Angst (11 page)

“Where have you been?” she asks with a suggestive grin.

“Upstairs with Jared,” I blurt, pulling on her hand toward
the door to the basement.
Time for more alcohol and more dancing, no more
danger
. I need my heart to stop beating so hard. I need to forget that I
just ran away from the hottest guy ever.

“Well what happened?” she asks and I can tell without
looking that she’s smiling, following along behind my hectic pace.

“Nothing. We fooled around,” I say, not looking back at her.
She pulls on my hand.

“You did!” she exclaims, her mouth a wide O of surprise,
until she gets a peek at my face. Then her smile falls a bit. “Wait, Victoria,
stop, tell me what happened?” she says, pulling so hard that I have to stop and
face her. I feel as though I might cry, but I don’t want to. I want to get
something to drink, dance and feel sexy and not feel as though I just led
someone on and didn’t give up the goods.
I am lame. No more second chances
for me.
I have a sudden flash of insight that I’m going to hate myself with
a passion tomorrow for what I’ve done tonight. But right now, I feel like I
avoided a scary, embarrassing situation.

I stare at Hannah for a moment, finally deciding to tell her
the truth. Making up elaborate lies is too hard when I’m drunk and emotional. At
least, trying to be convincing is.

“He wanted to have sex with me and I left the room,” I say,
trying not to say too much.

“Wait, you left?” she asks, brow wrinkled. I sigh.
Goddamn.

“Hannah, I’m a v-i-r-g-i-n. You know, the V-team,” I finally
say, rolling my eyes at how stupid I must appear to her. She smiles at me.

“Me too,” she says with a grin and I suddenly feel lighter
inside. She understands. I feel more comfortable telling her the rest now.

“I wanted to fuck his brains out…but it’s nerve wracking
when you’ve never slept with anyone before. I’m sure he’s been with tons of
girls,” I blurt out in a rush. She squeezes my hand.

“Let’s go back downstairs, snatch,” she says with a smile
and we head toward the door together and back into drunken, dancing oblivion.

#######################

Vision blurred, dark day sickness cured

Falling down the daylight crush

Nighttime fun, a dark done lush

Spirits rise, symphonic hues

Brightened lights and black and blues

Twilight dense with shadows bright

Sea like waves and crests of white

Purest memories, vision lost

Stumbling feet, bought at a cost

Twirling spot light, weighted down

Heavy hands, feel not a pound

Tilting over, spun around

Memory

Sight and sound

#######################

All I can think about is sex and I’ve never even had sex
before. I don’t know why I haven't, because I’ve had plenty of opportunities. I
feel like I’m scared of sex. I’m scared because I think it will hurt me the
first time and it makes me nervous. I want someone to treat me right. I want to
know I won’t get hurt and that it won't be embarrassing. I’m really not the
kind of girl to let a bunch of guys run a train on me. I don’t want a lot of
one night stands. I mean, I like to dance, I like to be sexy, but when it comes
down to actually going all the way, I get scared and I always say no. A lot of
girls have had sex when they were younger than me. I feel kind of old to still
be a virgin, but I haven’t been in the right situation yet.

But oh shit, I want Jared to fuck me. Seriously…why do
some people just touch a nerve or something? I can’t believe I walked away. Part
of me wishes I had gone through with it and part of me is damn glad I didn’t. I
just can’t stop wondering what he thinks. What does a girl running away from a
situation like that typically mean?

My assignment is to write about a place that has good
fung shui. I have decided to write about my bedroom at my parents’ house.

My place is at the top of the stairs, and down a short
hallway, the door at the very end. The room isn’t too big, maybe 10’x14’, just
big enough for a double sized bed, a night stand, two dressers, a trunk, a
fairly large closet and some floor space.

My room is a disgusting powder pink. At some age,
probably 10, I decided that I was really into pink. I’ve cursed myself ever
since then because I think I only liked pink for two seconds. It’s like I’m in
a princess room or a stuck inside a piece of pink bubble gum. The carpet is
pink, the walls are pink, the door to my closet is wall papered in pink polka
dots.

