Regeneration X (22 page)

To illustrate one occasion in particular, we (Parker and I) went to a nightclub where there were opposing teams doing
battle
by street dance. I found the body language suggestive, making me feel involuntarily voyeuristic. It looked aggressive, too, but I conceded it also seems to be the natural evolution of expression, which probably arose from Michael Jackson’s Beat It video and the like, and many years of hip-hop culture. I could appreciate the displays for their creative qualities. But why were the rude sexual references necessary? I tapped on a fellow gawker’s shoulder, to get a possible
translation
of the “dance war.” She laughed at my description and said she didn’t know exactly; it was meant to be poetic and “open to interpretation.” I took it she didn’t have an explanation and was as confused as I was. I extracted a few keywords that should have explained something, but didn’t. She said she just enjoyed watching the “freestyle” routines and the “pop-and-lock” actions.

I couldn’t even determine which of the moves the “freestyle” ones were, but there were break-dancing bits I recognized from the ‘80s. I didn’t know what they meant back then, however, I always thought it fascinating the human body could move in such a way. I wouldn’t have objected to staying if the dancers cut out the hard-core antics; the vulgarity was disturbing.

Luckily, Parker didn’t appreciate this form of street dance either. He said he’d seen other much more compelling performances so we migrated to another club. The next one was better, but still, the dynamics between dance partners was provocative and too publicly crass for my taste—grinding and thrusting between dance partners who presumably didn’t know one another out from under the dark, multicolored, pulsing lights of the club. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear a cacophony of grunts and moans if the speakers suddenly went out. Thankfully, the music was loud and base-heavy. Since I hadn’t been out dancing in a long time, we stayed for the remainder of the night until nearly 3 a.m.—and once I stopped caring, it was exhilarating.

・ ・ ・

Over the course of a few months, I’ve learned a great deal about being a young adult nowadays. We’d been to numerous clubs as well as played paint ball, and gone rock-climbing and done other more lower-key activities. I even took Parker to a retro video arcade to try his hand at
Pac-Man
and
Centipede
. He was a good sport about it and caught on without explanation; he went on to beat the tenth top player on his third try at
Centipede
. But this part of the date lasted roughly half an hour. Even I got bored with the old-school graphics.
 

We tried modern games, too, such as a Halo theme built around
I’m Mortal
. I’ve played the Wii before, but this was disturbing to the point of being nauseating. Regardless of the decade I was never going to be like Robert, who was an avid gamer with quite a following of fans who watched him play. He even had a sponsor and a subscription-based audience who paid to watch his strategy. After the few trials I had as a character called Santana, I knew I didn’t want to be like him, either. So I learned there were more ways technology integrated itself into the lives of people now. I rather felt like a scientist might in an immersion study.

When we weren’t socializing in this way, we were
hanging out
. Turns out teens spend a good deal of their time
chillin
’ rather than doing any particular activity. We gather and do nothing in coffee shops, pubs, diners and even stores. But this was perplexing, since another very obvious fact was that all the activities require minimal verbal interaction. So the terms
hanging out
and
chillin
’ were shallow references to just being literally present in the company of others. I’m still waiting to be proved wrong, but in-depth conversations in these sessions are not a priority or even normal. Most conversations I’ve had outside of school were just abrupt dialogues, such as, “Let’s check out
this place
.”, “I went
here
and it was slammin’.” Or “DJ
so-and-so
tears it up!”
 

Thinking back to my first youth, I couldn’t remember if it had always been this way. Most of my nostalgia was focused on my twenties and thirties, so if I remained optimistic, it was just a matter of riding this out until my companions had cognitively grown. But the fact is, I couldn’t take much more of it now. Seven to ten years … I was better off hoping for my own mental regression. So, daily I retreated to spend time with Inez and Becks, if only to have a real conversation. I’d even taken to dropping by Dr. Burroughs’ office to escape into adult company. And I had my weekly calls with Michael to refresh my adult brain. When I’d been organizing these flights for a while, I realized there was a problem.

I met with Dr. Baum (virtually) and expressed how this whole time I’d been trying to decide whether I liked being a teen, as if I had a choice in the matter. I concentrated on learning the ways so I could better adjust. I was trying to create a new me.

