Little Boy (20 page)

Just think about how perfect it could have
been: both Maria and I were unhappy with our past lives and
relationships, and each could help the other smother the rage the
other felt. With my plan, I thought that nothing could stop us from
being together forever, each always supporting the other when the
past reared its ugly head. It was a flawless plan. It was a plan
for true love.

***

On our last date of the summer of ’92, Maria
and I began our date by making out. This was unusual, because we
usually talked for hours before making any physical contact. Her
parents were upstairs preparing a barbecue. Lucky for us, they
seldom bothered to come down to Maria’s room in the basement and
check on us. Her father was usually too drunk to care; her mother
simply trusted her.

As we started to kiss, I mentioned that I
really wished I could see her naked. Although it wasn’t my decision
to make, I sincerely felt that the right time had come. Before she
had a chance to say yes or no, I asked her if anyone else had ever
seen them—like her girlfriend or something. She said that only one
person had seen her naked, and that was her old friend, Rosie. It
happened at the beach when she was changing in the bathroom at
Rockaway Beach. Apparently, Rosie was her best friend until she got
to high school, when she met Lynn. She was a real scumbag, too.
That wasn’t just my opinion of her. “Scumbag” is Maria’s word, not
my own.

Maria had mentioned Rosie a few times. But
until that day I didn’t realize that Rosie was the same girl who
had made fun of her reading in middle school. Maria always chose
her own time to say what she wanted to say. She was cautious, never
hasty, when revealing her feelings, and discussing her past. She
didn’t want people to connect the dots of her life, I guess,
because that would lead to understanding and, with that, potential
disappointment. I loved her for it, because she always had better
control over herself than I did over myself. As a matter of fact,
had I asked her to elaborate about Rosie prior to that day in
August, she probably wouldn’t have given me a straight answer.
Well, actually, it would’ve been straight. It would’ve probably
been something like: “I don’t want to talk about Rosie yet.” Case
closed.

Maria always proceeded with discretion,
anticipating her tenth step before she took her first. It was like
she was waiting patiently for the story, her story, to let itself
unfold. She didn’t want to accelerate the process of divulging her
life’s history to me or anyone else. It would’ve been unnatural for
her to do so. Maria let fate take it’s course. Sometimes it bugged
me, because I really wanted to dive right into her life, from the
very beginning. But whether it was an emotional secret or a
physical act, Maria was endlessly vigilant of what could happen if
she threw reason to the wind. Sometimes I wish I’d paid closer
attention to her strategy. I could have learned a lot from
Maria.

“That day at the beach,” I said, “did Guido
see you naked?”

“A.J.!” She was angry that I asked that, but
I just had to.

I held her hand and continued to listen,
trying to keep my mouth shut.

“Anyway, me and Rosie were in the changing
room after we went swimming. Usually, after went in the water, we
just went straight home, in our bathing suits. It wasn’t a big deal
‘cause the M train was always so hot. I’d just throw a top on and
go straight home. But that day, we planned to go to Jeff’s house,
for his sister’s birthday. So I had to change out of my bathing
suit and into a party dress.”

Okay
, I thought,
so what’s the big
deal?

As if she heard me ask myself that question,
she said, “No, you don’t understand. I was very insecure about my
body. Not just in front of boys, but everyone.

“That’s cool,” I said, “we all are a little
embarrassed about that stuff.” And I was sincere, because most
people are a little ashamed of their bodies.

“No, A.J., Rosie started to make fun of me
because I was afraid of getting naked with a guy, of having sex
with a guy. She kept saying, ‘Guido likes you, but he thinks you’re
a prude.’ She made me feel so ashamed of myself. I was standing
there naked, and helpless, and she was relentless. ‘They’re just
tits! It’s just a pussy,” she said, erupting in tears. “And she
even reached out and tried to grab me, like it was no big
deal—
uh, huw, huh, huh, huh
…

“…—uh, huw, huh,” she inhaled, loudly—“and
said I was a freak and a prude.” “’Just do it,’” she commanded,
“’just do it.’ She was manipulating me, A.J.!”

