Anatomy of a Boyfriend (20 page)

Tears stream down my cheeks as he drives away. We didn‘t make love once this vacation.

32

T
he following Saturday at seven a.m., I‘m speed-walking around Tulane‘s outdoor track. I‘m thinking I‘m the only one who could possibly be out this early when I hear, ―Good morning, Cruella.‖

I stop short as Calvin emerges from behind the bleachers. I‘ve managed to avoid him since the freshman semiformal, but he always winks at me whenever we pass each other on campus.

Today his sweat-drenched curls are smoothed back from his forehead, revealing a prominent brow line. He has this way of looking straight into my eyes, which makes me uneasy.

I ask, ―Isn‘t it a little early for you to be out and about, what with all the partying you do?‖

―I never said I party all the time. I can be serious too. C‘mon, it‘s the weekend, it‘s beautiful out—let‘s have a normal conversation.‖

―What are you even doing here?‖

―I work out every morning, and when I saw you walk past the weight room I followed you.

Also, I‘m worried about you, and I‘m sort of responsible for your experience here, as an RA.‖

―You‘re not
my
RA,‖ I say as I resume my speed-walking. He keeps up with me. ―And aren‘t you abusing your authority, preying on freshman girls?‖

―I‘m not preying, I‘m concerned. You‘ve been moping around the dorm lately. Why so depressed?‖

―You‘re reading way too much into everything. I‘m just preoccupied. Premed‘s tough, as you discovered the hard way.‖

―Well, you got me there…. So, do you walk here often?‖ he asks while flicking a mosquito from his forearm.

―Well, I‘m thinking of trying out for track, so I started training a few days ago. My best friend runs distance at Amherst, and my
boyfriend
at NYU is a state champion sprinter, so I‘d love to be able to keep up with them.‖

―Ah, I see…. Did he give you that mood ring?‖

―Yeah. How‘d you know?‖

―You never stop touching it. It looks like something I once got in a box of Cracker Jack.‖

―Yeah, well, it means something to me. He
won
it. And I touch it because I miss him.‖

―As someone older and wiser, let me give you some advice. You two should break up now and agree to stay friends. That way you can keep in touch with none of the pressure, and then there will be a chance you can get together in the long run.‖

I roll my eyes. ―Thanks, Mom.‖

―I see it every year. A bunch of freshmen come in gabbing nonstop about their significant others. ‗My SO this, my SO that.‘ By the time they‘re sophomores, they‘re calling them SOBs. If you cool things down with this guy now, you could go out on a date with me and see what you‘ve been missing.‖

―Calvin, I‘m no more interested in dating you than I would be in dating a horse.‖

―Even though I‘m hung like one?‖

I can‘t help but laugh. Two points for Calvin with the comeback.

―Listen.‖ I stop walking and look at him. ―I‘m very flattered, but I have absolutely zero desire to date you. If you‘re cool with that, then I‘d be happy to get to know you as a friend. Otherwise, just forget it.‖

He stares back at me for what seems like a full minute. I shift from foot to foot awkwardly, squinting as the bright morning sun glints off the aluminum bleachers surrounding the track.

Finally he says, ―Just so you know, next semester my hall is getting a replacement RA ‘cause I‘ll be studying international business in Paris. So even if we started going out, we‘d have to stop when I leave, or else I‘d be a hypocrite about the distance thing.‖

―There, you see? It‘s all working out for the best.‖ He‘s obviously missed the point about my already having a boyfriend, but at least it sounds like he‘s given up on the dating idea. ―Hey, Calvin, I‘m done warming up, so I‘m gonna start running for real now.‖

―Okay, okay. I do want to be friends, and I‘m sorry if I came off as a jerk before. Friends?‖

Calvin reaches out his hand, and we shake on it before I take off.

I love these first few seconds of breaking into a run, when you feel the potential for speed coursing through you. That the air has finally cleared between Calvin and me is a huge weight off my shoulders, and my legs must be feeling it too because I‘m running my fastest ever. Wes always says he thinks of himself as a jet taking off when he begins a race, and by the time I‘m halfway around the track it really does feel like I‘m flying…until I‘m falling.

―Oh shit, shit!‖ I yell as I land hard on my knees.

Calvin bolts over to me. ―What hurts?‖

I point to my left leg. It‘s throbbing so badly I‘m scared to look at it. ―Is the bone sticking out?‖

―Um, no, it looks perfectly fine.‖

―It hurts so fucking much!‖ I wail as I lie down on the asphalt to take pressure off my legs.