Our conversation was short. At first, he was surprised I hadn’t already come out of my closet so to speak. He’d almost sounded disapproving, taking me back to the day when he sat in thought waiting for me to come clean about Renovation. He confronted my worries with these poignant comments: “You do have a choice—to be truthful to yourself and others. Then you can be whatever variation of yourself you wish. Without your whole personality, you are eighteen and you’ll continue being so. All you have to do is decide how you want to interact. Stop pretending.”

This certainly put the situation into perspective. As the days stretched on, more dilemmas arose and I came closer to revealing the changeling I was.

March 18, 2026

Robert asked Parker to go out and Parker said, “Hang on mate, let me ask the Missus.” Umm. I know it was a joke, but WTH. And although he’s never lewd, I can tell he’s ready to take our relationship further (not marriage of course).

Back in the day, sex didn’t happen after one month of dating, and most times not after several, even if you did see the person every day. Michael and I didn’t fall into bed together; we waited until we felt strongly for one another. I don’t think I’m being prudish, but then this is a matter of opinion, I guess.

The dance moves I’ve seen in the clubs leads me to think sex is on par with a kiss when it comes to the levels of intimacy. Or maybe this is how my thinking is wrong. I’m assuming that intimacy is even considered in the act. Regardless, one of my goals is to acclimate, but not this much. I will not set aside my morals just to play along.

He hasn’t asked or pressured me in any way. On the outside, he’s a fine young gentleman, ahead of other 18 year olds for sure. But if sex is the natural next step in his mind then I best get around to another, different sort of surprise. Once I get this out of the way, I might not even have to worry about intimacy for a while.

Instead of feeling as if I’m getting any closer to being a young person in mind and body, a random question entered my mind. Should Michael and I finally have children of our own?

I do have a way of complicating things. As if getting an education for a new career, trying to figure out my distant or failing marriage, and living the social and love life of a teenager isn’t enough to sort out.
 

But as far as I know, I can still conceive. …
 

Resolved, since Parker was the gatekeeper to my exposition, I had to make another one of those uncomfortable conversations happen. Why am I always here with men? I wondered. Now was not the time to analyze the differences between men and women, but Lord, I welcome the day when what I’m thinking or feeling isn’t so unwelcome to others.

Therefore, sometime after my decision to tell Parker the full truth (weeks before), we were seated at a table in the corner of the Boar’s Head Pub. It resembled every other pub in London, quite possibly in all of England. It was dimly lit, rustic, and old with a dark timber ceiling and chunky beams, naturally distressed wood tables and bar, and white plaster chinking and walls. There were a few heads of boars, along with smaller game, fixed to the vertical beams. A painting of men on horseback surrounded by baying dogs was displayed above each large booth, and other hunting-themed décor was scattered throughout.
 

Boar’s Head wasn’t one of the regular places we met with our drama class crew, nor was it a place Parker and I had been before. Since we’d been on more dates than could be counted now, we saw each other without the others present; often in a more casual, non-dating mode—just two people having a pint. Although, I didn’t drink beer, which is a challenge when trying to fit into the English lifestyle, but no more than if I were still in Seattle. Instead, I’d taken to sipping on a toddy, port, or mead while everyone else around me took their deep swigs of brew. The English are similar to Seattlans in this respect. They prefer dark, frothy, malty beers to the light ones, but this also is just a generalization.

We sat down at a small corner table at the back of the pub. Immediately I became entranced by a large collection of butterflies and ornate moths displayed in a glass case on the wall near our booth. There were only a few that looked familiar.

“This one is no butterfly I’ve ever seen,” Parker pointed at the large green one near the center of the display.

“It’s a Luna moth, a night creature.”

“Interesting. It’s huge. Do you know the difference between butterflies and moths?”

“Yes. Although they seem similar, aside from their coloring, they’re anatomically different, too, if you look at them closely. I think the main differences are butterflies are mostly daytime fliers and a caterpillar transforms into a butterfly inside a chrysalis. Whereas moths are nocturnal and emerge from a cocoon.”

