The Devil You Know (9 page)

Now let's just suppose that not all of these girls are real. What if I had
made some of them up? Would you be able to tell the difference? Would
it matter?

VIII

Oh my god, how embarrassing! It was at a party actually, with my boyfriend. We had been going out for a while, it was probably only a few weeks, but when you're fifteen or sixteen, that's an eternity, isn't it? We had fooled around quite a bit by that point, but we hadn't gotten around to doing it yet. So, we were at this house party of this girl I was friends with, but not best friends or anything. One thing that I remember about her was that she always got to skip school one Friday a month to go and get electrolysis on her moustache and her chin hairs, and she'd always have this reddish face for the rest of the night if you saw her out at the movies or wherever. That's kind of a weird thing for a teenager, eh? Electrolysis? But her parents were quite well off, so it was no big deal for them.

Anyway, the party was at her house, because her parents were on vacation, and of course, everyone loved to go to her parties because she lived in this really nice house on top of a hill and it was close to the high school, so everyone would just meet in the school parking lot and get their drinks organized and wander over from there.

It wasn't like parties you hear about now, where kids come and destroy the house and some poor kid gets stabbed. Did you hear about that? Isn't that awful? My daughter—thank God she wasn't there— heard at school that one of the boys peed right into the top of the father's stereo. Why would anyone do that? I mean, when we were kids, a couple of people would maybe throw up on the carpet or something. And there might be a fight or two, but even that was usually outside on the driveway. We were always so desperate for a place to hang out we were too grateful to trash a place. Besides, why wreck your chances of ever getting to go there again?

Oh, right. So we were at this party, me and my boyfriend Kevin, and we were drinking and dancing. It was really fun. I went to get another drink in the kitchen and there was my ex-boyfriend, Tony. I had broken up with Tony because he was into drugs and it scared me. He hadn't really gotten over me; still leaving little notes in my locker, things like that. Calling my parents' house at all hours and then hanging up, but I knew it was him—and this was way before call display or *69! Anyhow, there Tony was in the kitchen looking very hangdog. I don't remember what exactly he said, but he was so messed up and he kept going on about how pretty I was and how much he missed me. Poor old Tony! Still, I think I had a lucky escape there.

I just wanted to get my beer and get the heck out of there, but Tony blocked my way to the fridge and kept trying to hug me. Then Kevin came in and saw us and got the wrong idea and ran up the stairs and I had to chase after him.

We had a huge fight in the parents' bedroom upstairs, with its black-and-white art posters and a waterbed. It was very glamorous looking, although thinking back on it, it really looked like something out of a sleazy movie! Anyway, I had to convince Kevin that I wasn't interested in Tony anymore. That's when I told Kevin I loved him, and then he said he loved me too and we were so worked up by then…and we'd had a lot to drink! Although if my daughter ever comes to me with that excuse, look out!

It wasn't that bad, all things considered. I'll never forget sloshing around on that waterbed with the velvety bedspread. I guess it could have been more romantic, but I did like him a lot and I was glad that I hadn't wasted myself on Tony. We went out for another two years, almost to the end of high school. Sometimes I still think about Kevin, wondering what he's doing with his life, whether he has kids of his own. I hope so. I hope he's happy.

What I am trying to tell you? There are things I should remember and I
don't. I've forgotten some bad things that any sane, any right person
would remember happening to them. I'd at least like to say I remember
every boy, every name, but I don't. I keep digging around and trying to get
the memories out, like a caramel stuck in a bad tooth.

IX

My stepfather raped me when I was thirteen. It went on for about four years, and then I ran away from home.

I'm trying to make a chorus of voices, rising together, but they all just end
up sounding like variations of me. My voice looped back and over itself
again and again to create the illusion of dimension, like an overproduced
pop song.

X

I'm not sure how comfortable I am talking about this, but I will because I think my experience is important. My life as a Christian is essential to me, and I try to live my life in accordance with the Word of God, and that's why I remained pure until marriage and so did my husband. We met at a youth leadership conference several years ago, and there was instantly a connection between us. I think we saw a conviction and a commitment in one another that was very attractive. He told me that he almost didn't go to that conference because he had been considering going overseas to do some missionary work. He says that God obviously had found a partner for him and that's why we were brought together. We dated for just over a year, but they probably weren't the kind of dates a lot of people are used to. We went to prayer group together and met each other's families and began talking about our goals and dreams for the future. I suppose that seems old-fashioned by today's standards, but how else can you get to know someone? It's no wonder there are so many divorces— if you meet someone at a bar and end up marrying them without having any of those discussions, how can you expect anything to last? It was important that Mark and I shared similar ideals: how many children we wanted to have, for example, and the best place to raise them, and how we might serve God as a family, not just as individuals. These are the things that are the foundation of a good Christian marriage, and that's something we took very seriously.

On our wedding day, I felt like I was beginning a new life. Our pastor performed the wedding ceremony and it was wonderful. I did feel a little nervous—I was about to move out of my parents' house and into a brand-new home with my husband, and I knew that night we would be consummating our vows—but I knew that I was making the right decision. I felt truly loved and valued that day, and I was proud to go to our marriage bed as a virgin, to give my body to my husband as a gift in service to the Lord. To say more than that would be wrong.

I've been truly blessed with a loving husband and three wonderful little girls. I know that when the time comes, I'll be talking to my daughters about their bodies and the importance of staying pure. Being a part of this family means not cheapening yourself in God's eyes, and they'll have to follow the example we've set.

