Torch Red: Color Me Torn with Bonus Content (12 page)

But, as a result of being snubbed by Emily, I’ve probably been
hanging on to Justin more than ever. It’s like he’s become my social security blanket. Oh, I’m not saying that I only like him because of his status at Hamilton High. But sometimes I wonder if I’d be as attracted to him if he wasn’t so popular.

In his defense, he has been sweeter than ever this week. I think he was actually feeling jealous of my friendship with Nate, and so it’s like he’s been trying to make sure that I know he and I are really a couple. Consequently I’ve made sure to cool things down with Nate. Other than our scenes together, I’ve managed to pretty much avoid him. But I must admit that I miss our little discussions. One thing about Nate is that you can trust him to say what he really thinks. He’s not a hypocrite and he doesn’t play games.

“Come here, Zoë,” whispers Justin after we finish a scene and I know that a break is coming. He grabs my hand and pulls me with him to a corner that we recently discovered backstage. It’s become a regular thing for us to meet there. We act like we’re being really sneaky, like no one knows what we’re up to (although I suspect that everyone does) then we enjoy a nice make-out session until we are either discovered or it’s time to get back to rehearsal.

Now, I’m not saying that I don’t enjoy kissing Justin, because, believe me, I do! Oh, I really do. But I’ve noticed how these little sessions are getting hotter and hotter, and I can tell it’s only a matter of time before Justin will expect me to go all the way with him. And I’m just not sure that I’m comfortable with that. I mean despite all my whining and complaining about being the last virgin on the planet, I’m not absolutely positively sure that I’m ready to give that up yet.

Okay, I guess I’m mostly ready. And there are moments when I feel really ready—like when my heart’s racing and I can barely breathe and lots of other new feelings are rushing through me like
electricity. And I actually wonder if this is the real thing. Like, am I really in love? Or am I just a ticking time bomb of raging hormones and chemistry?

And then I wonder if it even matters, like, hey, maybe I should just jump in and get this milestone over with. At least I wouldn’t be a liar anymore since all of my friends (except Shawna) think I’m not a virgin anymore anyway.

But there’s this little bit of reservation going on inside of me, like this big question mark, and it makes me wonder if I’ll regret giving in to Justin. I guess I’m just feeling confused and frustrated. Like, here’s my big chance, but now I’m not so sure I want it. Or more than that, I’m not so sure it’s the right thing for me to do. I really wish there was someone I could talk to about it. I mean this is a time when a girl really needs her best friend to be there for her. I remember how I used to listen to Emily going on and on about whether or not she’d do it with Todd (which is all water under the bridge now anyway), but I was there for her. Now when I need her, she’s just leaving me high and dry.

Finally I decide to talk to Shawna. I mean she may not have exactly the same moral values as Emily, but at least she’s experienced and should know what she’s talking about. So on Thursday, I ask Shawna if she can give me a ride home and maybe stop for a bite to eat (so we can talk). Naturally, Justin is a little put out by this, but when I tell him that I just need to “talk to a woman” his eyebrows kind of lift up hopefully and he says, “Hey, that’s cool.”

“What’s up?” asks Shawna when we finally sit down to our cheeseburgers, fries, and shakes. It’s great how we can consume like thousands of calories without the slightest concern while we’re working so hard on the play.

“I just needed to talk to someone,” I tell her.

“About what?”

I take a sip of my shake as I consider beating around the bush then remember this is Shawna. “Sex,” I state in a no-big-deal tone of voice.

She laughs. “Well, go for it.”

So I explain how I’m feeling, how I really like Justin, but how I’m not really sure that it’s right, but how maybe I should just get it over with.

She shrugs. “Yeah, that’s pretty much how I felt.”

“You mean the first time you did it?”

She nods.

“When was that?” I ask.

“I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen?” I feel my eyes widen and hope I don’t look too shocked.

“Yeah, looking back, I guess it was a little young. But at the time it seemed okay.”

“And you really
wanted
to do it?”

She shrugs again. “I don’t know.”

“Were you pressured?”

