BY LAUREN SHORT
“Just go with what I’m about to do,” Rob whispered in my ear, his greasy, blond bowl cut making contact with my forehead. In a second’s time, he grabbed my hand and started swinging it merrily as we approached two teenage boys in a church parking lot. I could feel the fabric of his hoodie’s thumb hole scrape against my wrist.
“No way you got a girlfriend, Gottschalk!” said a gawky stranger with shaggy hair, the kind that was already past the eyes and so long that it had started to curl upwards at the eyebrows. He was bespectacled in dark-rimmed square glasses and his teeth shined with braces and the leftover dregs of Mountain Dew.
My heart fluttered slightly. I just stood there smiling, not saying a word. It felt exciting to be a potential object of desire, even if it was by means of deceit.
During the youth group, we sat in a circle, and it became apparent to me that Rob was not an altogether popular attendant. He would approach guys that he knew casually, put his arms around their waists, rest his head on their shoulders and tell them that they looked cute, simply because he knew they would swing their arms at him and yell, “Get away, Rob!” Many of Rob’s actions perplexed me, but at the end of the day, he seemed to be seeking attention any way he could get it. The youth minister, who spent at least ten minutes explaining why U2 was the greatest rock band of all time, welcomed me, and also offered his apologies that it was Rob’s company that had brought me there.
At fourteen, I had a tomboy spirit tucked inside a feminine shell, which placed me at a crossroads where I didn’t really feel like I fit in with anyone fully. I never felt pretty enough around the girly-girls, and if I’m being completely honest, I felt intellectually superior to them, which I can admit isn’t an altogether good look. I fell deeply into the trap that I “wasn’t like other girls” because it gave my loneliness meaning. It wasn’t by virtue of my own attitude that I didn’t have friends—it was because I was so special and misunderstood. But I also never felt completely at home “with the boys” who were obsessed with video games and geeky fandoms that I wished to be a part of but sorely lacked any interest in.
When I first moved to Illinois, I met the fifteen-year-old homeschooled kid named Rob, who rode his bike around the neighborhood all the time in weather-inappropriate clothing. In the winter, it was shorts, and in the summer, it was thermals. When asked why he did such a thing, Rob said he was preparing for a future in the Army, whatever that meant. (Spoiler alert: Rob never joined the military, despite his arduous training).
As the cookie-cutter neighborhood in the Chicago suburbs began filling in, more and more families arrived with kids who would be starting school in the fall. My parents trusted Rob because he talked with them candidly and didn’t seem like he had much to hide. He went to church, and Protestant parents like that. When I asked if it was okay to ride my bike around with Rob and his little brother Josh, they let me go. I was in the company of two reliable young boys—they’d take care of me.
One day, Daniel and his family moved in. Daniel’s parents were originally from Vietnam and strictly Catholic. But Daniel liked to skateboard and listen to punk music. Given Rob’s open and friendly demeanor, it wasn’t long before he recruited Daniel into our bike-riding crew and began half-assedly evangelizing to him.
Daniel and I got along instantly. What I initially felt was a crush developing towards Rob, I soon began to realize was an attachment simply because he was around. Daniel, on the other hand, made me laugh so hard that my throat would be dry by the end of the day and my stomach would hurt. We oftentimes made mix CDs for each other with tracks from The Offspring and the Mooney Suzuki. It was the first time I was putting together playlists with a certain person in mind, and I thought about the subliminal messages that might come through the lyrics sprinkled between fast-paced electric guitar solos. Would Rooney’s “I’m Shakin’” somehow betray the pounding heart I felt when Daniel laughed at a joke I made or when he told me how much he liked the Velvet Revolver song I put on my last mix?
But Rob was the leader of the group, and it was assumed that if I was going to develop a crush on anyone, it was going to be him. And it was always hinted at by parents, elders, friends, and neighbors with knowing smiles and winks. We were the two white kids, so obviously we would be attracted to one another first, right? I’m still not certain if my expression of femininity at this point in my life was genuine or if I felt pressured by external expectations. My femininity and sexuality felt like bargaining chips for acceptance, the only power I really held to legitimize my presence around a group of boys with whom I had little in common. At least around everyone but Daniel.
One day, Rob, Josh, Daniel, and I were riding our bikes around the nature trail lined with thistles that was being constructed at the edge of our neighborhood. Rob suggested a game of truth or dare, and when it came to me, he teased that I would only pick truth.
“Dare.”
“Okay,” he said with his arms crossed as he leaned against his bike seat. “I dare you to kiss Daniel.”
Josh looked shocked and let out an uncomfortable laugh.
“Don’t do it, Lauren!”
For a while we all stood there staring at each other. Rob had his eyebrows raised like I wouldn’t do it. Josh kept saying, “Seriously, Lauren, don’t listen to him. He’s being stupid.” Daniel was harder to read. I had never kissed anyone before.
“I told you she wouldn’t do it, guys,” Rob said, turning his bike around and putting his feet on the pedals.
“I would only be so lucky,” Daniel finally said.
I wanted to smile, but I kept a straight face. My heart was thumping. Even if he never admitted another word of desire, in that moment, Daniel vocalized that I was an object of attraction. And it meant more coming from him than it would have from Rob or Josh because I really cared about what Daniel thought about me.
I got off my bike and let it fall to the ground. Leaning into Daniel’s face, I kissed him on the cheek. He laughed, got the biggest grin on his face, and held his hand to the place on his cheek where my lips had just been.
“Alright!” he said.
We all got back on our bikes and continued to ride.
°°°
It wouldn’t be long before my confidence in being desired would tuck itself away again.