“You’re a regular encyclopedia,” he said for the moment as mesmerized as I. “Speaking of metamorphosis, what character have you played so far that you find the most challenging to capture?”

Offhand, I considered answering this question by pointing at the moth myself. I felt like I emerged as well. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m cut out for the stage. I find all of them challenging, but most … I would have to say …”

As I thought Parker said, “You’ll be a great actress, you’ve got a very animated face. I heard Professor Hughes say this one time when you were reading a passage.”

“Not sure being Jessica Rabbit is one of my aspirations. I have it! Moll Cutpurse. I found it very demanding to act the part of a thief and tomboy without it looking as if I was a girl trying really hard to play a boy and a sixteenth century street urchin.”

“Your last run through was ace. Is she your favorite character?”

“No, although I do enjoy the role, but it’s because she is a challenge. My favorite would be … Viola/Cesario. It’s hard not to notice the difference between a Shakespearean character and another playwright’s, and not have a preference for Shakespeare. I also very much like the story—it’s fun and intricate.

“It’s crazy to even conceive how it would have actually been in Elizabethan times. Talk about suspension of disbelief—a female character disguised as a eunuch for a good part of the play and a lady on and off as well, all the while played by a man, since women couldn’t act on stage in those times.

“I’m sure it’s a much easier role now than it ever was back then, still, I find it challenging, and partly for the same reason as Moll is, a boy playing a girl playing a boy.

“How about you, most challenging and favorite?”

“Thomas Arden. He is easily the most difficult role I’ve played yet. Being one of the earliest plays, the character doesn’t seem as fully developed as characters in more popular plays. So I have to imagine a great deal to make him a more complete and believable character. He’s my favorite as well,” Parker expanded, taking a long swallow of beer.

“Are you hungry? Do you want to go somewhere else or should we order?” he asked, browsing the short menu.

“I could eat. Let’s stay here.”

As if summoning a sommelier, Parker raised two fingers and beckoned a passing waitress. When she arrived he asked, “Better I order at the bar or can you take it through?”

“Either way, if y’r ready now I can take y’r orders,” the waitress replied.

“Then we’ll have a shepherd’s pie and the bangers and mash.”

I don’t particularly care to be treated as an inferior being just because I’m female, however, with this said I could still appreciate it when a decisive man makes a little gallant gesture such as this. Neither the pie nor a plate of sausage and potatoes could be construed as a fine meal, but I found Parker’s manner in general very appealing. I take back what I said about English men not being like the actors I had crushes on watching the BBC back in the US. The more
real
men I met, the more I was convinced gentlemanliness was in the air, not just on a screen—at least in the parts of town I tried to stay in.

When I first started school, I thought the men here were going to be similar to the typical American frat boy, i.e., uninteresting when young, growing up to be an equally dull, but ambitious businessman, doctor, or lawyer type when older. I was wrong. Parker was case in point. When he spoke, even casually with bits of British slang, his voice was smooth and deep, and conversations with him were less shallow. He also moved with an unknowing masculine grace; his manners were unaffected, but refined, and he was only 19. He was a natural leader and others looked to him for guidance. Outside of school, I met many young men who weren’t as well-mannered or well-spoken, but in the more dignified parts of town and in school the balance was definitely in the gentlemen’s favor. If Parker had been like some of those others, we wouldn’t have made it past one date. Still, it wasn’t this way in the US; there were more
manly
men then
gentle
men, at least, in my recollection.

I guess it’s all a matter of personal preference and some invisible factors that drew two people together. For me, it wasn’t about inexperience and trial and error now. Although I married late, in my thirties, it wasn’t because I hadn’t been in many relationships. In fact, most of my relationships were lengthy ones. I really didn’t think I would find Mr. Right after Miles. I wasn’t looking. My heart, as well as my head, wasn’t in it. Each relationship after this one was more of a companionship, eventually ending when my boyfriend or I realized there wasn’t much point in staying together or something went wrong—usually when my boyfriend found someone else. I was (am) a serial monogamist. I’m sure for most people this needs to be part of a relationship discussion. I never discussed it. I just assumed, so most of them weren’t my type, really, and I wasn’t theirs, obviously.