I was about to speak, when she said:
“
That’s
what was so sick!”

“
Then why did you keep hanging out with
her?
” I asked. Then I saw her eyes about to burst again and was
pissed that I even opened my fucking mouth.

Thankfully, she stopped herself from crying
and answered, “I don’t know. I don’t know why I did a lot of stuff
back then.”

“Well, you got naked, and she tried to grab
you and made fun of you, and then what?” Again, Maria looked at me
as if I wasn’t getting it, whatever ‘it’ was. I thought:
Guess
the phrase ‘got naked’ was a little too coarse.

“And then nothing. She just said I was stupid
for not having sex with guys—you know what I mean? She said I’d
never get a guy like Guido to like me if I wasn’t willing to do it.
And I sort of believed her. I thought there was something wrong
with me, because I didn’t understand why anyone would ever want to
show boobs to anyone. I knew there was an emotion out there that
allowed a girl to expose herself like that, and make herself
vulnerable, but still feel secure. And I wanted to feel that. But I
had no idea where to find it…” She trailed off.

“But you didn’t show Guido anything, did
you?”
Damn!

“No! I already told you that!”

I was nervous. I have to admit, all that
breast talk was turning me on just a little.

“She didn’t make fun of the way I
looked—probably because she saw how much bigger mine were than
hers.” I couldn’t help but chuckle out loud.

“So, she didn’t make fun of the way you
looked?”

“No, she didn’t. And because she didn’t, and
because she was giving me all this advice, I guess I sort of
trusted her opinion of me. It sounds sort of dumb, but I thought it
was a special moment for me and Rosie, because it was the first
time I really, I don’t know, showed her something that I’d never
showed anyone before. But at the same time, she was so cruel. This
all must sound so dumb, because you’re a guy. You don’t understand
girls.”

“I understand,” I said. And I really thought
I did.

“Rosie fucked me over,” she added,
seriously.

Maria grew quiet after that. I felt like I
should have consoled her, but I didn’t know how. Maria cursed more
often than most girls, but she always chose her profanity
carefully, and there was always a reason behind each curse word she
used. Rosie was the reason she chose that one that afternoon.

But there was more. “A.J., what I’m about to
tell you something else I’ve never told anyone else before, except
for my mother...” She hesitated, and then continued: “You see,
Rosie—” she started to tear—“Rosie stole from me.”

“What do you mean she
stole
from
you?”

“Well, it was after that day on the beach
when I started noticing it, though it could have been going on a
long time before. See, Rosie came over my house to hang out. After
she left, I noticed that my gold watch was gone. It was a watch
that my mother had given me for my thirteenth birthday. She knew
how important it was to me. I looked all over the house for it, but
couldn’t find it.”

“Then what happened?” I asked.

“Well, I had Rosie over my house a few weeks
later, and after she left I noticed that my bracelet was missing.
Again, I searched my house top and bottom for it, to no avail. And
then, one day, I was hanging out in the park near my house. Rosie
dropped by to say hello, and I realized that she was wearing my
watch. When I asked her about it, she said her brother gave it to
her. But I knew the truth. I knew she was stealing from me.”

“But you didn’t really confront her. When
someone does something like that, you should just threaten to call
the police. That would’ve scared her off real quick.”

Maria shook her head. “No, I couldn’t do
that. I don’t know—she was my friend, A.J.! She was my friend!”
Maria started bawling. She cried like I’d never seen anyone cry
before. I pressed my face against hers. Suddenly, they were my
tears, too.

I understood all that she’d said, all that
she felt deep within her heart and soul. At that moment—and I know
this sounds terribly cliché—we were one and the same. It wasn’t
just her father; it wasn’t just one or two mediocre friendships; it
wasn’t just a friend stealing from her.
Everyone
had fucked
Maria over.

