Crystal (10 page)

" This is a graph," Bernie began, holding up a grid. "There's one for each of us."
Ashley and I sat on two chairs in his room while he stood and lectured. Ashley said it felt as if she were back in school. I asked her to be patient.
"This will be session one," he continued, closing and opening his eyes with annoyance. "We will do the same things each session and rate our reactions to them on a scale of one to ten, ten being the most intense. Our objective is to determine how kissing affects us, which kisses we like best, and so on. Understand?" he asked. He did sound and look like Mr. Friedman, our science teacher.
"No," Ashley said, shaking her head. "It sounds like gobbledygook. What does a graph have to do with kissing?"
"The graph doesn't have anything to do with it. It's just a way of recording reactions scientifically:' Bernie sighed with frustration. He looked at me. "You see why I could never be a teacher?"
Bernie shook his head, took a deep breath, and returned to his chart.
"We'll meet here every night over the next week or so," he said.
"I still don't understand what we're doing," Ashley whined.
"Ultimately, we're going to see which kinds of kisses we like best, dry, quick pecks or long, wet ones," Bernie said a bit cruelly. "You have thought about kissing a boy before, right? Just pretend I'm whatever boy you're in love with this week, and plant one on me."
Ashley sucked in her breath and held it. She looked as if she might explode. Her eyes bulged. She looked from me to Bernie and then started to shake her head.
"I won't do that," she said. She kept shaking her head.
"You're not going to sit there and tell us you've never thought about kissing a boy?" He was getting exasperated. "It's natural to think about it."
She couldn't get any redder, I thought, and I felt myself blushing as well. All this talk about kissing was making me as nervous as Ashley.
"It's very important that we're honest with one another," Bernie emphasized. "In science, honesty is essential. We can't hide truth, and we can't pretend. No one here is going to laugh or make fun of anyone else, either. We're serious, and we're going to be adult about it, right, Crystal?"
"Yes," I said, surprised myself at how clinical Bernie made it all seem. It didn't even sound sexy or mysterious. Which is how I always dreamed it would be.
"Why is he the one telling us everything we have to do?" Ashley complained.
"You asked me to help with this experiment, and I've done it," Bernie said.
"I didn't ask. Crystal and I were curious about kissing, and you butted in, right, Crystal?"
"Yes, but we need Bernie's help."
"You're going to do this?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, looking at Bernie, who seemed more determined and purposeful than ever. "I'm very interested, and I know we'll learn a lot more about ourselves."
She glued her huge eyes to my face for a moment. "Well?" Bernie demanded.
"All right," Ashley said. "If Crystal's going to do it, I'll try."
"Good," Bernie said. He walked over to his door and locked it. Then he went to the windows and closed all the blinds tightly. Ashley's eyes followed his every move. He handed each of us a graph.
"The numbers at the side correspond to the activities," he explained. "It will be easier if we just refer to them by their numbers. On the top as you see are the dates, beginning with today. As long as we keep this scientific, we'll do fine," he added.
He went to a cabinet under his wall of shelves and opened it.
"What's that?" Ashley asked before he had a chance to explain
"It's a digital blood-pressure cup, and it also records pulse."
"Where did you get that?" she asked, as if it were some forbidden fruit.
"You can get these anywhere, Ashley. They sell them in drugstores. It's no big deal," Bernie said. "Now, when you're aroused," he continued in his scientist's voice, "your blood pressure should rise and your pulse, of course, will quicken. Let's take our blood pressures and pulses right now before we do anything else, so we'll know what to consider normal and what not, okay? Who's first?"
"I'll start," I said, and Bernie fit the cup around my arm. When I was done, he measured Ashley.
"You must be a little nervous," he said. "I wouldn't expect your pressure to be this high."
He did his own, which was as low as mine.
"How come you two are so calm?" Ashley asked suspiciously. "Aren't you nervous, Crystal?"
"No." It was true. Now that we were ready to begin, I was more anxious than nervous to find out what it felt like to be kissed.
She looked skeptical. "Now what?" she asked. Bernie sat across from us, crossed his legs, and gazed at his notes.
"Now, we should kiss. Ashley, you want to go first?" he asked.
Ashley popped up from her chair like a jack-inthe- box. She fumbled with the door lock and ran out before Bernie could ask her what she was doing. Moments later, we heard the front door slam.