She laughs now. “Ya think?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, Zoë, the guy was seventeen. I was fourteen. Whose idea do you think it really was to get it on?”

I nod. “Well, did you enjoy it?”

Now she laughs even harder, but the sadness in her eyes betrays her. “I don’t know any girl who really enjoys it. At least not the first time,” she finally says.

I frown.

“Look, do you want me to be really honest with you, Zoë? Or
do you want the sugarcoated crud that girls like Thea and Kirsti dish out all the time?”

“Honesty would be nice.”

So she launches into some fairly graphic details about how it’s painful, awkward, humiliating, and best to just get it over with. “It’s not like you see in the movies,” she tells me as she dips a fry in ketchup.

“Oh.”

“But don’t worry,” she assures me, “it gets better in time.”

“It must,” I say in a flat tone. “Otherwise people wouldn’t keep doing it, right?”

Now she laughs so loudly that half the people in Dairy Queen are looking our way. “Yeah, and then everyone would stop reproducing and the human race would die off and before long apes would rule the planet.”

I smile. “We probably don’t need to worry about that.”

“No, probably not.”

I appreciate her candidness, but I’m not sure that it makes me any less confused. Finally I ask her the question that’s really burning on my mind. “Shawna,” I say just as we’re finishing up, “if you had it all to do over again, would you have done anything differently?”

She looks down at the burger debris spread across our table and sighs. “Maybe.”

“Like how?” I persist.

Now she looks slightly irritated, like maybe I’ve pushed her just a little too far, but she answers. “Like maybe I would’ve waited.” Then she narrows her eyes and reaches for her bag. “But that’s all I’m saying about that.”

“Yeah, okay.” We both stand up.

“Look, Zoë,” she says as we exit the restaurant. “I’m not really
an expert on this stuff. Maybe you should talk to someone else.”

“Oh, I appreciate your honesty.” I don’t tell her that compared to girls like me or Emily or even Andrea, she is quite the expert. I have a feeling she would take that all wrong. So I change the subject as she drives me home.

Mom’s the only one home when I get there. She’s making a pot of tea in the kitchen and asks me if I’d like some. I’m not really big into tea, but think maybe this is an opportunity to talk to her. Not that I really want to ask her about sex exactly. I mean she’s already given me the old mandatory sex talk (like back when I was twelve), and I could tell it made her uncomfortable then, but now that I’m older, maybe she’s more relaxed. Still, I’m not sure. But I accept a cup of tea and we both sit down across from each other at the breakfast bar.

“How’s the play coming?” she asks. Standard parental ice-breaker question. And just to be nice I play along.

“It’s okay.”

“How’s Justin doing?” Another standard question. Only this one means,
What’s happening with you and Justin? Anything you’d like to talk to me about?
I can read this woman like a book.

“He’s okay,” I say. Now I feel a little guilty for my lack of cooperation. I mean here I am, the one who really needs to talk, and I’m just shutting her down right and left.

“Oh.”

Then there’s this long silence and I can tell it’s up to me. “Mom?” I begin.

She looks up from the magazine she’s been flipping through. “Yes?”

“Well, I’m trying to figure some things out. . . .”

“Like what, Zoë?”

“Oh, you know,” I try to act nonchalant. “The old questions about life and love and happiness.”

She kind of smiles. “Oh, all that simple stuff.”

“What was it like when you met Dad?” I ask. “And I don’t mean the standard story about how you met as short-term missionary volunteers in Peru then got married after only knowing each other for a month.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what was it
really
like? How did you feel? How did you know you were really in love? How could you be so certain that he was the man you wanted to marry?” Naturally, I don’t say “have sex with,” since this is my mom, but I suppose this is what I’m really getting at. And in their case, if they’re telling the truth, sex and marriage had pretty much come hand in hand. So I think it works.

She pushes her magazine aside and considers this. “That’s a lot of questions.”

I nod. “Well, just do your best.”

She smiles then launches into the story of how they met. They were both teachers in the mission school, she had just arrived to teach second grade, and he’d been there for about a year teaching high school science classes.

