getting older, faster. Becoming the same old woman, hunch backed, frail, blind.

Imagine our hands crumbling to dust and petrified skeletons when they touch.

Becoming earth.

Friends forever, at least that’s something.

I guess I never really thought about it until the first time I had sex.

Of all my group of friends, I was one the last to lose my virginity. They would talk about their boyfriends, the sex they would have, and I would have nothing to contribute. I’d get patted on the head and told that one day I’d understand. This made me feel like they thought I was still a kid. Like letting a man inside you was the path to womanhood. I’d dated boys and it was okay. I just never really considered having sex with them. When we’d kiss, I didn’t feel much. And it’s not that I never thought about sex. I masturbated plenty. I would look at pictures of boobs in fashion magazines and get pretty excited about that. I didn’t think getting excited about boobs was unusual. Didn’t everyone masturbate to them?

Brandon was on my on-again, off-again boyfriend for two years. When we weren’t seeing each other, we’d stay friends and date other people. But whenever we found ourselves single, it just seemed easy to start dating again. One day, I went to his house after school when his dad was at work, and his sister was at cheerleading practice. We ordered a pizza and watched one of the porn videos he found laying around his house. We laughed and commented on how bad it was. Then he kissed me. I kissed back, and felt his erection against my thigh. It didn’t do anything for me.

He asked if I wanted to. I shrugged and said okay.

Through no fault of his own, I wasn’t excited.

It didn’t hurt like I thought it might. But it didn’t feel great, either. I spent most of it trying to identify shapes and patterns in the popcorn ceiling.

Then it was over.

I saw Mensa at school the next day, clutching her books against her chest and staring off into nothing. I ran over to tell her the news.

“Dude, dude. I finally did it.”

I could see dark circles under her eyes. She’d been having trouble sleeping again.

“What?” Her tone was piercing, cold.

“I did it with Brandon. I’m not a virgin anymore.”

Mensa shook her head and kept walking.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She kept staring forward. “Did you like it?”

Mensa still hadn’t had sex. At the rate that her siblings had kids, she was scared to let anyone near her, because she didn’t want kids until she was at least thirty.

“Not really. It was kind of boring.”

“Then he’s not the one for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your first time is supposed to be special, and it wasn’t. So you wasted it. Good job.” She stormed off.

I thought about what Mensa said all day. It bothered me. The one? I was only seventeen. I had no intention of getting married. I wanted to go to college. Wanted to travel the world and do things with my life. I loved Brandon and he was one of my best friends, but I never saw a future in any of that with him. I always assumed that when high school was over, we would be too.

After school, I ran into Serena, Val and Mo sitting under the shade on the sidewalk. I went over to join them.

“. . and I was, like, oh man, you have to do that again. I never came so hard in my life!”

They were laughing. I sat quietly, looking around. I had no idea what they were talking about.

Val pat my shoulder. “One day, Ella. You’ll have some of your own stories to share.”

“I’ve had sex.”

“Shut up,” Serena looked surprised.

“With Mensa?” Mo asked.

“What? No. With my boyfriend, Brandon. Why does everyone think I’m sleeping with Mensa?”

“I thought you were girlfriends.”

“We’re just best friends.”

“So you had sex with Brandon? How was it?”

“It was okay.”

“Was he big?”

“Did you cum?”

“What?”

“Did you have an orgasm?”

“Ummm.” I didn’t know how to answer.

“Did he make your body feel all tingly and then explode?”