Heartache and Other Natural Shocks (8 page)

“Motorcycle Mama”

Two days after I do my Mae West number in drama, Ian slides into the seat beside me, just like that, like his cold-shoulder treatment never happened. I act nice, but not too nice. After class, he follows me to my locker and practically kisses me right there in the hall. Inside, I’m shrieking, “Yes! Yes!” But I’ve learned my lesson. I play it cool. When he offers me a ride home on his motorcycle, I say, “Okay,” like I have nothing better to do.

In the parking lot, he climbs onto his bike and waits while I stuff my books into my fringed leather purse, sling it over my shoulder and throw my leg over the back of the bike—which isn’t easy when you’re wearing a miniskirt and you have to tuck everything in and arrange your hair all at the same time, but I manage.

The truth is, I’ve never been on a motorcycle before and I’m not sure what to do with my hands. I mean, do I hug his waist or just place them on his hips? I must look like a total idiot because finally Ian glances over his shoulder and says, “Have you ever been on a bike before?” It’s like he’s asking if
I’ve ever had sex before, and I blush like the motorcycle virgin I am! He says, “Just hold on tight and lean with the bike.”

“No problem,” I say. And I’m about to tell him where I live—’cause he’s supposed to be giving me a ride home—when he guns it and we’re flying. I fling my arms around his waist and scream. The wind rushes down my throat like an arctic blizzard, and my hair whips all over the place. Ian leans into the corner, and it feels like we’re going to wipe out. It takes all my willpower not to lean in the other direction. I keep thinking
Holy shit, I’m going to die without ever having sex
.

I duck behind his back to hide from the wind, and when I look up again, we’re zipping down Leslie at 100 miles an hour. Is this his idea of a fun date? Does he think I get a kick out of playing chicken in traffic? I push my boobs up against his back to see if that might get his attention and slow him down, but no, he just keeps zigzagging around like a crazy lunatic. I want to throw up. Meanwhile, my miniskirt keeps flapping around my bum, like Marilyn Monroe over the air vent, only I can’t use my hands to hold it down because I have Ian in a death grip!

By the time we get to my house, my whole body is cold and stiff. I try to pretend that I’m Ann-Margret when she slides off her motorcycle and shakes her long beautiful hair out of her helmet, only Ian didn’t give me a helmet, so my hair looks like a rat’s nest. When my feet touch the cement, my legs almost buckle. Ian smirks and says, “So, what’d ya think?”

“That was … great,” I lie through my teeth. “Do you want to come in?” He flicks his hair off his face and grins.

Fortunately, Ma and Buzz are out. I lead Ian into the kitchen, and we sit at the table near the French doors, facing out onto the ravine. Ian helps himself to Ma’s chocolate chip cookies. I do most of the talking because Ian is one of those guys who doesn’t offer up anything unless you ask him a direct question. I find out that he’s an only child; that he had (notice “had,”
past
tense) a girlfriend in North Bay named Kimmy (sucky name, if you ask me); and he hates school ’cause it’s all “meaningless bullshit,” which is mostly true. I mean, am I ever going to use a trigonometric function after I leave high school? Uh … no.

I’m just putting the kettle on for coffee when Ian says, “Hey, there’s Jules.” I look out the window and see Julia Epstein walking up the hill.

“She lives next door,” I explain. “She gives me the creeps.”

Ian leans back in his chair. “Why?”

“She’s so prissy.”

“Her Rapunzel was good.”

“Sure, if you like that weird, sicko kind of thing.”

Ian laughs. I spoon coffee into our cups. Julia disappears behind the hedge. Ian says, “I heard she skipped a grade.”

“So? Big deal. It doesn’t make her a genius,” I say. “To be a genius, you have to skip at least two grades. To skip one grade, all you need is high marks and a pushy mother. Which she has.”

“So, what do you care?”

“Who said I care? She just bugs me, that’s all. I don’t see why you have to defend her.”

“I wasn’t defending her,” Ian says.

“Yes, you were.”

“Look, I don’t even want to talk about her.”

“Neither do I,” I say. “You’re the one who brought her up.”

Ian takes out his cigarettes. Export “A”s. “Do you have a light?” he asks.

I don’t know why he can’t carry matches like everybody else. I toss a pack onto the table and say, “You know she likes you.”

“Who?”

I roll my eyes. He knows exactly who I’m talking about. “Julia,” I say. Ian turns his head away, like he’s bored with the topic. “She has a crush on you.”

“Is that what she told you?” Ian asks.

