Kissing Just For Practice (Part IV)

Marty was smart and funny, and kind of cute, in his own weird way. He was also too innocent or afraid to try anything sexual, which was nice. Not that anyone was clamoring to do anything like that with me, but it took the pressure off a bit. Marty looked at me in a way that felt as nice as I imagined sex did. At the time, that was enough.

I didn’t really see the appeal of blowjobs or handjobs or titty fucking or whatever it was people did. I just wanted to feel the swoon that Diana Ross sang about. At the time, it seemed possible to get there with only glances and flowers and maybe second base. The rest of it just seemed sweaty and smelly and awkward.

Marty was a sort of a Ken doll, I guess. I don’t mean to objectify him, and he hardly fit the profile of such a description. But at the time, he provided all of the things I told myself I needed, and for all I was concerned, the hidden parts of him were smooth and plastic and non-existent. He was the answer to Barbie’s problems, and while I wasn’t Barbie, and he wasn’t Ken, it fit the narrative.

I had met him at a Regional Model U.N. debate. He was Luxembourg. I was Bulgaria. During one of the breaks, he bought a can of Sprite from the machine and two of them came out. He offered me one, and we started talking.

Even when it doesn’t happen to one much, you can usually tell when a guy is hitting on you. There’s awkwardness and a flattery to it, regardless of whether you’re receptive or the delivery is clever. But there’s also a sense of distrust. I didn’t feel that with Marty, though.

We saw Lord of the Rings together, and had lunch a few times. As far as I could tell, he’d never heard the Hot Dog Story. Eventually he asked if I wanted to share a tent with him at All-Seniors, and I agreed. I immediately went from asking myself if I liked him to dancing around my room in celebration of the fact that he did.

Paige’s friend Jason had been planning a big set-up for the night, and had some cousin who was supposed to bring a bunch of mushrooms. I didn’t tell Marty about that part, fearing that it might freak him out. It freaked me out. Paige talked about it with a shoulder-scrunching giddiness that I tried to share, but I had never taken mushrooms before. I was worried that I’d go crazy and jump off a cliff, or shove my head through someone’s car window, or do something that would cause everyone in sight to point at me and laugh. 

She had said it was kind of like acid. I nodded, like I knew what acid felt like. The only thing I knew about it was that supposedly in the 70’s some junior at South had a bunch stashed in his sock at some party. He ended up getting chased by the cops in a downpour, and all of the rainwater and sweat made the acid seep into his skin. At some point, he got the idea that he was a glass of orange juice, and it became permanent. Everyone says that he’s been in Laurelwood ever since, standing in a corner, constantly swaying and begging people to not tip him over. Though my mom went to South around that time, and she said the same rumor was around back then, only the Orange Juice Kid went to Euclid, and it was peyote.

We drove out to Millwood in Marty’s grandfather’s bird egg blue Skylark. The interior was immaculate, and there were four cassettes in the slot above the tape deck, all greatest hits collections: The Oak Ridge Boys, Alabama, Kenny Rogers, and The Ramones, which looked like the cellophane had just been ripped off it. He had probably bought it during the same mall trip that netted him the Ramones t-shirt he was wearing. It was the one black-and-white one that a lot of people had. Langley wore it on The X-Files.

‘You like The Ramones?’ he asked, drumming on the steering wheel in a manner that looked unfamiliar with the beat. Maybe he was just entering some organic Ramones phase, but I flirted with the idea that he had me in mind a bit when he decided to try on a new skin. Either way, he came off like a stilted poser, but I still found it kind of cute. I liked the idea that someone might put thought into trying to impress me.

‘Yeah, they’re great.’ I probably came across as transparently as he did. I recognized the music when I heard it, but I didn’t really know many of their songs outside of the ‘Hey-ho-let’s-go’ one.

‘This song’s about Ronald Reagan going to a Nazi graveyard when he was the president. ‘

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, it’s called ‘Bonzo Goes to Bitburg’.Well, that’s the parentheses part. Bonzo was the name of a monkey that he was in a movie with when he was an actor. Bitburg was the name of the cemetery.’

‘Wow.’

‘Yeah.’

A big part of why I liked Marty was the fact that he seemed a bit more innocent than other guys, though sometimes he seemed to have a maturity and worldliness that they all lacked. And when he finished talking, the look he gave me didn’t seem like a gauge of my reaction to what he said. It felt like he genuinely wanted to hear what I had to say.

‘My dad didn’t like Reagan.’ I didn’t want to seem as dumb as I felt, and it was the first thing that came to mind. ‘He said he fired all of the airport workers when he shouldn’t have.’

‘My dad says he saved the country from Jimmy Carter.’