Bernie and I looked at each other.
"I don't think she was quite ready for this," he said with a smile.
"I think you did all that just to get rid of her," I said, finally beginning to understand why he had been so clinical.
His eyes met mine as he tried to hide the truth.
"I knew she wouldn't be ready. Why waste time with her?"
"Why did you want to do this?" I asked. "Remember," I quickly followed, "honesty is essential in science."
He started to smile and stopped to put on his serious face again. "I've had different feelings about you, different from what I've felt about other girls, and I wanted to understand why," he explained.
"So this is still an experiment?"
"Yes," he said "What else could it be?"
I wanted to say it could be love; it could be romance. I wanted to say that maybe we shouldn't dissect our feelings, that maybe that would destroy them, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want to drive him away, and there was an excitement that started as a small trembling in my legs and moved up my spine until my heartbeat quickened.
"Should we get on with this?" Bernie asked. His eyes were full of anticipation and hope.
Once, at the orphanage, I had caught a girl named Marsha Benjamin in a very passionate embrace with a boy much older than she. His name was Glen Fraser, and I remember being afraid of him, afraid of the way he looked at me. I was too young to understand why at the time, but when I saw him and Marsha kissing, his hand under her skirt, his body moving roughly against hers, forcing her to turn so that he could move between her legs, I gasped first in fear and then in astonishment. I started to run away but stopped, unable to shut my curious eyes. The truth was, I was fascinated with Marsha's face, with the way she let her head fall back, with her small moans, and especially with her hands, first trying to stop it all from happening and then, suddenly, apparently filled with uncontrollable excitement, pulling her hand away from his to hold him behind his neck as if she were clinging to him for dear life.
He turned and saw me standing there, watching them. He didn't get angry. He smiled coolly and said, "There's room for one more."
I ran. I ran so hard and fast someone would have thought I was being pursued by a monster. Years later, I would think the monster was inside me. I wanted to conquer it, to be unafraid, and I thought that would never happen until I was fulfilled and loved by someone I could feel good about. Now I wondered if Bernie could be that person.
"Yes," I replied finally, "let's go on with it."
Bernie smiled, and then, as if he read my thoughts, he said, "We'll go slowly, of course, and if either of us is uncomfortable, we'll stop immediately. That would only ruin the experiment, anyway."
"Fine," I said, swallowing back the lump of nervousness that tried to rise in my throat.
Bernie walked over and began to kiss me. I closed my eyes and let my mind drift, but I could feel my heart pounding crazily, and I worried that Bernie could feel it, too. I pulled away, and Bernie slowly dropped his hands from my shoulders.
Bernie lifted his eyes slowly and gazed at me. "How do you feel?" he asked.
"Very nervous," I said
"You're the bravest girl I ever met. I didn't think you would do this," he confessed, and I thought I heard a faint quiver of nervousness in his voice.
"I told you," I said, trying to sound brave, "I'm as interested as you."
He nodded.
"What do we do next?" I asked.
"Why don't we try a French kiss? You know, with our tongues?" he said. "You tell me everything that's happening to you, and do the same, okay?"
I nodded. I began to wish I'd left with Ashley, but I knew it was too late to turn back now. Besides, I was curious about Bernie and the way his kiss had made me feel.
"Ready?"
"Yes," I said. I looked up at the ceiling and then at him, and we both stood there.
His eyes drank me in from head to toe. I had never had a boy look at me the way Bernie was doing. It made my head swim.
"My heart is pounding," he said. He began to walk around me. "I'm nervous, and I'm afraid I might do something wrong," he admitted. He sounded like someone reporting from outer space--as if I weren't in the same room as him, experiencing the same feelings and emotions.
"Me, too." I wanted to be honest about my reactions, for the sake of the experiment, of course. "What?"
"Everything you said," I said, my voice cracking, my eyes closing as he walked around me. I could feel his breath on my neck. A moment later, he was in front of me again, only inches away.
"I'm going to close my eyes," he said, "and then I'm going to try this French kiss thing, okay?"
He closed his eyes and kissed me.
