At 21, Part 8

1993


I sneak a glance at MJ and catch her staring back, flashing me a brilliant smile, white teeth shining through the darkness. She’s happy to have caught my eye. MJ wants me to look at her. Wants me to know she’s looking at me. Our shoulders are touching, our shoeless, white sock-covered feet. I’m sitting in a dark living room, watching a movie with a group of friends from Pizza Tent. My girlfriend, Elisa, is out at a dance club, doing her bad white girl dances and scoring free drinks from adoring jerkoffs who will tell her: "Your boyfriend lets you out alone? Well, that’s his loss. He must be a real loser." We used to be inseparable, but lately we’ve decided it might be best to give each other some space, to have lives of our own, to allow our relationship to breathe, to try something different. So, Elisa puts on her tightest, smallest clothing, frizzes up her black hair, crams her feet inside tall heels, hides her natural olive-skinned beauty beneath a few layers of garish makeup, then does whatever it is that she does at those ridiculous clubs full of men who want to fuck her. I’m not into the club scene, which is why I’m here tonight with a small group of friends from work, at Mindy’s (a sweet big girl whom I dated briefly and unsuccessfully) lovely suburban home, watching Pump Up The Volume, a bad, completely unbelievable Christian Slater movie that I am somehow enjoying. My back against the couch and my side against soft, warm MJ. Fred, whom I’ve known since elementary school, eyes me suspiciously from across the room. He sees how close I’m sitting to MJ, rolls his eyes, mouths What the fuck are you doing? He couldn’t care less whether or not I cheat on Elisa; he just hates that all the girls he likes seem to develop crushes on me. I can’t help it that I’m so damned cute. It’s the dimples. Girls love the dimples. It has to be the dimples. What else could it be? My pale, sun-frightened skin? My overall lack of strength? My super stylish feathered dirty blonde hair? My low-paying job? My scarred left hand? My large comic book collection?

MJ rests her head on my shoulder, and I suddenly feel uncomfortable, because it feels nice. I do have a girlfriend, after all, and what’s happening here is verging on inappropriate behavior. Sure, Elisa has definitely cheated on me, once for certain, probably many more times than that, but I’ve never cheated on her. And I don’t want to start now. Well, I do want to cheat on Elisa, right now, with MJ—I want to suck on MJ’s long tongue in the worst way, want to lick her face, bite her nipples, masturbate while she nakedly waves her pompoms and jumps up and down above me—but I don’t want to be that guy. The guy who cheats on his girlfriend just to get even. The guy who doesn’t take his relationship seriously. The guy who screws the first sweet young high school girl with strong calves who tempts him. I love Elisa, more than I should, probably. But I do love her. Strangely, tonight is the first night she’s been out without me at a club where I haven’t been racked with jealousy. I’m weirdly numb. Maybe it’s because MJ is distracting me. Or maybe I’m simply more mature than I used to be. It’s sure as hell not because I trust Elisa. Heh, no way, not that.

These days, I am Elisa’s bitch. She’s usually out at the club until two or three or in the morning, drinking and dancing and whatever else. And I’m usually in my bed at two or three in the morning, waiting for Elisa to call, hoping that she’ll grace me with her presence, hoping that she’ll drive her drunk ass over to my house, hoping that she’ll be horny and will want to fuck me. That’s what I do now. Lie in bed and wait for my girlfriend to call. I wait to get fucked.

Sad.

It’s almost eleven p.m. when I excuse myself and head outside to have a cigarette. It’s cold and blustery on this early February night, the weekend before Valentine’s Day. I have to leave by one in the morning, have to be in my bed sitting by the phone, in case Elisa calls and wants to come over. Just as I light my smoke, MJ sidles up next to me. We’re standing in front of Mindy’s house, in the driveway, watching the cars pass by. She’s wearing a sweater and a short skirt, and she starts shivering immediately.

"How you doing tonight, sexy?" she asks, pushing her brown hair away from her eyes.

I look around. "You talking to me?"