―Just calm down and take deep breaths,‖ he says in the same authoritative voice he uses in dorm meetings. ―Student Health is not that far away. I‘ll carry you there, they‘ll assess the damage, and if it‘s bad, they‘ll transport you to the ER. Okay?‖

―Whatever. I just need help
now
!‖

He scoops his left arm under my thighs and extends his right arm around my back. I‘m okay with this until I feel his right thumb land on the bottom of my right boob.

―No, don‘t! Stop!‖ I yell as if I‘ve been bitten by a rattlesnake.

―What‘s wrong?‖

I disentangle myself from him and balance on my good leg. ―Um, what if you drop me? Just call them and have them bring a stretcher or something.‖

―Okay, okay, have it your way, Cruella.‖ He sighs as he takes out his cell.

An hour later I‘m sitting on the doctor‘s table at Student Health with my left knee wrapped tightly in an Ace bandage. I never knew a first-degree sprain could hurt so much, but it feels much better now that it‘s bound. The doctor tells me to practice RICE—rest, ice, compression, elevation—and promises I can stop wearing the bandage in about two weeks. However, she advises me to forget about track until sophomore year because my knee may still be too weak for a couple of months.

When she shows me the X-ray, I can identify all the bones and name the ligaments that cover them. She says she‘s impressed and that I‘d make a good doctor. For the first time this semester I feel genuinely eager to do my biology homework.

When I limp my way out of Student Health, I see Calvin waiting at the corner with a campus security golf cart.

―My Ferrari‘s in the shop. Will this do?‖

I crack a smile. ―How did you swing this?‖

―One of the many perks of knowing the right people at Res-Life. Your chariot awaits, milady,‖

he says with a slight bow.

―Well, as long as I don‘t have to tip the driver.‖ I cautiously hobble to the cart and sit beside him.

When he leaves me at our dorm, he says, ―I‘ll check up on you later, and call me if you need me.‖

―Thank you, Calvin. I appreciate…your assistance.‖

Tonight after Wes and I talk on the phone, he e-mails me a ―get well soon‖ virtual bouquet of daisies. I e-mail back that I‘m the luckiest girlfriend in the world.

33

T
hroughout exam week, if I‘m not taking a test or studying at the library, I‘m in front of my laptop elevating my leg and shopping online for holiday gifts. I dip into my summer earnings to buy a new book about Matisse for Amy, a CD of viola sonatas for Caitlin, and another year‘s subscription to
Fishing World
for my parents. For Grandma I decide on a white lace tablecloth because she got so happy reminiscing about her white lace prom dress when I showed her my prom dress, and I thought she could use it for our Sunday brunches.

I give my Tulane friends little sacks of chocolate chip cookies I bake from scratch in the dorm kitchen. When I go to Calvin‘s room and hand him one with a note thanking him again for his help at the track, he responds way too enthusiastically with a tight hug.

―What‘s your IM, Cruella? I want to stay in touch while I‘m overseas.‖

―DominiqueBaylor,‖ I reveal, knowing I can always block him if he gets annoying.

―Don‘t get married to that guy while I‘m away, now.‖

―I‘ll e-mail you pics of the wedding,‖ I kid. ―Anyway, I gotta go now. Enjoy the cookies.‖

―Thanks. I bet I‘ll love them.‖

I
know
Wes is going to love his Christmas gift—an eight-by-ten glossy photograph that Amy took of us with Jessica the dog at Captiva Beach last summer. Wes has been taking her death really hard and sounds so gloomy on the phone, so I want to do something to help keep her memory alive. In the photo Wes is smiling at the camera and has his arms wrapped around me.

Jessica‘s at our feet, snuggling up to Wes‘s ankles, and the two palm trees in the background are sort of intertwined. I shell out a hundred dollars for the frame, which is a gorgeous blue glass that matches Wes‘s eyes perfectly. I get the bottom engraved with the message ―In loving memory of Jessica.‖

Since it‘ll be his nineteenth birthday just a few days before Christmas, I also buy Wes a track singlet in violet and white, NYU‘s colors. I ask Caitlin, who‘s as good with a needle as she is with her bow, to embroider the inside back with the message ―For Wes, who makes my heart race. Love always, Dom.‖ It‘s corny, but true.

