Authors: Victoria Sawyer
“Seth!!!” she squeals as she pulls open the door. I look up
and my jaw drops. It’s Jared’s friend Seth. I stop dancing and run up to them
in drunken ridiculous exuberance.
“Seth!!” I say, my excitement almost as much as Anne’s. Seth
smiles at Anne and then he recognizes me.
“Vicky?!” he says with surprise as he walks into the
apartment. “How do you know Anne?” He seems glad to see me and I’m glad to have
someone at the party who knows Jared. It brings him back to me full force and I
immediately think of his face, his body, how nice and down to earth he is and
Nick is totally forgotten.
“Anne and I work together at the grocery store down the
street,” I say with a huge smile. Anne bustles Seth into the living room,
taking his coat, and holding out a chair for him. Clearly the king has arrived.
As soon as he sits down, Seth pulls out a pipe and bag of grass and everyone
quickly joins the circle around him, eager for a hit. I pull up a chair next to
him as he packs the bowl and takes a long toke himself. As he exhales, I say,
“How do you know Anne?”
“Anne and I go way back,” he says smiling widely as he
passes the bowl to me. I pretend I’m an old pro as I hold the lighter and pipe
and pull in the sweet smoke, my lungs immediately expelling it as soon as it
enters. I cough and the high floats over me like a gauzy veil, blurred and out
of focus, my eyes instantly at half-mast. “Actually Anne and I went to high
school together,” he says with a lazy smile, his eyes also half closed. “You
talk to Jared lately?” he asks, opening one eye to peer at me above the hazy
smoke that circles the room. I pass the bowl to the person next to me and try
to think how I should answer this. I guess the truth.
“Actually not at all,” I say, feeling a lot lighter as the
drug takes effect. As I look up and around the circle, Nick catches my eye and
smiles his slow seductive smile, his eyes glinting and I quickly look away and
back at Seth.
“Are you serious?” he asks, leaning forward, his elbows on
his knees as he peers at me.
“Yeah, I went to his family party and I haven’t heard from
him since. That was two weeks ago now.”
“Weird, I would have thought he’d have called you or
something. He seemed pretty into you,” drawls Seth, leaning back again in his
chair, shrugging his shoulders at Jared’s actions.
“That’s what I thought too,” I say with a light laugh,
trying not to act like I had expected too much or that my feelings were hurt. I
can tell Nick has heard this conversation and is looking at me, I can feel it,
but I’m not going to look at him. After everyone takes a toke, we all laze
around talking, soft reggae music flowing in the background, the air smoky and
potent.
Later, at around midnight, Nick corners me near the bathroom
as I come out.
“Hi, Vicky,” he says again with a sleepy smile, his look
charming and easy.
“Hi,” I reply, still high and definitely drunk. His presence
is wearing on me. Damn he is rather good looking I think, studying his full
mouth as he puts his arm around my shoulders.
“Maybe we should get together again. I think I messed up a
good thing with you, Victoria,” he says, pulling me in closer, his body strong,
warm, inviting. I cuddle up closer to him, my drunk mind not functioning quite
how my sober mind would. I want someone to want me, and here’s Nick, my lying
cheating ex-boyfriend, who just happens to be pretty damn attractive. I smile
up at him.
“I’m not sure we can just jump into that,” I say with a
laugh, teasing my fingers at his chest. “Especially considering how you treated
me like shit.”
“I deserve that, I know I do…but I want to make it up to you.
Honestly. How about a kiss to ring in the New Year, Vicky?” he asks and before
I can respond, he’s leaning down to kiss me.
As his hot mouth closes over mine, for a moment it’s as if
he’s Jared. God, how I want to kiss Jared again, to be wanted by someone, to
feel desirable, to feel physical contact, to not feel frustrated. I lean in, my
eyes tightly closed, moving my arms up around his neck, his tongue sneaking
into my mouth to deepen the kiss, his smell in my nostrils, spicy and cool. Memories
of us fooling around together the summer before surface, lying on the couch at
his parents’ house all alone, my jeans on the floor and Nick naked except for
his boxers, body hard and toned, rubbing himself against me. I feel my traitor
body start to respond to his kiss, wanting more and his fingers slide into the
top of my jeans at the back, a little thing he always seems to do when he’s
turned on.