"Well, duh!"

I smile, appreciating the compliment, however ridiculous it sounds to me.

MJ is a senior in high school, a smart girl who’ll be heading off to college in the fall. She also looks terrific in a cheerleader uniform, just the right amount of bounce and wiggle in that tall frame. She’s not a skinny girl. MJ has curves. She’s soft all over. I’d like to sink into her, disappear.

"It’s freezing," she says, her teeth chattering.

I put my arm around her. "That better?"

She nods. "Much."

"It’s funny, at home I don’t like to sit in the dark because of the cockroaches. They tend to stay away in the light. In the dark, I always feel like something is crawling on me."

She laughs. Maybe she thinks I’m kidding. "If we were alone in the dark, I’d be crawling all over you. Speaking of bugs, where is Elisa tonight?"

"Out. Who knows. Drunk somewhere. Don’t care."

"Are you going to see her tonight?"

I take a deep drag, then toss the cigarette into the street. "Maybe. If she calls me later. She might come over. Sometimes she comes over in the middle of the night."

"For a booty call?"

"Heh, yeah, sure."

She nuzzles in closer, wraps her arms around my waist. Her mouth brushes my neck. I tingle, itch, warm all over.

"It doesn’t bother you that she cheats on you all the time? There’s a lot of stuff I’ve heard about that you don’t know, I’m sure. Just from, like, hearing her talk on the phone I know she’s playing you for a fool. She might love you. Probably she does, but she is not a good girlfriend. She’s terrible. Dump her. Move on."

"And then what? I should date who? You?"

She beams. "Sure. Why not me? I’d be an excellent girlfriend. I’m smart. I’m cool. I don’t cheat. I wouldn’t make fun of you for being a fan of ‘Beverly Hills, 90210.’ Okay, maybe I would make fun of you for that, but, like, affectionately."

I laugh. Stop laughing. Turn serious. "When I first started dating Elisa, I thought, ‘Well, this is the girl for me. She’s the one. I’m going to spend my life with this girl.’ You know, I guess I don’t want to think I was wrong about her."

"You were."

"Thanks."

We exchange smiles.

"Ervin," MJ begins, lifting her head from my shoulder and looking into my eyes. "If you stay with her, you’re going to be miserable. What are you going to do, work at Pizza Tent all your life? Marry Elisa? Struggle to make ends meet? Have a few kids that may or may not be yours. Seriously, Ervin. I mean, really? I know you want more out of life. I know you want to take pictures and write. I know you want to be creative. You can do so much more than you’re doing now. You’re wasting your life."

"What should I do?"

"Go back to school. Dump Elisa. Ask me out. Kiss me. Don’t lower yourself for someone else. Find someone who’ll lift you up. Bring you to another level. But where would you find such a girl?" She pauses dramatically, scratches her chin. "Wait, I know. You’ve already found her, and she’s me!"

"It’s not that easy, MJ."

She grins. "Isn’t it?"

Briefly, I wonder.

Then I kiss her softly on the mouth. She tastes like Juicy Fruit. Sweet, sugary, warm. MJ doesn’t wear lipstick, just a thin layer of cherry lip balm. She smells faintly of lemons and grease, as all of us who worked at Pizza Tent tonight do. Her nails dig into my back. Her breaths are heavy. I pull away.

"Shit," I say, licking my lips. "I shouldn’t have done that."

"Then why did you?" MJ asks, her lips still kissably posed.

"Because I wanted to."

I take MJ’s hand and we walk back inside. Now, all I have to do is be strong. When Elisa calls at three in the morning, I simply have to let the phone ring. When she calls for sex, I won’t answer. Easy enough, right?

I don’t want to be someone’s fuck toy. I want to be someone’s boyfriend.

Back inside the house, MJ lays her head on my chest. Her satiny hair tickles my cheek. I haven’t felt this content in months. This happy. This alive. I suddenly feel as if I have a future. Feel as if I can make something of my life. The future is open. MJ’s lips are open. And I want in.