The night I get back to Fort Myers, my parents take Amy and me out to dinner in Sanibel to celebrate our successful first semester of college. It‘s so comforting that the vibe between Amy and me hasn‘t changed at all since the summer. She looks exactly the same too, except she‘s wearing a heart-shaped gold locket Joel gave her for the holidays. We‘re giggling nonstop on the car ride to the restaurant, recounting to my parents all sorts of college horror stories, which mostly involve drunk freshmen peeing off dorm terraces and streaking the quad. I wish Wes could be with us, but he has four more days at NYU.

After we‘re seated at the restaurant, I announce to everyone I‘ve already received three of my four final grades, and in the unlikely event I failed my last exam, my GPA will still be high enough to keep my scholarship.

―That‘s fantastic, Dom!‖ Amy exclaims.

―We‘re so proud of you, honey,‖ Mom says. ―And you had a rough semester too, with your room and your injury.‖ Then Mom opens the menu and mentions how good the veggie stir-fry and steamed tofu dishes look.

I chuckle, ―Bland city. You know I always order the nachos and mozzarella sticks here.‖

She looks down at her menu. ―I know, Dommie. I just thought you might want to try something on the healthier side after all that junk food they feed you at school.‖

―Not a bad idea,‖ I concede. A few seconds later the double meaning hits me. ―Wait. Are you saying I‘m fat, Mom?‖

―No. Did I say that?‖

―Basically,‖ I huff.

Amy obviously senses the tension in the air because she excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

So I use the opportunity to keep picking a fight. ―Trust me, Mom, I‘ve noticed my clothes getting tighter, and I‘m dealing with it. But just for your information, my body mass index is still well within what‘s considered normal. It‘s also perfectly natural for my metabolism to start slowing down at my age. And by the way, the last thing I need on my first day back is a lecture about a few extra pounds.‖

―Dommie, calm down, you look beautiful—you always do,‖ Mom persists. ―But you‘re at your best when you‘re a few pounds lighter.‖

I sigh exasperatedly. ―Dad, are you listening to this?‖

He emerges from behind his menu. ―I agree with your mom. Guys can be a little overweight,‖

he says, pinching his gut with his hand, ―but girls can‘t.‖

―Oh my God, that is so sexist and wrong! So what? I‘m one size bigger than usual and I‘m fat?‖

―Not fat, honey, nobody said fat. It‘s just that cafeteria food. If you eat right the next four weeks, you‘ll feel lean and healthy by the time you go back.‖

―Mom, I was taking some very hard classes and trying to maintain an academic scholarship, so it‘s not like I had any time to exercise. And when I tried to, I injured my knee. You know what, guys?‖ I throw down my napkin. ―Let‘s just forget this whole meal. I lost my appetite anyway.‖

―Dom, you‘re blowing this way out of proportion,‖ Dad reprimands. ―We‘re staying put, and let‘s have a nice dinner, for Christ‘s sake.‖

When Amy comes back, I try to behave myself, but I know I‘m sulking. I was feeling so grown-up today too—a college girl just three days away from turning eighteen—but in the space of ten seconds it‘s like I‘m eight again, Right now I miss the freedom of college almost as much as I miss my boyfriend. When we get home after dropping Amy off, I head straight for my room to sulk some more.

Mom calls out after me, ―Make sure to phone Grandma. She said she hasn‘t heard from you in a while.‖

I don‘t care. I know she‘ll just say something critical, like reminding me to stand up straight.

The last thing I need is to feel more self-conscious about my fat self. Especially since Wes will be seeing me naked in ninety-six hours.

34

A
t noon the following day we get a phone call. Dad picks up since he‘s home for lunch, and a minute later I hear him call in an anxious voice for Mom, who‘s in the bedroom grading exams.

Something tells me this isn‘t good, so I emerge from behind my desk to stand in the archway of the living room. Mom‘s now sitting in the love seat, and her face turns ashen as she clutches the receiver.

―When did it happen?‖ she asks.

My heart starts racing as I look at Dad, who‘s gazing sympathetically at Mom and holding her hand. Mom takes down some information and hangs up. Slumped in the love seat, she looks up at me, and says, ―It‘s Grandma. She‘s—‖

Dad immediately kneels down and takes Mom in his arms.

I go to her. ―I‘m so sorry, Mom,‖ I say, putting my hand on her shoulder. I feel lame not knowing how to comfort her when she‘s comforted me through so many things all these years.

My grandpa‘s death followed an eighteenth-month-long battle with stomach cancer, so when it finally happened we were sort of prepared for it, and I think Mom was somewhat relieved he wasn‘t suffering anymore. But this is just so unexpected.