Anatomy of a Boyfriend (8 page)

I feel myself choking up, and I nod.

―You really like this kid, don‘t you?‖

I squeak, ―Mmm-hmm.‖

―You know, hon…if he hasn‘t stepped up to the plate by now, maybe he‘s not going to.‖

―I just know he likes me, Daddy, even if he doesn‘t know.‖

―I‘m sure he likes you. Mom and I both thought he liked you when we met him.‖

―Really?‖ I almost smile. ―But then why…?‖

―Maybe he‘s intimidated. Guys can be real cowards.‖

―Intimidated?‖ I sit up and wipe my eyes with my knuckles. ―Please. I am
so
nothing special.‖

―Nothing special?‖ Dad roars. Then he clears his throat and goes on more calmly. ―Dominique, you do well in school, you‘re a beautiful girl, and, most important, you‘re a fabulous daughter and friend. That‘s pretty damned special in my book.‖

I shake my head no in response.

He asks, ―In what way do you think you‘re not good enough for this kid?‖

―It‘s just that…I‘m starting to realize I don‘t even know if I
like
myself. I have no idea who I am, and there‘s nothing I enjoy doing all that much.‖ I point to my Science Quiz certificates on the mantelpiece. ―Take SQ. I just do it because it looks good on my résumé, and it‘s the only club at Shorr where I can contribute something. I don‘t genuinely care about it, though. I don‘t have any real hobbies.‖

―You have hobbies! You love biology! I thought you were pretty sure about becoming a doctor.‖

I take a deep breath and say, ―Do I want to be a doctor? Do I really
want
to be a doctor? I know I‘ve been saying I do all along. But now I‘m starting to think it was just…inertia leading me down that path. If medicine really was for me, wouldn‘t I be tearing through medical journals in my spare time? Or volunteering at hospitals? I don‘t even watch
ER
! If being a doctor were my true calling, wouldn‘t I be thinking about it at least as much as I think about Wes?‖

Dad smiles. ―You know what? I think it‘s good you‘re confused about the future. That means you‘re open to more possibilities. I like being a policeman, but I wish I had taken more time to explore my options instead of jumping into the academy straight out of college. You don‘t need to have your life planned out right now.‖

―I‘m not asking to have my life planned out, I just want a life! Wes is only a year older than me, but he‘s thinking about so many things other than me, like track and training for the New York City Marathon, and he reads at least one or two books a week. But he‘s all I seem to think about, all I want to think about. It‘s like I have no control anymore over what I
can
think about, and it‘s so exhausting…. But I
want
him, Daddy! And I want him to want me!‖

I start bawling at full throttle. I must look like a two-year-old throwing a tantrum, but it also feels good to let it all out. A few minutes later, when my wails wind down to sniffles, Dad asks,

―Hey, Dom, do you…do you really feel you, you know,
love
this guy?‖ He chokes on ―love‖ as if there were a peanut shell stuck in his throat, but just hearing the word instantly causes me to stop crying, as if I‘m having an epiphany.

Until now, for some reason, it has never occurred to me I might actually
love
Wes. I knew I really, really liked him and wanted to date him, but it seems illogical that I could
love
a boy I‘ve spent only a few hours alone with, especially when I‘m not sure about his feelings for me. On the other hand, I do want to be with him every minute, and I‘m always going out of my way to do nice things for him, and the thought of his not wanting me makes me cry.

I guess I do love him. A lot.

I nod.

―Hmmm…Well, it‘s a pisser your first time‘s not a happy one, but you don‘t need a boyfriend right now, anyway. Just like you shouldn‘t commit to a career too early, you shouldn‘t commit to a guy so young.‖

I don‘t say anything and lean against him a few more minutes. Eventually I mumble, ―I promised Mom I‘d clean up the kitchen before she gets back. I‘d better go do that.‖

―Go ahead, but keep your chin up. You never know what tomorrow will bring.‖

As I‘m wiping off the countertops I start to feel rejuvenated. Dad‘s right. I
don’t
know what tomorrow will bring, which is all the more reason not to rule out Wes. Even though I met him just a couple months ago, I feel more deeply for him than anyone else I‘ve known for years.

