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Authors: Elisabeth de Mariaffi
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against losers because most people werenât sure if we were a couple or not. Every now and then heâd go to hold my hand or rub his cheek against my neck or something and Iâd have to say, Slow down, Chaka Khan. Weâre pretending, remember?
I decided that Iâd better call him and make sure he got home all right. The phone had to ring nine times before anyone even picked it up.
Itâs two in the morning, Jamie said. You woke up my Mom.
Oh, I said, Iâm not really used to people living at home anymore.
Jamie didnât say anything to that. I thought of something else.
I guess I just wanted to make sure youâre okay.
Okay, like how?
Just okay, I said. Like, you know.
Like how, Jamie said. Is there something you want to talk about?
I switched the phone to my other ear.
Okay, like you totally put the moves on me again and I denied you. Okay, like that. I waited for him to answer. There were some crumbs from the cornbread stuck under my fingernails and I fiddled them out.
Yeah, Jamie said. Thatâs whatever.
I just donât want there to be misunderstandings, I said. I mean, I think you were just drunk and these things happen. I told him about Abraham Maslowâs hierarchy of needs, and how after food and shelter, sex was the very most important thing. So itâs not really your fault, I said. Your drunk brain is just doing what it thinks it should.
Holy, Jamie said. Youâre a real piece of work, you know that?
He said, Itâs totally fine. You donât want to get laid, thatâs totally fine with me. I have another girlfriend anyway. I have six other girlfriends.
You donât have six other girlfriends.
In fact, I do.
Anyway, I said. I was never your girlfriend, Jamie. You get that, right?
Yes, he said. I get that. Can I go to bed now?
One of us hung up, but I donât remember who.
I used to bring boys I liked into the store so Del could tell me which ones were worth my time. I mean, before he got too sick to work. He always liked the ones I only wanted to be friends with, which annoyed me. I knew a guy that rode a motorbike, but he was the wrong kind of guy with a bike. He was very compact and cheerful and the bike was a Suzuki. Del loved him. His name was Brett Furnival, he used to pick me up at night and weâd go riding through the bike trails along the Don River. There were no lights at all except the light on the bike. At the entrance to the trail was a big sign with a picture of a motorcycle crossed out: No Motorized Vehicles. I waited for Brett to say something about how we werenât supposed to do this, but all he said was, This is really fun! Are you holding on?
We never got caught and we never hit a tree. Brett would never have taken any chances on a ride like that.
Someone else that Del loved was Jamie Nash. I suspected that Del was coaching him. On my last birthday Jamie had come into the store and bought me these whopping big art books, hardcovers I could never afford because I spent all my money on other things. Daumier to Picasso: The Pleasures of Paris and Karsh: A Sixty Year Retrospective. I was stuck behind the cash and Jamie and Del were hidden in the stacks, talking loud and dropping things. I stuck out my tongue at them, but then an old lady wanted to talk to me about dictionaries.
Jamie didnât give me the books until we were at his house. We were going to hang out and watch Belle de Jour, because I liked to pretend I was French. It was a movie I had picked, and Jamie didnât like it. This is stupid, he said. And youâve seen this before? Why would you sit through this twice? We were lying around in his room watching the movie, and I was arguing with him because there was nothing wrong with it. At the end of the night, he put my car keys down his pants. Youâve got to be fucking kidding me, I said. Are you serious? Seriously, this is what weâre doing now?
Jamie said, Come and get them.
We hadnât
I decided that Iâd better call him and make sure he got home all right. The phone had to ring nine times before anyone even picked it up.
Itâs two in the morning, Jamie said. You woke up my Mom.
Oh, I said, Iâm not really used to people living at home anymore.
Jamie didnât say anything to that. I thought of something else.
I guess I just wanted to make sure youâre okay.
Okay, like how?
Just okay, I said. Like, you know.
Like how, Jamie said. Is there something you want to talk about?
I switched the phone to my other ear.
Okay, like you totally put the moves on me again and I denied you. Okay, like that. I waited for him to answer. There were some crumbs from the cornbread stuck under my fingernails and I fiddled them out.
Yeah, Jamie said. Thatâs whatever.
I just donât want there to be misunderstandings, I said. I mean, I think you were just drunk and these things happen. I told him about Abraham Maslowâs hierarchy of needs, and how after food and shelter, sex was the very most important thing. So itâs not really your fault, I said. Your drunk brain is just doing what it thinks it should.
Holy, Jamie said. Youâre a real piece of work, you know that?
He said, Itâs totally fine. You donât want to get laid, thatâs totally fine with me. I have another girlfriend anyway. I have six other girlfriends.
You donât have six other girlfriends.
In fact, I do.
Anyway, I said. I was never your girlfriend, Jamie. You get that, right?
Yes, he said. I get that. Can I go to bed now?
One of us hung up, but I donât remember who.
I used to bring boys I liked into the store so Del could tell me which ones were worth my time. I mean, before he got too sick to work. He always liked the ones I only wanted to be friends with, which annoyed me. I knew a guy that rode a motorbike, but he was the wrong kind of guy with a bike. He was very compact and cheerful and the bike was a Suzuki. Del loved him. His name was Brett Furnival, he used to pick me up at night and weâd go riding through the bike trails along the Don River. There were no lights at all except the light on the bike. At the entrance to the trail was a big sign with a picture of a motorcycle crossed out: No Motorized Vehicles. I waited for Brett to say something about how we werenât supposed to do this, but all he said was, This is really fun! Are you holding on?
We never got caught and we never hit a tree. Brett would never have taken any chances on a ride like that.
Someone else that Del loved was Jamie Nash. I suspected that Del was coaching him. On my last birthday Jamie had come into the store and bought me these whopping big art books, hardcovers I could never afford because I spent all my money on other things. Daumier to Picasso: The Pleasures of Paris and Karsh: A Sixty Year Retrospective. I was stuck behind the cash and Jamie and Del were hidden in the stacks, talking loud and dropping things. I stuck out my tongue at them, but then an old lady wanted to talk to me about dictionaries.
Jamie didnât give me the books until we were at his house. We were going to hang out and watch Belle de Jour, because I liked to pretend I was French. It was a movie I had picked, and Jamie didnât like it. This is stupid, he said. And youâve seen this before? Why would you sit through this twice? We were lying around in his room watching the movie, and I was arguing with him because there was nothing wrong with it. At the end of the night, he put my car keys down his pants. Youâve got to be fucking kidding me, I said. Are you serious? Seriously, this is what weâre doing now?
Jamie said, Come and get them.
We hadnât
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