The Book of Matthew (The Alex Chronicles Book 1) (10 page)

He smirked and set his guitar aside. “All right.”

With one quick movement he was on me.

II.

I lost my virginity at seventeen to a pizza delivery boy. His bedroom smelled like a damp basement and in the middle of doing the deed I remember debating with myself which was more disgusting: the wretched stench of his messy bedroom or the greasy feel of his dirty flesh.

The kid who popped my cherry won hands-down.

It was the summer between my junior and senior years. I had gone to the local pizza shop to inquire about a waitressing job I saw in the paper. The manager told me the ad was printed in error; the position had already been filled. I was disappointed, and sick of looking, and tired of being unable to secure even the most menial of jobs. As I was leaving, a delivery boy, his arms piled high with pizzas, rushed past me and held the door open for me with his foot. He was rather plain and had black hair and blue eyes. He was of average height and on the thin side, with no ass to speak of. He must’ve sensed my sadness, because he empathized with my unemployment, saying something else would come along. He stood there talking and I stood there listening and it hit me: He had a job and a car and he didn’t have my heart.

Yes
, I thought.
He would do
.

Then he asked for my phone number, saying he’d call me if any positions opened up. None did, but he called me anyway.

Guys are such suckers for chicks who are desperate.

He was nineteen and had graduated from high school the year before. He held down the delivery job to pay for his small, one-bedroom apartment. He had no desire to go to college and no other ambitions other than to make enough money so he could get stoned every weekend. He was aimless and directionless and an overall loser. I didn’t care—I wasn’t looking for a soul mate.

There was something disturbing and perverse about the one thing we had in common: our pride. I was proud of myself for hatching a plan to get over Bobby by getting myself laid. He took pride in the fact that he bagged a schoolgirl virgin. We were perfect for each other—at least for one night.

He picked me up one day after work and greeted me with a smile and a pizza. I decided that that would be the day he’d get lucky. I’m such a sucker for pepperoni.

We sat at his kitchen table to eat. A thin film of oil spread unevenly across his face, making it shine under the glow of the overhead light. I could smell the aroma of burnt dough and meat on his soiled work shirt. I wrinkled my nose and ate fast.

I gulped down two slices in less than fifteen minutes. After he’d stuffed the last piece of crust in his mouth, I grabbed his hand and motioned to the bedroom. His eyes widened and he asked through a mouthful of food if I was sure. I nodded my head yes. He swallowed what he had in his mouth and abandoned what was left on his plate.

I washed my hands at the kitchen sink and dried them on a dishtowel of questionable cleanliness I found sitting under a pile of papers next to the sink. I stood in front of him and waited, hoping he’d freshen up for me, wash his hands at least. But all he did was wipe his palms on his work pants and ask if I was ready.

Piles of clothes were strewn about the floor of his bedroom and the bed was unmade. The table next to the bed held an alarm clock and an assortment of pot paraphernalia. There was one window and it was covered with a heavy, black drape. Only a crack of sunlight came through. The room smelled moist, funky, and dirty. I wondered how long it’d been since the room had seen any fresh air.

If he knew his way around a woman’s body, I wouldn’t have known. I had no real basis for comparison. I imagined he had to be quite experienced, what with his average looks, boyish charm and big package. He probably never wanted for available pussy.

I tried my best to enjoy it, or at least get through it. The big cock helped. So did the bathroom mere steps away where I retreated within minutes to clean up the blood running down my leg…and to bawl and whimper like a child. I felt as if I had just lost a cherished pet.

Naturally, it had less to do with the physical pain of the act itself than the emotional implications of losing something I knew I’d never get back. And for the simple fact that I had intended it for someone else. But I didn’t want my virginity back—I just needed a moment to commemorate its passing.

The tears flowed out of sadness, but out of relief, too—that a broken hymen is way easier to deal with than a broken heart caused by the boy who drove me to this desperate measure.