Truth be told, Wes is the first thing in my life I‘ve ever felt totally, completely, and viscerally passionate about and want to devote every hour of my day to. I know that sounds off the wall, but I never knew I could be this into something, or someone. What‘s more, I‘ve worked hard for everything I‘ve ever earned in the past, be it good grades or SAT scores. I owe it to myself to work just as hard to win Wes‘s heart. Even Emily Dickinson wrote, ―To love is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.‖

I rush to my room, turn on my computer, and allow the adrenaline to ooze from my fingertips as I compose my most personal e-mail yet, just short of declaring my eternal love. I write Wes that I‘m so grateful for his friendship because he‘s the most interesting and talented guy I‘ve ever met. I say a day isn‘t complete when I don‘t hear from him, and a week is empty if I don‘t see him at least once. I finish by telling him he‘s one of the closest friends I‘ve ever had, but in my heart I‘m wondering if he could be even more than that.

I opt not to proofread because I don‘t want to give myself the chance to edit down my emotions.

I pressSEND , inhale deeply, and resume writing my English paper with vigor. Of course, I still manage to check e-mail every three minutes for Wes‘s response.

12

I
t never comes.

Obviously, he doesn‘t want me as a girlfriend, and I had to push it. I think about writing him another e-mail telling him I‘m okay with being just friends, but I know that would be a lie. I should be relieved, though. Now I have more time to ponder really important things, like current events. A huge segment of the world‘s population is dying of starvation, disease, natural disasters, and war. With all this tragedy happening around me, how can I justify being upset over somebody as trivial as a sprinter on EFM‘s track team? Anyway, it‘s not like Wes and I are breaking up. We‘ve just stopped being friends.

On the second day of no reply, I ask Dad to time me as I play Operation in a feeble attempt to rekindle my interest in medicine and forget about Wes, even if just for a few seconds. But my hands are shaking so much I can‘t even tweeze out one piece without sounding the buzzer. I never realized before that this red-nosed patient is suffering from unrequited love too. He has a butterfly in his stomach, and his plastic heart is broken. My God, I‘m actually identifying with the man in Operation. How much lower can I go?

On the third day, I don‘t have the patience to deal with my Shorr friends‘ cafeteria antics, so I have lunch by myself on one of the benches behind the school. Someone must have tipped off my mom, because soon she sits next to me and asks what‘s wrong. When I tell her, she says,

―Oh, Dommie, three days is nothing to worry about!‖

How can I make her understand the last three days may as well have been three centuries?

Then she urges me to recall my SAT prep course last summer and the cardinal rule for dealing with impossible multiple-choice questions.

―I know what you‘re getting at, Mom.
Cancel and move on.
‖

―Exactly. I say that‘s what you should do with this young man. Now, I know it must be nice to have a crush on someone, but if he‘s not reciprocating,
cancel and move on.
‖

I look at her and remember how she had no serious love interests before Dad, and Dad made his feelings for her clear from the beginning. Mom was never once in my position of aching for a boy she couldn‘t have, so she could never empathize with what I‘m feeling. It‘s no wonder she teaches math. She thinks everything‘s so methodical and logical. To her Wes is no more significant than an irrational number or division by zero.

On the fourth day, Amy insists on taking me out to the mall as a ―reality check.‖ We‘re sitting in the food court when she says to me, ―Look around, Dom. Hundreds of people. None of them knows who Gersh is. None of them cares. Look at that guy. And that guy. And that guy. They‘re all cute. They‘d all probably think you‘re cute too.‖

This young couple sitting in front of Salad Shack catches my eye. They‘re sharing lemonade and exchanging kisses and smiles after every few sips.

―I want that,‖ I say as I point to the canoodling pair, ―but only with Wes.‖

Amy shakes her head. ―My mom‘s worked with hundreds of dysfunctional couples who mistook raging hormones for love and are so obviously wrong for each other. You don‘t want to end up like that. Better to find out sooner than later.‖

―You encouraged me to pursue him, Ames. You said he was a great guy and that he was into me!‖

―Yeah, but how did I know things would get this screwed up? I‘m sorry to take your parents‘

side on this, but you have to get on with your life.‖

It‘s scary how my quasi breakup with Wes has made me feel more detached from Amy than ever before. I hate Wes for it. Just to spite him I order a Philly cheesesteak from the food court.

After so many weeks of not eating meat, just the sight of all that fatty, cooked flesh makes me queasy, but I force myself to swallow every sinew anyway. That night I get diarrhea.