Neither one of us said anything for a few minutes after that. Every now and again, I would stare at him until I sensed that he noticed, and whip my gaze toward the window. I counted green mile markers and wondered if he was doing the same thing.

A kid with bad teeth and an orange vest directed us to a parking spot, a bit too much flair and authority in the swing of the orange rods he held. Walking towards the campground, I grabbed Marty’s hand, squeezing it once he grew the courage to lock fingers. I did want him to know that I liked him, but that’s not why I held his hand. It just happened without thought, an immediate reaction to a rapid onset of paralyzing fear.

I recognized a lot of faces. The names slowly came back to me, as did the memories I’d dedicated myself to moving past (or at least ignoring). I can’t say that I ever stopped feeling like The Hot Dog Girl, but walking through the crowd at that moment, I suddenly realized that I had done a better job of getting over it than I had thought. The anguish that had hung on me like chains for years wasn’t as heavy as it had seemed. I had convinced myself that I was as weighed down as I’d felt back at McKinley. But the truth was that I could’ve been flying the whole time. I think that epiphany hurt more than the shame.

Our campsite was easily the nicest on the grounds. Marty had been talking on the way there about stopping at the North High A.V. Club’s tent, up until he saw where we were staying. After that, he was reduced to grinning and spouting the occasional giddy ‘cool’ or ‘sweet’ or ‘awesome’. I was as in awe of the whole set-up as he was, but I managed to act like it was just another day in the life.

‘What’s up, bitches!’ Paige hoisted up her arm, flashing the index-and-pinky metal sign and sticking out her tongue. The little-glow-in-the-dark ball that capped the rod stuck through her tongue was just starting its neon blush in the waning daylight. She had gotten it pierced on a whim three weeks ago when we were at the mall. The reason cited was that it made blowjobs more enjoyable for boys, but I think she just wanted to piss off her mom. I didn’t try to talk her out of it.

‘You must be Marty!’ she chirped, in the sing-song tone we all unconsciously adopt in certain social situations. I had been pretty sure that most of my friends assumed Marty didn’t exist. It felt nice to finally show proof that someone liked me, and that I was navigating the waters of dating. But her greeting made it seem like I was talking about him a lot. I couldn’t say what was wrong about that, but my face warmed with embarrassment.

‘Yeah. Hi.’ He shook her hand with a stiff awkwardness. ‘You’re Paige, I presume?’

‘The one and only!’ Her voice still possessed the hollow warmth of a telemarketer. “C’mon, let’s get you guys some beers!’

She handed us a pair of Natural Lights dripping with ice water and led us over to our tent. The plan was to sleep four in it, but it turned out that Paige’s date had come down with mono and couldn’t make it. It would just be the three of us. I questioned whether or not he existed, but I didn’t bother to inquire out loud. Most liars are only as good as their audience’s desire to avoid confrontation.

After we dropped our bags and settled in, Paige pulled me off to the outskirts of the woods by the wrist with some vague excuse. Once we had gotten far enough away from the crowd, she turned to me, holding my hands as she bunched her shoulders and squealed. It was a demeanor that she had never exhibited outside of an impression aimed at mockery. But I think it was sincere.

‘Oh my God, Shelly, he’s adorable! That’s the guy you went to the movies with?’

‘Yeah.’

We both beamed like idiots, though my dopey giddiness was clouded by the notion that anyone who’s All-Seniors date had bailed at the last second wouldn’t be able to fake this sort of joy. Especially Paige. If her supposed date – allegedly a South High drummer in a punk band who looked like Edward Furlong – really had bailed on her, she wouldn’t have been able to muster such empathetic excitement. She’d be sulking and complaining and talking about how fat and ugly she was, and how love and romance was a strategy cooked up by Hallmark.

‘He’s cute,’ she said, raising her eyebrows as she fished a cigarette from her purse. ‘You guys fuck yet?’ The question was asked playfully, with a bit of a Cheshire grin, knowing that we hadn’t. She was well aware of the fact that I was a virgin, and I don’t doubt that she saw right through the fabrications of mild trysts I had invented from time to time in an attempt to hide the fact that I’d never even kissed a boy.

‘Shut up,’ I moaned, parroting the same tone of light jest.

‘Do you think he’s The One?’ I could hear the capital letters. Paige had been nudging me to lose my virginity since she had learned that I still possessed it.

‘I really like him,’ I said, the words wavering with the unadorned honesty one can so rarely let out. You not only have to have someone you trust to be nakedly open with, but you need to possess the bravery to do so. Even at my most confident, I still felt frozen in vulnerable cowardice. I think most people do. We shy away from honesty unless we feel assured that it will be accepted or recognized as universal.

‘Go get him, Tiger,’ she said with a wink, her tongue poking out of a pursed smile as she pushed me towards the campfire.