My relationship with the pizza delivery boy didn’t last. Several days after deflowering me he felt the need to wander straight into the arms of another woman. Not that it mattered. By then he had served his purpose. Quite a shame, though. He really was a nice guy. I just loathed everything about him.

I.

I turned the watch over in my hands several times. It was pricey, but I figured he was worth it. The watch was a symbol of the birth of a real relationship with Matt. I didn’t mind spending money on that.

The watch had a black leather strap, a white dial face with black numbers, and a brushed silver faceplate. It had no unnecessary features; it didn’t give the date, or beep on the hour, or have a stopwatch or calculator. It was silent and simple and beautiful. Just like Matt. I thought it suited him perfectly.

When I looked up, the young woman behind the jewelry case was eyeing me. She chewed her gum loudly and occasionally cracked it in her mouth with her tongue. She tapped her long, painted fingernails on the glass counter as if she were impatiently waiting for me to make up my mind.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

She wordlessly took Matt’s new gift and secured it back inside its black storage case. She turned her back to me briefly to ring up the total before spinning back around, her hand outstretched. I handed her a crisp fifty-dollar bill and received my quarter change.

She finally spoke, more out of employee obligation than friendliness. “Thank you for shopping with us today.” She cracked her gum one last time and handed me the bag.

“Where’s the gift wrap department?”

“Second floor, next to electronics.”

“Thanks. Merry Christmas.” I said it out of seasonal obligation more so than friendliness.

She squinted a smile in return and carried on with her day as an unappreciated, low-paid retail worker.

The fall semester had ended two days before and Christmas was another two weeks away. I wasted no time in running out to buy Matt a gift. Not so much because I hate the growing throngs of mall crowds and the annoying cheery merriment that’s crammed down your throat with increasing intensity the closer you get to the actual day of celebrating Christ’s supposed birth. I do hate all that. Immensely. In reality, I wanted to rush out and buy Matt a gift before I had a chance to regret it.

Things had gone well between us in the week leading up to Christmas break. I felt confident that we could move on to the next phase in our relationship. We parted ways on a Monday evening after a guitar lesson and sex, with the promise of seeing each other in five weeks for the start of the spring semester.

Sooner or later during Christmas break, though, my memory would kick in. All the frustration and anger and confusion Matt caused me would seep into my pocket of memories. When that happened, I would surely want to smash the watch to bits and wonder why the hell I had wasted my time. I wouldn’t be thinking about the progress we had made or the promise our new relationship had. Every good thought would be slaughtered by a bad one.

But at that moment, it was still Matthew Levine I wanted. So the quicker the five weeks passed, and the longer I could keep my memory at bay, the better.

A young mother passed by pushing a stroller. Her bundle of joy was swathed up to its neck in blankets, fast asleep. She clumsily maneuvered the stroller with one hand, while clutching three or four bags overstuffed with purchases with the other. She had a rock on her finger the size of a dime, heels on her feet that clicked when she walked, and a gold cross around her neck that glowed like Jesus himself resurrecting from the grave. A little boy, no older than five, clung to her leg.

As they walked by I turned to watch them. The little boy did the same, craning his neck to stare at me, his thumb stuffed into his mouth. I rolled my eyes and kept walking, thinking that the Christmas holiday had been designed for families like his.

Once upon a time, there was only the message of God: be patient and kind and thoughtful of others, and try not to kill anybody. And try not to buy too much crap.

But somewhere along the line, corporate executives figured out that there was money to be made exploiting the message of God. Suddenly, parents and children were waiting in line for expensive meet-and-greet photo ops with Santa. Commercials showcased useless shit that nobody needed but convinced us we wanted. And never-ending holiday music was piped through every mall in America in hopes that it would make us shop longer and buy more.

Eventually, the commercialism consumed us. The message of God was gone. Everyone was stressed out and hurried and angry during a holiday season that was meant to be happy and joyous.

And the executives sat back and smiled. They were fattening their wallets while emptying ours in the process.