I wasn't too sure I liked this kind of kiss. I felt as if I could tell what Bernie had had for dinner. I'd seen kids kiss in school like this, and they seemed to enjoy it, so I decided to try to like it. After a while, my heart began pounding stronger, and my hands started to feel sweaty. This time, though, it was Bernie who stopped our kiss.
"Wow." He shook his head as if he were trying to clear the fog out.
"Now
I see what all the hype is for."
"Um. . . yeah, me, too." I couldn't help but wonder if kissing all boys felt this nice.
"I think we should stop for tonight, but I definitely want to try this again. As long as we keep it experimental, of course," he added.
"Experimental . . . of course," I answered, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I was never one of those girls who got all dreamy when they talked about boys and kissing, but I never thought it would be cold or clinical, either.
"I wonder if Ashley's going to tell her other friends about this," he said.
"I'll make sure she doesn't."
"They'll make up stories about us anyway," he said, holding his eyes on mine "They probably already have."
"Probably," I agreed.
There was a long moment of silence between us. To me, it was as if we had fantasized the kisses we'd shared. It had all been so fast it was one blurry memory. Only the graph in my hands with my comments confirmed that I hadn't been dreaming
"I'd better get home," I said.
"I'll walk you." He smiled at my surprise. "I don't think I could do any reading, concentrate on anything, or go to sleep for a while anyway," he explained.
I laughed to hide what I was feeling, the same excitement still echoing in my body.
He opened the door, and we started out. We were almost to the door when we heard someone call from the living room.
"My mother," Bernie said under his breath.
A very elegant-looking woman, dressed as if she was on her way to an important ball or just returning from one, came toward us, her long diamond-studded earrings swinging from her lobes. Her styled hair was nearly platinum, the strands so perfectly shaped I wondered if she was wearing a wig. She was tall, with an hourglass figure that seemed held together by wires and pins. When she stepped out of the shadows and drew closer, I saw that her face was so free of wrinkles it looked like a mask Her temples were stiff, pulling back on her eyes as if her skin had shrunk. Her nose was small, but the nostrils were a little too large. The puffiness in her lips made her smile seem painful. It was more of a grimace.
The fingers of her left hand were full of rings. She looked like a walking jewelry store with her diamond necklace, hairpin, and bracelets. I thought she might have taken a bath in expensive perfume. The scent arrived days before she did.
"Who's this, Bernard?" she asked.
"A friend," he said quickly.
"Why don't you introduce me? You've never had a friend over before, and especially not a female friend," she said, her eyes fixed on me.
"This is Crystal," he said. "Crystal, my mother."
"Hello," I said quickly.
"Crystal who?" she asked without replying. "Crystal Morris," Bernie said. "She was just going home."
"Morris? Which Morris is that? Charlie Morris from the advertisement agency?"
"No," Bernie said. "I'm walking her home." He practically lunged at the front door and opened it.
"It's nice to meet you," his mother said as I started after him. "It's about time Bernie brought someone home," she added. She looked as if she could shatter her face by changing expression too rapidly. I gazed back at her once and then hurried to catch up to Bernie, who was already out of the house.
He closed the door behind me and nearly jogged down the walkway.
"Maybe we shouldn't have run out like that, Bernie," I said, catching up. He walked faster.
"All she wants me to do is have girlfriends, listen to rock music, and dress like some teenage movie or television star," he muttered. "Look at her," he said, stopping and gazing back at his house. "If that was your mother, would you want anyone to meet her? She just likes to embarrass me." He started walking again. "It's about time you brought someone home,' " he mimicked. " 'Especially a female friend.'"
"She's probably just worried about you," I offered.
"No, she's not. She's worried about herself, about what it will look like if I'm not a so-called normal young man. Let's not talk about it. It just gets me angry," he said.
We walked silently until we reached my house. It was an overcast night, and there was a chill in the air. Our breath could be seen in vague little puffs. Neither of us was really dressed warmly enough.
"You hold onto these," he said at the door. He handed me the graphs. I hadn't noticed them clutched in his hand.
"We should probably just leave them in your room:' I said.
He shook his head. "Sometimes, when I'm in school, she goes into my room and searches it, looking for something bizarre. I deliberately left a dissected frog reeking from formaldehyde on the table one morning, and she stayed away for a while, but she still spies on me from time to time. I don't want her finding these papers," he said. "She would never understand."