I want to tell the girls that you get older and you get sick of things, like
girls being half-naked to sell jeans, and movies where the pretty girl dates
the ugly loser. I want to warn them to not fake it, to not pretend that something
feels good when it doesn't, because really, how fucked up is that?
But who wants to listen to my old-woman warnings, my saggy face chewing
up words? I am from a thousand years ago.

XI

I met a boy when I was on vacation with my parents in California. I had a boyfriend back home, but he…well, he was really jealous, for starters, and sometimes he'd push me around and things like that. I wasn't very happy, let's just say. So I met this boy when I was out with a couple of other girls one night and he was really nice. His name was Adrian and he took us back to his hotel room, and he and his friends gave us beer. I remember that his parents were in the hotel too, but they let Adrian have his own room. I couldn't believe how lucky he was—they must have been really rich, because it was a fancy hotel too.

After we'd drank all the beer, we went for a walk on the beach and got separated from everyone else because we were walking so slow. We talked about everything: Adrian was from Toronto and went to a private school and never got to hang around with girls, and I told him about my boyfriend and said that I was going to break up with him when I got home. I felt so high when I said that, because I suddenly knew it was true. I didn't have to go out with him anymore, because Adrian was proof that another boy could like me. We started kissing and it felt really good, and I ended up going back to his room with him. Things got pretty heavy, and I kept saying that I'd never done this before—just to make myself feel better—but I think he thought I meant cheating on my boyfriend, not the doing it part. Eventually he told me to shut up and that made me really sad. But for some reason I didn't stop.

When I got back to my parents' hotel room, they were asleep, so I snuck in and went straight to the bathroom and had the hottest shower I could stand. I just sat on the bottom of the tub and cried and let the water fall over me. I felt so dirty and like a bad person. Why wouldn't I have sex with my own boyfriend but I would with this total stranger? He didn't even really seem to like me that much. I kept hearing him saying “shut up” in my head.

We left a couple of days later, and I did break up with my boyfriend as soon as I got home. We went for a drive and I told him I didn't want to go out with him anymore and he got really angry and accused me of going off with other guys. He made me get out of his car right there and drove off and left me on the side of the road. I had to walk the rest of the way home and it took me nearly two hours.

When I started throwing up a couple of weeks later, I just thought I had the flu or something. Then my friend Angela and I bought one of those kits from the drugstore. The worst part was that I couldn't tell anyone about it. I didn't even know Adrian's last name, just that he lived in Toronto somewhere. If I told my parents, they'd think it had been my boyfriend and my dad would have probably killed him or made him marry me or something. And then my boyfriend would have known that I cheated on him and probably would have told the whole school. Every choice I had seemed so awful. I went to the clinic with Angela and everyone was super nice and I told one lady the whole story sitting in her office and crying and she told me what I could do.

So a couple weeks later, Angela borrowed her mom's car and said we were going to the mall and drove me back to the clinic. I was worried that I'd be really sick afterwards but I wasn't. They gave me some Tylenols and we went back to Ange's and just hung out downstairs and watched movies all night. She even sat on the floor so I could have the whole couch to myself.

There are girls waiting their turn, and I can't tell them anything. We have
to wait for their stories. Some think it will feel the way kissing does. Some
think it will feel the way it does when the boy they like looks at them.
Some girls have boys look at them and don't feel anything, but they feel
it when they look at their best friends. How long do they have to wait?

XII

I know there are a lot of lesbians who dated men before they came out, or before they even realized they were lesbians. I never had to go through that, since I've known since I was about eleven or twelve, I think. It's not like I ever did anything about it though. Being a teenager was tough. I was just this asexual person until I finally left home for university.

My first time was with a woman I met at a fundraiser. We went to a party afterwards, and I really liked her. She was stunning, and smart, and had the most amazing hips—when she walked, it was just the most gorgeous thing to watch. I think she knew it too. I was nervous as hell, because I'd only recently come out, and I felt like such a baby dyke next to her. But she was great—and of course she knew all about me already. It was such a small scene, like a big extended family with a lot of drama, like any family. But being with her, and we stayed together for many months after that, it gave me a kind of…legitimacy that you can't really underestimate.

We went back to her place that night, and I felt so nervous and awkward, like I wouldn't know what to do. But the moment she touched me, it was like a miracle or something. I can't tell you…how long I'd waited for that moment, and then to have everything make sense, to have everything feel right for the first time in your life. Amazing. It was the most intense, most powerful connection.

A virgin is her own woman, for good or for ill. After, a part of you belongs
to the world, even if you never let anyone in there again. The first time
is the only time you don't know how it's going to end, but after that, you'll
have plenty of time to understand how it never changes.

XIII

Promise you won't put my name in or anything? Okay. It's kind of gross, though. It happened last summer, at this family barbecue at my Auntie Sheila's. A bunch of my cousins and stuff were there, people I hadn't seen in, like, ten years. It was like a reunion, I guess. My Auntie Sheila's cousin, Rose, was there with her kids, so that makes them my second cousins, I think. They used to live closer to us and we hung out with them more back then. We used to call her Auntie Rose, even though she isn't really our aunt. Her one son, Danny—I had a major crush on him when we were little kids. Our moms would go to the hairdressers together and take us so we could play together. That was back when my mom went to Mrs. White's for haircuts—she had a hair salon in her basement, which I used to think was the coolest thing ever. Her daughter, Tina, was a year older than us, but sometimes she'd play with me and Danny.

I remember this one time, it was Christmas, and Mrs. White had mistletoe hanging in the hallway upstairs and I wanted Danny to kiss me and he made this big deal out of it and made me close my eyes and count to ten and when I did, he leaned in and kissed me, except that I kept my eyes open just a bit and I saw that he'd gotten Tina to do it instead. I was so mad that I punched him and then I got in trouble.