“I don’t talk to her.”

Ian lights up and takes a drag. “If she has a crush on me, how come she’s never my partner in drama?”

“Because she’s avoiding you,” I explain.

“Because she likes me so much,” he says sarcastically.

“No, because of me, you dork. Because most of the time, you’re partners with me. But if you weren’t with me, she’d be on you like a fly on shit.”

Ian laughs. I sigh. Guys are so dumb. They don’t have a clue about the way the female mind works, which is far more complicated than the male mind. It’s why male birds are
more colorful than female birds. Because, basically, they’re stupider, and if it wasn’t for their flashy looks, the females would probably peck them to death. I stare at Ian and wonder why I even bother. Finally, I say, “In case you haven’t noticed, Julia watches you all the time, but she pretends she’s doesn’t. She’s sneaky. She’s one of those uppity, brainy, goody-two-shoes girls who thinks she’s better than everyone else. And she probably walks by your house late at night.”

“Like she’s spying on me.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

“But not like you, when you showed up at my house,” Ian says, smirking.

“I wasn’t spying,” I snap. “I just happened to be in the neighborhood, that’s all.”

Ian throws his head back and laughs.

“Fuck you,” I say. I know he’s playing with me, but this thing with Julia really pisses me off. I walk over to the table and help myself to one of Ian’s cigarettes. He stands up. I think he’s going to light it for me, but instead, he takes it out of my mouth, tosses it onto the table and kisses me. Just like that. In the middle of an argument. He just leans in and gives me this long, slow, sensual kiss. His mouth tastes like cigarettes, but I don’t care because I’ve never been with a guy who’s this sexy. I don’t even have time to think before his hands are traveling down my back, sliding over my bum, pulling me in tight, tangling me up into his body. And he’s kissing
me the whole time, devouring me like a pastry. When his tongue slips into my mouth, my thighs squeeze together and my mind turns to mush. I feel the heat of his body through his T-shirt and his hard-on through his jeans. When we finally pull apart, we’re both panting, like we’ve been running a long-distance marathon.

I stare into his crazy ice-blue eyes and say, “You wanna go down to the basement?” I can’t believe I’m saying that, because I’m not usually so … slutty, but the way Ian kisses, I can’t help myself. I want to make out till our lips get raw.

Ian smiles and stubs out his cigarette, and we’re about to go downstairs when the front door opens and Buzz blasts into the kitchen holding a shopping bag. Damn!

“Guess what I got,” Buzz says, ripping into his bag. He yanks out a pair of hockey skates and thrusts them at Ian, not even fazed by the fact that he’s never met Ian before. “Bauers,” he says proudly.

“Cool,” Ian says.

Ma says, “Hello. Is that your motorcycle in the driveway?” She’s doesn’t sound too thrilled. I make introductions. Ma offers Ian a snack, but he says he has to go. I walk him outside, and we share a secret smile because we both know what we’d rather be doing. I say, “See you in school.” Ian grins, climbs onto his bike and zooms down the street. I watch until he turns the corner, and I’m like a pressure cooker, with the steam bubbling up in my body and then screaming out the
top of my head because—oh my God—he kissed me! He actually kissed me! And he’s the hottest kisser ever!

I close my eyes and sigh, and then I hear music coming from Julia’s open window next door. “Only Love Can Break Your Heart.” Neil Young. Deb, Mar and I saw Neil Young last January at Massey Hall—a solo acoustic guitar. What a great concert! I bet Julia’s never seen Neil Young. She’s probably never even been to a concert. I wonder if she saw Ian’s motorcycle parked in my driveway. I hope she did.

Friday night, Deb, Mar and I sit at my kitchen table making diet strawberry milkshakes in my mom’s blender with frozen strawberries, Sweet’N Low and ice milk. Deb and Mar are arguing about how many calories are in the milkshake, but all I can think about is Ian. “I am in love,” I announce.

Debbie sucks on the straw of her milkshake and says, “Carla, you’re not in love, you’re in lust.”

“It
is
love,” I insist, “because when we kiss, I melt into a big wet puddle.”

Mar and Deb roll their eyes. Maybe after a week of hearing me describe what it’s like making out with Ian, they’re bored. Or jealous. It’s not like
they’ve
ever gone out with anyone. But of course, it would be rude of me to bring that up. They simply don’t understand what it’s like to feel a man’s lips on yours and his hands on your body. I sip my milkshake,
which would taste a lot better with real ice cream, and say, “I’ve never felt like this about a guy before.”