My room is messy. It always has been, it will probably
always be. Clothes are spread out over the floor, the trunk, the back of a
chair. Dresser drawers hang open and my closet is a disaster. Every now and
then I get up the urge to clean my room and I clean the entire thing, but that
does not happen very often. I’m a slob, okay?

Proof positive is that my floor is strewn with papers,
art projects, crafts, books, school stuff, and miscellaneous items collected
over the years. The bed is unkempt. I don’t believe in making my bed, because
why? I’m just gonna mess it up again later. But the best part about my room is
the walls. There’s flowery wallpaper about half way up and then the pink walls
start and this is where my artwork starts. Every conceivable space is covered,
wall and ceiling, with artwork. Abstract, collages, watercolor, pastel, line
drawings, charcoal, mixed media. In the corner is a self-portrait I did in high
school in which I am supposed to look like I am on a stamp. On another wall are
interiors from when I went through a stage where I was interested in
perspective. Now several new pieces are on my wall because I’ve discovered dark
black charcoal. On another wall are magazine clippings, mostly hot guys, tacked
or taped everywhere. On the ceiling are glow in the dark stars and pieces of
fabric that look like constellations glued to cardboard. This room is me, my
expressions, my individuality. No one enters who has not been invited. My
parents don’t believe in snooping and they don’t make me clean my room. This
room is freedom. I create, I dream, I cry, I listen to music, I am me here,
boiled down to my essence.

Near the bed there is a stain in the carpet. Rubber
cement, dark brown, matted and hard, a perfect circle of dried glue. A
testament to my creativity gone wild, spilled while decorating one of my
journals with clippings from magazines. Now and then I step on that spot and
the feeling is very odd, crusty and hard, and it reminds me of what this place
is, of how free.

My hand cramps up and I stop writing. That should do it for
my journal entry this week for class. I lean against my bed, homework spread
out on the floor, an art project waiting in the corner, my journal turned to a
blank page. Sitting here amid the clutter, trying to focus on homework, I feel
like I’m waiting for something to happen or maybe wishing something will.

I’m trying to focus on finishing up some homework that I
know I won’t feel like finishing tomorrow. It’s Saturday morning and I haven’t
heard from Hannah about plans for tonight. I’m hoping she’ll call and tell me
that something fun is happening because I am so bored!

I keep getting distracted from my homework, getting up to
look in my mirror above my dresser, scrutinizing my appearance, hoping that
I’ll be going out tonight. Hoping, stupidly, that I might see Jared again. I’m
really not over my embarrassment of a few weeks ago, my cheeks still get hot
just thinking about it. But I haven’t seen him since then and I do kinda want
to see him.

My reflection in the mirror is…
interesting
. I’ve got
a lot to criticize but in some ways I think maybe I am attractive. I laugh
picturing myself in one of those boxing rings, my arms in the air like a champ
and then the announcer comes over the speaker. “Weighing in at a mean 120
pounds and in need of the road sign, Danger Curves Ahead, Victoria Sawyer!” Some
guy said that to me once, some cheesy line, but it made me feel good. The truth
is that in general my skin isn’t quite clear enough, my forehead’s too large,
I’m not toned enough, my hair needs a trim and I’m really not certain about my
facial features. They are even, I have full red lips and my eyes are a pretty
nice shade of green but I’m not sure if it works well as a whole. I don’t know,
it’s hard to judge yourself. Some days I look in the mirror and I think,
damn
girl, you’re looking good
. Other times, I’m thinking
woe is me I’m
hid-e-ous
.

The problem is comparison. In high school I had several
small bubbly blonde friends who attracted all the attention much like that
damned Stacia from the frat party. For some reason a girl who is 5'5” is too
big and dark hair just isn’t as good as blonde. I’m definitely not fat and I
recognize this, but still I imagine that I’m bigger than these tiny little
girls that guys seem to admire and lust after so much.

Arhhh shit…I'm huge
, I think, knowing that it isn't
true but feeling like I’m in the mood to beat myself up.
What guy would want
this?
I do have some decent curves I have to admit to myself, turning
around to see my body in the mirror. My breasts are full and nicely shaped and
my ass isn't anything to sneeze at either. My mother definitely gifted me with
a nicely shaped rear end, although it is a bit on the large side. However it
sometimes seems to me that these are not the things guys are interested in.