There seemed to be no religious significance to Christmas anymore. Jesus’ reign had ended, overshadowed by the omnipotent power of the almighty dollar.

Of course, who was I to judge? I was at the mall during the holiday season. Christmas shopping. But I only bought one gift, it wasn’t expensive, and it was something Matt needed. Plus, I’m not religious.

Surely I should get a pass?

That thought was quickly supplanted by my desire to have the watch gift-wrapped in time for lunch. I only had ten minutes to spare.

I ran up the escalator two steps at a time and jogged passed the electronics department to the gift-wrap section. A friendly gray-haired lady stood on alert as I quickly scanned the selection and chose the most colorful paper they had. She ripped off a piece of my choosing and before I could blink twice, she had Matt’s watch covered with purple, red, blue, and gold streaked wrapping paper.

I retraced my steps back through electronics, down the escalator, and past the Juniors department where, two years before, I had bought the burgundy dress for my high school Spring Formal.

As I walked out of the department store into the mall, I thought about Bobby. I wondered what had become of him.

…

I saw her as I approached the restaurant. She stood waving and smiling in front of the place where we’d dined together so many times before. We were together, mother and daughter, after a four-month absence.

“A non-smoking table for two, please,” I instructed the hostess.

We were ushered to a table near the front of the restaurant, within site of the large glass window facing out to the mall. It had been two years since I’d been there, since the day I bought that burgundy dress.

There were a few moments of silence while reviewing the menus.

“What are you having today, my dear?” my mother asked.

“The usual,” I said. “Cheeseburger and chocolate shake.”

She smiled and closed her menu. “Of course. I should have known. I think I’ll have the same.”

Once our food was ordered and we were both contently sucking through straws at our shakes, my mother eyed me. She swallowed and politely cleared her throat. “So, you quit smoking for good.”

“Two years ago. You knew that.”

“I thought so.”

“I only did it to be cool. And to make Bobby like me.”

“Bobby…. There’s a name I haven’t heard in awhile. How’s he doing?”

“Don’t know. We lost touch. All I know is he’s a junior in high school. We didn’t talk much after we broke up.”

“Such a shame. He seemed like such a nice boy.”

“He was, but I dumped him because he wouldn’t have sex with me.”

My mother sat up straight in her chair. “Alexandra!” she exclaimed. “For goodness sake!”

“What?”

She leaned in close, her chin nearly touching the table, and whispered, “I didn’t need to know that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. It’s not anything you didn’t already know.”

Her cheeks sank and her skin turned a paler shade of pink. “I apologized for that a long time ago. I thought we were beyond that.”

“We are, Mom. I’m sorry. That’s all in the past.”

She patted me on the hand. “Good. I’m glad.”

I picked up the glass ketchup bottle that was on the table and picked at the label with my fingernail. “I have a new boyfriend,” I said.

She beamed a toothy smile at me. “You do?”

“His name’s Matt. He’s a finance major and he’s teaching me how to play the guitar.”

“That’s great!”

“I bought him a watch for Christmas.” I held up the plastic bag for her to see. “It was expensive but he’s a pretty nice guy and after all he’s done for me I thought he was worth it.”

“Wonderful. I’m so glad you’re happy.”

I fondled the ketchup bottle suggestively with my hand. “Yeah, he’s teaching me
a lot
.”

My mother’s eyes grew large. “That’s enough!” She subtly glanced around as if to make sure no one had seen my crass hand gesture. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What? You know what Dr. Cramer said. That I should start being more honest with you.”

“It’s great that you feel comfortable talking to me about these things, but honestly, try to be a little more…discreet.”

“Sorry.”

Our waitress put a platter in front of each of us. I dumped a large puddle of ketchup on my plate for the fries and a small dollop on my burger.

My mother changed the subject. “So, how did all your classes go?” She put the two halves of her burger together and took a small bite. She ate her cheeseburgers plain, no ketchup.

I slurped my milkshake and cleared my throat. “Good. Biology was really boring, and psychology was challenging, but I loved all my English classes.”