Marlene says, “You said that last year about Tim Fraser.”

“Yeah, well, this is different,” I explain. “Tim was a boy; Ian is a man. And he’s older.”

Deb and Mar’s eyes pop wide open. “Like how old?” Deb asks.

Oops. I wasn’t going to tell them that part—about Ian being eighteen and still in grade eleven—but since the cat is out of the bag, I fill them in on how Ian got suspended for fighting last year and flunked out.

Marlene gasps. “I told you he had a temper.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t his fault,” I explain. “There was this jerk who kept bugging him, and one day they got into a fight, and then he got expelled.”

“You said ‘suspended,’ ” Deb says, narrowing her eyes.

“That was the first time. The second time, he got expelled.”

Deb and Mar exchange looks. “Wow,” Deb says. “And you want to
date
this guy?”

“Debbie, you don’t know anything about him,” I say.

“Yeah, well, neither do you,” Deb says.

“Yes, I do,” I say. “We spent three afternoons together.”

“And half the time you were necking,” Marlene snickers.

“So what? You guys are so judgmental.” I push my milkshake away. “Look, if you’re going to sit here and run him down, don’t bother staying.”

“We’re not running him down,” Debbie says.

“He failed his chemistry test,” Marlene says.

“So? Lots of people fail chemistry,” I say. “It’s a hard course.”

“It’s not that hard,” Mar says. “It was just the periodic table. Straight memorization.”

“Just because he doesn’t like school doesn’t mean he’s stupid,” I say.

“I’m not saying he’s stupid,” Marlene says. “He probably didn’t even crack open his book. That’s the point. He doesn’t even bother trying.”

“He’s just a little bit wild,” Deb says in that condescending tone she has.

“Yeah, well, maybe I like ‘wild,’ ” I snap. “Maybe I want to do something really wild and crazy, like go downtown to a disco and dance all night, or even have passionate, sweaty sex with a hot and horny eighteen-year-old guy!”

Deb’s and Mar’s jaws drop. “Really?” Marlene asks.

“Yeah,” I say, although I’m not totally sure.

“Wow,” Deb says.

“But we’re only sixteen,” Mar says. “We’re not even legal for anything, except driving.”

“Are you actually going to?” Deb asks, and we all know she means
sex
.

I shrug and light a cigarette.

Marlene says, “I didn’t realize you were such a feminist.”

I hadn’t really thought about whether I’m a feminist or not, but now I’m liking the idea. “Well, of course I’m a feminist,” I say. “I believe in equal rights for women, and freedom, and sex, and all that stuff.”

“Are you going to burn your bra?” Deb asks, smirking.

“No! I’m not Germaine Greer,” I say. “Maybe she can go braless, but you won’t find me flopping around like some breast-feeding hippie.”

Debbie laughs so hard that she practically snorts her milkshake. Marlene says, “Deb, remember the time we found that book under your mom’s pillow—
The Sensuous Woman
by ‘J’—and it had those chapters about masturbation and oral sex?”

Deb grins. “Yeah, maybe Carla wants to borrow it.”

“Fuck off,” I say, laughing. “I’m not jumping his bones yet. We haven’t even gone out on a real date.”

“What about tomorrow night?” Mar asks.

“I think he’s hanging out with Jim Malone.”

Mar gawks. “On a Saturday night? What about your Saturday night rule?”

And yeah, it’s true, I have this Saturday night rule: boyfriends have to save Saturday nights for me. “I haven’t told Ian about the Saturday night rule yet,” I explain.

“So, call him up and ask him out,” Marlene suggests.

“I can’t do that,” I say. “He has to call me.”

“I thought you were a feminist,” Mar says.

“I am!”

“Are you afraid he’ll say no?” Debbie snickers.

“No!” I say. I grab the phone. “Fine. I’ll call him.” I dial. I know his number by heart, even though I’ve never actually phoned before. Debbie and Marlene light cigarettes and watch me. “Quit staring,” I say. Marlene giggles.

A man—Mr. Slater, I presume?—picks up the phone, and I ask for Ian. There’s a long pause. I practice blowing smoke rings while I wait. Finally, Ian picks up.

“Hi,” I say in a very upbeat voice.

“Hi,” he says flatly.

“So, what’re doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh. Well, I’m having a strawberry milkshake and thinking about you.” I suck loudly on my straw so Ian can hear. It makes a rude slurping noise. Deb and Mar smother their laughter with their hands. There’s silence on the other end of the line. “So, do you miss me?” I ask, teasing.