And then I feel someone walking in our direction and I peek
out under my eye lashes and see Seth walk around the corner, catching us.
Damn!
I jump and quickly pull away from Nick, walking back down
the hallway to the living room, avoiding Seth’s eyes as he passes.
Uncomfortable.
Shit.
Nick follows me into the living room, coming up behind me,
running his hands over my waist as if we’re already back together. I try to
shrug him off with the excuse that I need a new drink and he doesn’t follow me
into the kitchen. I pull a handle of vodka forward and lean on it, thinking. Suddenly
my ardor for Nick is cooled.
He fucking cheated on you
, I remind myself.
He hurt your feelings over the summer and he doesn’t give a shit. He just
wants to get in your pants. He doesn’t deserve even a kiss and he already
managed to get that.
Dammit, somehow it’s kind of intriguing to wonder if maybe
he would want to get back with me. The idea makes my pulse throb in
unmentionable places, but I’m also nervous, a tight low feeling in my belly. I’ve
always felt way of my league sexually with Nick, plus what about Jared? Maybe
something could happen? Maybe when I go back to school I’d see him at the frat
and he’d talk to me. It sucks, we aren’t even dating and I don’t even know if
he likes me and yet I feel like I can’t “cheat” on him with someone else. Then
again, what’s stopping me from slutting around with whoever I want?
I’m lying sprawled out in my room at home, overwhelmed,
stressed and desperate for relaxation, but I have so much to do and it doesn’t
include the necessary, all-consuming worrying that I seem to be indulging in
lately. I put my hot forehead on my cool textbook, groaning inside with
frustration. My mind is heaping worry and fear of failure on top of my head,
along with a new terrifying concern that is constantly dragging through my mind
every few minutes.
Just stop thinking about it!
Truth is, I didn’t even want to go to college and now look
at me, struggling to pay attention to the work in front of me, trying to bring
the tiny writing on the page back into focus. After high school I was depressed
by the idea of four more years of homework, tests, projects, and papers. I had
already been through 12 years and I couldn’t imagine any more. I forced myself
to go because I knew it was the right thing to do and a way to help me make
more money in the future. But now I’m cursing myself,
what on earth did I
sign up for?
Apparently for more stress, late nights, and the heavy feeling
of impending failure.
So…now I’m in my second semester trying to do my best, but
really not giving my classes my all because of everything else going on in my
life. My brain feels like mush and I long for sleep. I’ve already read the same
sentence three times without understanding a word. My general education courses
are killing me. I’m not good at science and I’m struggling to understand the
concepts. I know that with enough time and energy I could succeed, but the idea
of spending that amount of time on it seems futile. I don’t think I can focus
on anything right now, but I have to try because tomorrow is a big test.
My thoughts keep creeping back to the one subject I don’t
want to think about. It’s like I can forget for a while and really focus on
what I am doing, but every few minutes the horrifying thought pops back into my
head and I get upset all over again.
I had unprotected sex. I could be
pregnant.
I know I took the morning-after pill, but it doesn’t mean I’m not
going to worry. Worrying is like my damn unpaid job. Besides, I could have an
STD. I could have any number of things that could jeopardize my future. I mean
I think he’s clean, but how do I really know? My heart starts thudding all over
again and I flush with heat. There is nothing I can do right now.
Nothing,
except worry.
The other thing is that I’m depressed. I had sex for the
first time and it wasn’t what I expected and it wasn’t something I planned. I
almost can’t believe it happened, that it was me, that I did the things I did,
said the things I said. I was too drunk. And now…he hasn’t spoken to me. I’m
nothing to him. It was a mistake and I’ll bet he thinks so too, or maybe he
thinks it was…another score, another one night stand. I have no idea what he
thinks. But I’m not sure I really wish I could take it back. For so many
reasons I wish I could, but for others I’m glad I can’t. And now I’m here alone
worrying about my gyno appointment tomorrow.