I purse my lips in the mirror, smiling wryly at myself. It’s
interesting to remember the days when I wore glasses. Now when I stand back
from the mirror, I have no problem seeing my face and how I look without
anything marring my natural appearance. Seeing myself without glasses on is
something relatively new. Just a few years ago, I’d get up real close to the
mirror, just an inch away, take off my glasses and everything was blurry. Even
close up I still couldn’t see myself clearly. The first time I had seen myself
without glasses, standing back from the mirror, I had literally gasped because
I looked so odd. I remember thinking,
I look like a freaking alien with
these huge eyes!
I feel like my confidence has increased a lot since those
days. It’s almost as if people notice me more now simply because I have more
confidence, not because the way I look changed that much.

Sighing, I swivel away from the mirror, tired of looking at
myself. I’m finally able to settle down on my bed to read a book for my
freshman English class when the phone finally
finally
decides to ring. I
rush to pick it up hoping it’s Hannah. It is.

“Hey girlfriend, how’s it hanging?” I ask, sending my smile
through the phone.

“Hmmm…hanging to the left, but feeling a bit swampy today,”
she replies with a laugh. We’ve taken to talking about gross stuff all the time
now. It’s disgusting and over the top and yet hilarious. Whoever can out do the
other in grossness is clearly superior.

“Kudos….yet gross, Hannah, TMI,” I say. She laughs.

“So…you’d better not have any plans for tonight because you
have to come with me.”

“What happened? What’s going on?” I ask.

“Well….I gave my number to a certain guy a few weeks ago and
he called and he wants to know if I can hang with him at his brother’s
apartment for the game tonight. Who could it be, Victoria? I’ve only been
crushing on him for weeks now,” she says.

“You’re shitting me!! Andy called you? You lucky skank, I’m
so jealous,” I say with a grin, happy for her.

“Well, you’re coming with me, right? Pleassseeeee, snatch,”
she begs and I can almost picture the pleading look on her face.

“Hannah, it’s gonna be so awkward for me to see Jared!” I
whine and then follow up with, “Of course I’ll come with you. I want to support
you and yeah, I still want to see him, awkwardness and all.”

“You’re the best!! I love you!” she replies, finally getting
down to details. “So meet me here at 6:45 tonight?“

“Deal. How could I not want to hang with my main snatch?”

I hang up the phone and suddenly I’m insanely nervous.
Oh
shit
. How can I go to Jared’s apartment with Hannah tonight.
Am I crazy?
(don’t answer this!)
How could I have agreed to go? And then I start
thinking about Jared.
Sexy bastard.
It will be awkward, but I do want to
see him again. I can just act aloof, like I don’t care and see how he takes it.

#######################

Hannah and I arrive at Jared’s apartment at 7:15. His place
is just off campus, an old house with three apartments. His, apparently, is on
the second floor. Hannah knocks on the front door while I stand off to the
side, my stomach flip flopping. I’m off the charts nervous after my last
encounter with Jared at the frat. In the cold light of day, my running off
seems absolutely ridiculous. I shouldn’t have gotten myself into a situation
like that, but part of me is glad I didn’t just sleep with him. It might have
actually been even more awkward.

So, I’m standing there feeling like I’m about to throw up
all over my tight blue, low cut, v-neck sweater that shows plenty of cleavage. I’ve
paired this top with a killer pair of tight, ripped jeans and slouchy boots and
my long hair is down and I’m wearing my favorite silver jewelry and a tight
military-esque grey jacket. I‘ve also got on my favorite silvery eye shadow
that brings out the green in my eyes. I know I’m looking good. My skin is
clear-ish for once and I feel confident about my outer appearance.

Things inside are a bit different. My stomach is churning,
maybe
trying to make butter? Who knows?
And this despite my repeated threats that
I will NOT allow my anxiety to disrupt or destroy my night. I love how damn
difficult it is to do the easiest and most normal things. I already spent 15
minutes sitting in my car in A lot before I gathered up the nerve to walk to
Hannah’s and start my evening. I kept thinking that once I was with Hannah,
there was no turning back, I had to go through with something that makes my
heart pound in an unnatural way.