“It seemed like love at first sight,” she says in a slightly dreamy voice (I prepare myself for doves and violins now). “I’d only been there a week and on Saturday, I’d gone to get produce at the market, you know where the locals set up tables and sell food outside, and I was so excited about all the fresh fruits and vegetables that I got carried away. I filled my burlap shopping bag so full that it split open—”

“Yeah, Mom, I know this part. And Dad helped you get your stuff home and all that. But what happened between the two of you,
how did you feel? How did you know?”

“Right.” She thinks for a moment. “Well, I noticed him right away. And I thought he was very handsome. You know, he still had a full head of hair back then, as well as a nice beard. But there was something in his eyes that just got to me, sort of took my breath away. . . .”

“Yeah?”

“And I remember when we got to my house, how he handed me back my melons and vegetables, well, his hand brushed mine a couple of times, and it felt like a little jolt of electricity. I think he must’ve felt it too, because we both looked at each other—right in the eyes—and, well, I think we both sort of knew that something was going on.”

“So you had chemistry?”

She laughs. “Yes, you could definitely say that.”

“What then?”

“He arranged for some friends to invite us both to dinner. The couple knew that he was interested in me and gave us plenty of time to be alone.”

“And what did you do?” I tried not to imagine my parents kissing and pawing each other the way that Justin and I had done during play practice today.

“We just talked.”

“Talked?” I feel disappointed. “That’s all?”

“It was more than enough, Zoë. We just talked and talked and it’s like we never had enough time to talk about everything.”

“But what about the chemistry?”

“Oh, it was there. You could just about feel the electricity snapping in the air between us.”

“But you just talked?” I can hear the skepticism growing in my voice.

“I can’t explain it,” she says. “But all we wanted to do was to get to know each other better.”

“And you didn’t kiss or anything?”

She laughs. “Of course we kissed. But not for a while.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing we were there as missionaries and we had to watch our manners. But, besides that, I think we both just wanted to get to know each other without being distracted with all the physical . . . well, pleasures.” She smiles now, as if she’s remembering something special. “But we knew it was there . . . we knew that we’d get the whole enchilada in time.”

“So when did you first kiss?”

“We’d spent every spare moment together for about two weeks,” she tells me. “And then your dad invited me to drive to a nearby town with him for dinner.” She sighs now. “It was a beautiful evening, like something right out of a movie. Driving through the mountains as the sun set, eating at this place with little tables and strings of colored lights and candles at each table. So romantic. After dinner, we took a little walk and went across a bridge and then stopped and looked at the stars. And then your dad asked if he could kiss me.”

“He actually
asked
?”

She nods. “Of course, I said yes. And what a kiss!”

“Okay, okay.” I hold my hands now. “You don’t have to go into all the details.”

“You’re the one who asked.”

“Right. So, you guys kissed and then what?”

“Well, it was obvious that we were both highly attracted to each other. But we knew that we couldn’t go around kissing each other back on the mission base. After just one more week, and only three weeks since we’d first met, your dad proposed.”

“And you accepted.”

“And we got permission from the mission director to elope,” she says. “It worked out nicely since there was a one-week break the following week and we were able to enjoy a short honeymoon on the coast.” She gets quiet now as if she’s gone back in time. I don’t know what to say. Then she continues. “Another interesting thing about our romance,” she says in a serious voice, “we were both virgins, Zoë.”

Now I’m holding up both hands, as in too much information. “That’s okay, Mom,” I say quickly. “We don’t need to go there.”

“But I want to. I want you to know that it was the best thing for both of us. We both came into the marriage completely free of some of the baggage that I see other people dealing with. Being married isn’t easy for anyone, but it’s so much better when you wait.”

“Okay, okay.” I nod. “I get the message. No regrets about waiting.” Now I want to take this another direction. Any direction. “So did you have any regrets about anything?”

She nods now and suddenly I’m very curious.

“What?” I demand. “What did you regret?”

“Oh, sometimes I wish we’d been able to have a traditional wedding with our family and friends. But we would’ve had to wait a year for that. So it just didn’t seem practical.”