On the fifth day of no e-mail and with no recourse left, I actually call my grandma. I‘m hoping confiding my troubles in her like I used to years ago will magically bring to life the feisty, problem-solving woman she used to be. Instead, all she says is, ―He‘d probably like you a lot more if you had better posture.‖ Then she launches into stories of her own dating woes and complains how hard it is to find a man at her age. It‘s so demoralizing to hear a seventy-four-year-old woman who contributes nothing to society yearn for a boyfriend as if she were a teenager. What if I‘m genetically destined to end up like her?

When night falls on the sixth day of not hearing from Wes, I wait until my parents‘ door is closed and they‘re sound asleep. After checking my e-mail for the trillionth time that week, I curl up in the fetal position and cry my eyes out. I catch a glimpse of myself in my full-length mirror, and I really do look like a baby, what with all the tears and snot dripping down my tomato red face and onto my sheets and pajamas. I almost laugh at the ridiculously pathetic image.

I don‘t know how I became such a wreck in a few short weeks. I wish I‘d never laid eyes on him. I wish I could kill all the cells in my brain that store my memories of him so I could return to that happy, benign place where the foremost things on my mind were grades and Science Quiz. I was perfectly content being Amy‘s celibate sidekick. Now I may never be content again.

Finally I doze off with an empty hopelessness. When the phone wakes me up, I‘m pissed to the core that my sleep—the only time of day when I‘m not completely depressed—has been interrupted. I grab my cell as if it were a weed and gaze disdainfully at the caller ID display. I don‘t for a second consider it could be Wes calling.

But it is.

He and I exchanged numbers back in January, but there was never any point in calling each other since our schedules were so conflicting. Also, we had been corresponding so well through e-mail, up until this week, at least.

My heart reels and I wait three more rings to make sure I‘m not in a dream. I haven‘t the slightest idea what he‘s going to say. Maybe he wants me to return the
Runner’s World
magazine he lent me. But would he phone me for that?

―Hello?‖ I try to sound calm even though I‘m shaking.

―Hey,‖ his voice radiates out from the earpiece. ―Sorry for calling this late.‖

―It‘s okay,‖ I say, faking a yawn as I check my clock. ―Eleven‘s not that late for a Friday. Um, what‘s up?‖

―I just made a disconcerting discovery. None of my e-mail went out all week.‖

―What?‖ I almost shout.

―I realized it today when my English teacher said she didn‘t receive my last paper. I upgraded my software Saturday, and since then all the e-mails I sent just got saved as drafts.‖

―Oh…That sucks!‖

―I don‘t know how I screwed it up, but I messed around with a few settings and it‘s all fixed now.‖ His voice starts to sound nervous. ―So I wanted to call and tell you, in case you were wondering.‖

―Um, yeah. Thanks. I just assumed you were busy…or there really wasn‘t anything in my last e-mail to respond to.‖

―Of course I wanted to respond. I mean…there was a lot I wanted to say to you. Um…why weren‘t you at the meet on Tuesday?‖

―Oh. I think that was the day I helped Amy proofread her lab report,‖ I lie. ―I‘m sorry.‖

―It‘s okay, but my parents were missing you. So was I.‖

―Yeah? Well, I missed you all too,‖ I manage to articulate, even though the corners of my mouth are the widest apart they‘ve ever been. ―Um, has everything you meant to send been sent to me?‖

―Nah, I deleted everything, since so much time had passed. And I‘d been wondering why you weren‘t writing back, and I got a little paranoid.‖

Me too!
I want to shout. ―Well, send me a summary tomorrow, okay?‖

―Okay. One of the highlights was that I finally got a summer job. Southwest Florida College is hiring me as a library clerk.‖

―Congrats! That‘s funny, because I just found work too, as a receptionist at Amy‘s mom‘s practice. So…we‘ll both be in town this summer.‖

―Cool.‖ Then a silence. ―Anyway, I‘m beat from practice, and I need to get to bed soon.‖

―Oh, okay. Well, thanks for calling.‖

―Sure. Sorry again about this, Dom. Bye.‖

There‘s no way I can sleep, and after ten minutes of giggling like a maniac, I find myself at the computer. I start crying again while I type.

Subject: I don’t know…

Date: Saturday, March 2, 12:35 a.m.

Yes, I‘m aware we just got off the phone, but I have to tell you something. This week was the first time in a while we weren‘t talking on a daily basis…and I felt sort of awful. I tried my best to block you out of my mind, but I couldn‘t. Then I kept wishing I‘d never gone to that student-teachers football game in the first place. Hell, I don‘t know what I‘m saying. If you only knew what I didn‘t write.