Page 42 of Twice
—I know it sounds strange—but I saw the image of Gianna, her mouth agape, as if she couldn’t believe what I was doing. As if to hide from her, I buried my head alongside Maisie’s, her hair catching in my mouth. I heard the wooden bed frame squeaking beneath us and then it was over. I was panting like I’d been running up a mountain, and Maisie giggled between breaths and said, “Well, that was fast,” and then she patted my naked back and added, “But fun.” And again I lowered my head next to hers and she pressed her cheek against me and said, “Aww,” as if touched by my tenderness. But it wasn’t tenderness. I just didn’t want her to see me crying.
?
So, if I haven’t been clear about things, Boss, that was my first time. With a girl I’d just met, under the gaze of a Cuban revolutionary. I still don’t know whose room it was. But the next afternoon, when I woke up in my dorm with a monster hangover, Elliot was reading at his desk, wearing big earmuff headphones. He grinned and yelled “He lives!” and then he said “How was Maisie?” and I mumbled “Yeah” and he yelled “What?” and I said “Fine” and he yelled “WHAT?” and I yelled “Take the stupid headphones off!” but he just nodded and said “Cool!” and went back to bopping his head and reading.
I felt like crap. Not just physically, but because that landmark moment had been with a near stranger, and not with the girl I’d truly desired. A better person might have gone to Gianna and told her that. Confessed his love. But that’s not what happened.
Instead, over the next three weekends, I went to parties with Elliot and asked him to introduce me to any girls he thought might sleep with me. And he did. And they did. I don’t have an excuse, any more than an alcoholic who falls off the wagon with one drink has an excuse for chugging down three more. Once I’d felt what sex was like, I wanted to do it again and, to be blunt, get better at it. And if we’re measuring things by endurance, I suppose I did. By the fourth experience, I wasn’t so astonished over everything I was touching and was able to stay with it longer.
After my most recent encounter, with a sophomore medical student named Danielle, I was walking back to my dorm room on Sunday morning, badly in need of a shower, when I suddenly heard Gianna’s voice.
“Where areyoucoming from?”
I turned to see her lying on a bench, her head supported by a book bag, her camera pointed toward some trees. I shuddered like a caught criminal.
“Nowhere. Getting some breakfast.”
She squinted. “Cafeteria’s the other way.”
“I know that,” I said quickly. “What are you shooting?”
“Birds. They gather in this tree overnight. When the church bells ring at eight o’clock, they all fly away. I want to capture the moment they take off.”
“Cool, yeah. What kind of birds?” I was stammering conversation.What kind of birds? Really?
“Chickadees,” she said. “Maybe sparrows.”
“Sparrows. Right. Yeah.”
She put the camera to her eye.
“What’s her last name?”
“Huh?”
“Whoever’s room you’re coming from. What’s her last name?”
I swallowed. “What are you talking about?”
She pulled her head back from the camera and stared at me. A prison spotlight couldn’t have made me feel more exposed.
“Guys never remember a girl’s last name. You don’t remember hers, do you?”
She held her gaze for a long, sad moment.
“Oh, Alfie,” she said, putting her eye back behind the viewfinder. “You break my heart.”
?
That conversation stayed with me for days, as things did anytime Gianna seemed disappointed in me. It’s like that old song, if something is wrong with my baby, something is wrong with me. I score that as another entry in The Truth About True Love.
Later that week, I was in my room with Elliot, consumed by this funk, when I asked him, “Hey, do you remember that party where I met Maisie?”
“The one from Scotland?”
“Ireland.”
“Right. Ireland.”