Faccckkkk. I could scream.
Long after attempting, and only partially succeeding, to
study I move on to a project for my poetry class. Poetry is actually turning
out to be harder than I had initially imagined. Frankly, it’s making me fucking
crazy because my professor doesn’t seem to like my work, explaining that
nothing I write is clear enough.
I don’t get it.
Every piece of poetry
I’ve ever read has made absolutely no sense at all or was open to interpretation,
so I can’t see how being clear and concise is good poetry. I like my poetry
best when it first flows from my pen, fresh, raw and full of feeling. But my
professor expects me to edit my work, bringing in draft after draft, forcing me
to overthink each line, when I had been happy with it to begin with and every
draft seems to degrade the work.
To make matters worse the students in my class are pretty
good. They think of subjects I’ve never imagined and come up with unique word
combinations and lines that blow my mind. I scratch a few words onto the page,
struggling to revise a poem I wrote weeks ago, staring at the lines on the
page, trying to think of another way to say the same thing. Somehow I have to
try to make my meaning clear without ruining the lyrical feel of the piece.
God
how I hate revising!
Eventually I put down my pen in exhaustion with a few new
decent lines. Now I need to relax before going to bed and the best way to
unwind is to listen to music and draw. I also need to distract myself from thinking
about tomorrow. Not only do I have a test, I’m also practically shitting myself
over this gyno thing. It’s my first one, ever. Necessary so I can get on birth
control and not have to worry about pregnancy. I’ve been panicking for days
over this cause I can’t imagine sitting in the waiting room waiting for that
appointment, or being on the table.
Oh my God that table scares me.
I look down at my book. I know I should study some more, but
I don’t think I can stand it. My brain just won’t process the information no
matter how long I stare at the words. Finally I get up and flip on my CD
player. Pink Floyd moans out of the speakers and I sit back down, my back
against the side of my bed and close my eyes. I focus my attention on the notes
of the guitar. It’s almost like wailing, like someone letting out their soul
through music. I follow the notes up and down the scale, letting myself relax,
trying to let out the tension in my body, allowing myself to simply feel. The
words are perfect, exactly how I want to feel, to be numb and never able to
feel any pain or stress.
After the poignant guitar solo, I open my eyes. My large
clipboard with a blank piece of white paper under the clips is leaning against
one wall. I actually do have an assignment for my drawing class coming up in a
few weeks that’s a self-portrait, but the idea of working on an accurate
self-portrait seems like torture. I want to do something else, something
different.
I rummage in my school bag nearby and pull out my tin of
charcoal. The dense black stump will stain my fingertips for days, but I don’t
care. I need to let out my emotions. I grip the tiny piece and the charcoal
moves fluidly over the page as the guitar wails and sobs in the background. Dark
black lines appear, bumping up against stark white paper.
I use my fingers to smudge the distinction between them into
different shades of grey. I’m drawing a strange mish-mash of a face and other
items that somehow seem to describe the crisis I’m in right now. A tornado is
twirling near an eye which has a huge tear drop about to fall. I add in other
elements, focusing on the details. This feels like therapy right now.
I need
therapy.
My strokes with the charcoal are long and hard and I allow
myself feel free for a moment. Creation always feels freeing. That and the
music, the sad, yet powerful throb of the guitar, the feeling that it is
calling out, begging to be heard. I focus all my attention on what I’m doing,
paying special attention to how an eye really looks by pulling out a mirror to
study my own features.
My determination to draw accurately consumes me. I add in
other elements, storm clouds, a bottle of alcohol, a paint brush, trying to
make something abstract that somehow represents how I’m feeling right now. I’m
feeling like clouds are covering me, a tornado is twirling my life into a
downward spiral of doom and I just want to cry. Before I know it an hour has
passed and I realize that I’m exhausted and I need sleep. I hastily get ready
for bed and finally sag down on to the mattress with an exhausted sigh of
relief. Luckily sleep comes quickly, although it’s restless, filled with dreams
of stress and anxiety.