Before that day, I’d attended funerals,
visited sick friends in hospitals, and watched family members die
of cancer right before my eyes. But I’d never empathized with
another person more than I did with Maria.

I collapsed on the sofa, emotionally drained.
I shared her grief, perhaps even more than she realized. Maria was
a special girl. That word,
special
, is thrown around a lot
these days:
special education
,
special elections
, et
cetera. But few people or things are truly special. Maria, however,
was the quintessence of the characteristic: distinctive,
extraordinary, unique, rare. Gold and diamonds are found
everywhere—on people’s fingers, in quarries around the globe—but
Maria was the only precious stone of her kind. If she’d had the
presumption to reveal to the world how special she was, people
would have killed just to catch a glimpse of her luster, a radiance
unlike any jewel known to man.

But Maria wasn’t an arrogant girl. She was
simple. All Maria expected, all she wanted, was to be protected by
a sole admirer who valued her uniqueness.

I am your admirer
, I thought.
You
are perfect
.

In retrospect, I suppose I wanted her to be
more flawless than she already was. Now I realize you can buff a
diamond only to a point, and then it begins to lose its prized
shape and form.

But back then I was determined to help her
erase her past at all costs, just as I intended to erase mine
.
She’ll never have to worry about losers like Rosie screwing her
over again
, I thought.
I’m going to save her
.

After cuddling with Maria for a few minutes
she calmed down. I asked her if she was okay and she said that she
was. I was happy. She was happy. I think that my hugs helped her to
relax and stop thinking about Rosie. I couldn’t help but think,
however, that she had pretty bad judgment sometimes, and that maybe
I
was the wrong boyfriend to have, just as Rosie was the
wrong friend.
Perhaps
, I thought,
I’m just another bad
decision
.

***

As soon as the last trace of a tear had
evaporated from her sweet, circular cheeks, I engulfed her face
within the palms of my hands and pressed my lips against hers. As
usual, the kiss was more than passionate—it was hair-raising. In
fact, even as I recall it now, the hairs on my back and chest and
arms are standing at attention.

I was so impassioned by that one kiss that an
erection poked through my boxers. I proceeded to stroke her cheeks
with mine. For the first time ever, I flickered my tongue in her
ear, accidentally soaking it completely.

I was nervous. Within moments I’d view what
no other boy had ever viewed. There is nothing in this world as
wonderful as the naked flesh of an innocent girl. Maria was almost
childlike. Despite her superficial confidence, when it came to sex
she didn’t know her left from her right. Her body was robotic, but
not unwilling. She wasn’t exactly sure what to do, so she simply
allowed my hands to softly fumble with her clothing, first her top,
and then her bra.

Of course, I didn’t want to move shoddily as
I’d done with Lynn; I wanted to be as careful with my hands and
mouth as Maria was with her words and actions, as prudent as a
jeweler examining a diamond. I longed not so much to turn her on,
but to generate respect. Although I did most of the work, I was far
from domineering. I was a vassal, Maria she the queen of the manor.
Humbly, I attempted to placate her with my sorry offering. After
all, this was Maria Della Verita, the most beautiful girl I’d ever
met, the brightest, the most mature. A
special
woman.
Cautious, meticulous, level-headed Maria, finally shedding her
shell for our mutual enjoyment.

I encouraged her to lay down on the sofa. She
nestled her head into a pillow and closed her eyes, inviting me to
begin. Maria had, to use an Air Force term, an impeccable WEFT. The
word WEFT is an acronym used by the U. S. Air Force to describe the
four main components of a jet: Wings, Engine, Fuselage, and Tail.
Each aircraft has its own WEFT, and no two are exactly alike.
Pilots in the Air Force and other military services study WEFTs
like the Bible, since every plane, both enemy and ally, can be
easily and positively identified by its WEFT. In the heat of
combat, the knowledge of a jet’s WEFT might save your life.