Marty was talking with a few guys near the keg, holding a beer like it was his first. I can’t explain what was going through my mind, or how I had the sudden courage to do what I did. To this day, I’m not sure if it was panicked desperation or bold action in a moment of clarity. Some days, I cringe when I think about it. Other times, I wish I could be that person again.

‘Shelly! There you are!’ His face lit up as he saw me approaching, a look I had always hoped to bring about in a boy, but feared I never could. ‘Guys, this is-‘

I grabbed him by the hand and yanked him away from the circle without exchanging pleasantries or breaking stride, his smile deflating into a straight-lipped confusion. Ignoring his nervous questioning about what was up and where we were going and if I was OK, I marched him into the woods, shoved him against a tree, and kissed him with the neck-gripping passion I’d seen on my mom’s soap operas.

He started kissing me back after he’d gotten over the initial shock. It didn’t feel anything like I’d expected. It was slippery and slimy and I felt self-conscious.

‘I want you to be my boyfriend,’ I whispered after pulling back a bit, our foreheads still touching.

‘OK’. He put his hands on my head, thumbs and index fingers wrapping around my ears. His voice was as soft as his eyes, which locked onto mine for a few seconds, both of us frozen save for our deep breaths. He kissed me again, and I suddenly understood the appeal.

‘I am kissing a guy,’ I thought to myself over and over, like a calming mantra. The idea that it was happening felt better than the act itself. I swirled my tongue around his, afraid that my inexperience was painfully obvious, opening my eyes every few seconds to make sure his were still closed. This went on for a few minutes, until we broke lips, our foreheads still pressed together, eyes locked. I don’t think either of us knew what to do next.

‘I really like you.’

‘I really like you, too.’

He tried kissing my neck for a few seconds, but it tickled, causing me to shirk away and giggle. He stepped back, holding my hands, and we stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity I would never tire of.

‘Let’s go back to the party,’ he whispered, kissing me on the forehead.

We walked through the woods in silence, hands clasped, arms swaying, both of us trying to corral our heavy breathing. I wondered if he was as nervous or happy as I was. The confusion was a bit of a disappointment, as I’d always thought that kissing a boy or having a boyfriend would make me feel self-assured. At the very least, I’d figured it would be enough evidence to prove that someone liked me. But my mind was plagued with thoughts of my inadequacy, and a fear that he would discover them and change his mind.

‘I’m gonna go find Paige,’ I said when we got back to the clearing. ‘Want to grab us some beers and meet at the bonfire?’

‘Sure.’ He kissed me and squeezed my hand before walking off. Back at McKinley, couples had always done that sort of thing in the hallway between bells. They would peck each other on the lips, like it was nothing, and gaze at each other as they walked off, their hands touching until the last possible second. I had always wanted to someone to do that with. It wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined it would be like, but it was enough to make me shiver with joy, unable to mask my Joker-sized grin. For the first time in my entire life, I felt pretty.

The only other thing I wanted to do besides kiss Marty some more was to tell Paige what had happened. But she was nowhere to be found. I walked around the horseshoe, poking my head into tents and asking if anyone had seen her. After the third or fourth lap, I figured she’d gone off to smoke weed, or put her tongue ring to use, and went back to find Marty.

The thought of running into Karen had been in the back of my mind for years. Early on, it infected my veins, even in places there was virtually no chance she would be at. As time went on, the fear subsided, though it still lingered, to the point that I’d half-expected to see her on the beach during family vacations to Florida. But for some reason, I hadn’t even thought about it when All-Seniors rolled around, despite the fact that the event held high odds of such an encounter. On some level, I guess I knew she would be there, as everyone was. But my mind had been too crowded with daydreams and fears regarding Marty to even entertain the notion, let alone be bothered by it.

The feeling of being pretty or wanted or special vanished the moment I saw them sitting together in the bonfire circle. Marty really wasn’t Karen’s type, but I couldn’t shake the idea that if for some reason she wanted him on some drunken whim, the tender looks and compliments he gave me would instantly shift towards her direction. It made me feel like an empty vessel, every shiny and new warm feeling that made life worth living suddenly exposed as a naïve lie that only I believed.

As I dashed off into the woods to cry, I was struck by the idea that maybe Karen had always felt the same way. A participant wishes they could win the bronze. The bronze wants to be the silver. The silver wants to be the gold. The gold wants to be something more - something hazy and vague that’s not marked by a tangible accomplishment. Nothing is enough. There is no satiation.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I decided that the best course of action was to assume that Karen was as petrified as I was. Marching back to the party, my eyes drying and my shoulders perking, I told myself over and over that whoever faked it the best would be the victor in a non-existent but pervading contest. I would treat Karen like the pathetic joke I felt like, and doing so would give me the upper hand.

I suddenly felt pretty again.