Another family moved into town, this time a family with six strawberry blonde girls of differing ages. The oldest, Ashley, was a year older than me, and my mom thought it would be a good idea for us to get to know one another and maybe become friends. Ashley and her mom came over and, while the moms talked, Ashley and I sat down at the picnic table in our backyard. Her nose was physically upturned, which made her look like a Disney villain, but I told myself to stifle such ideas because she was a fifteen-year-old girl who liked to ice skate. We would ride bikes sometimes and stop by her house for Goldfish crackers and strawberry lemonade. One night she asked me to spend the night, so I came over and we played with her little sisters and dog, Rosie, for a while. When it came time to go to bed, Ashley started brushing her hair, in a Marsha-Brady-esque way that made me desperately hope she would start counting to 100. While Ashley sat at her vanity, staring into the mirror, behind her, I removed the elastic from my left wrist and placed my hair in a ponytail. Without missing a beat, Ashley said, “I think people who sleep in ponytails are stupid.”
Without moving, I looked into the mirror of Ashley’s vanity to catch her reflection, but it turns out her eyes hadn’t moved from herself at all. I nonchalantly leaned my head to my shoulder and acted like I was scratching my head while I pulled the elastic off and smoothed down the sides and back of my hair where an indentation had formed. I lay awake on Ashley’s floor that night, staring up at the ceiling.
When the morning came, Ashley raised the blinds to the window of her upstairs bedroom. Rob was already outside riding his bike up and down the neighborhood streets.
“Who’s that kid that you’re always riding bikes with?”
“Oh, that’s just Rob.”
“He seems really weird,” she said and released the blinds.
°°°
It only took a couple of days before Ashley was riding bikes with us. Except the more notable thing was that Ashley was now wearing short jean shorts and tank tops that exposed the bouncing and burgeoning bosom that I lacked. When the guys would stop by my house, I’d run outside in whatever I was wearing: the shirt I’d fallen asleep in the night before, jean shorts, and dirty tennis shoes. When we went to pick up Ashley, she wouldn’t be quite put together yet for a day of bike riding, so we’d wait outside on her driveway for 10 minutes while she curled her hair and put on perfume.
“Let’s just go, Rob,” Josh whined. “If she wants to ride with us she can catch up later. When she’s ready.”
“No, guys. You know, you’re really being uncool right now. We should all stick together,” Rob replied.
When Ashley walked out the door, Josh and Daniel turned to me and started laughing. It was like a slowed down movie scene of hair shaking and hip slinging. We were just waiting for the sprinklers to turn on.
Pretty soon, Ashley and Rob started hanging out more and more while Daniel, Josh, and I did the sticking together thing that Rob had suggested. Daniel would mess around on his skateboard at the edge of his driveway while Josh and I would circle around on our bikes nearby until we just got tired and sat in Daniel’s garage. One second Daniel would be rolling around on the board and the next he’d be airborne.
“How do you do that?” I asked.
“It’s called an ollie. You want me to teach you?”
“Yeah.”
Daniel jumped off the skateboard and picked it up as he walked towards me. He placed the board down on a flat part of the driveway, and I walked up and put my right foot on it with my left still on the ground.
“Alright, you’re right-handed, so you’re gonna be standing regular, instead of goofy. Put your left foot here on the bolts and put your back foot closer to the tail.”
He grabbed my hands, facing me, the skateboard between us, and helped me up.
“Now, you’ve gotta find your balance. Move your feet around a little bit until you feel like you’re steady.”
Suddenly, I was rolling around the driveway, with my right foot pushing off the pavement for leverage. When I started to feel more comfortable just skating, Daniel stood by and delivered instructions on how to perform a basic ollie. At first, I just tipped the front of the skateboard to the ground and jumped. Finally, I got moving on the board and performed my first ollie, much to the excitement of Daniel, who let out a gasp of excitement and started clapping his hands. I got off the board, and we gave each other a high five.
“You’re a real skateboarder now!”
“Well, I don’t know about that…”
“This might sound weird but, would you, uh, maybe wanna wear my shoes?”
I looked at him in confusion but responded, “…Sure!”
Daniel had a small collection of Etnies skate shoes that he wore even when he wasn’t skating. The ones he wore most often were black with turquoise lining and a characteristic ‘E’ on the sides. Men have given women pins and class rings for decades, so why not a pair of shoes? I felt a part of something, even though that something wasn’t even that big at all. It was just a boy teaching a girl how to skateboard.
The next day at school, a couple of upperclassmen boys who had picked on me in biology class observed Daniel’s Etnies on my feet and asked if I skated.
“Yeah,” I said casually, and looked away.
They paused for a second, nodded their heads in what could only have been high school boy approval, and never bothered me again.
°°°
After school one day, I found Daniel on the bus sitting next to the window. He moved his backpack over to make room for me. We started talking about our days as the bus filled up. If you were lucky, you’d get away with two-to-a-seat by pretending that your backpack was really heavy or something. Unfortunately, our brick-filled bags didn’t make the difference that day, and a tall kid in basketball shorts sat down next to me. I wriggled closer to Daniel to accommodate the stranger.
For a while, we sat there in disconcerted silence while Daniel and I exchanged disappointed faces. It’s hard to talk when a stranger is pressed up against you.
It was still early fall, and I’d worn an asymmetrical green skirt with little pink flowers on it and a pink shirt. I tugged at the longer edge of the skirt to cover my legs more, and put my backpack under the seat so we’d have more room.
While looking out the window, I felt a wide, firm, large hand on my left thigh. The stranger, having caught hold of the skirt, slid his hand up until he reached the upper part of my leg. My first response was to look at his hand. What was it doing there? I looked into his face to see if there had been some kind of mistake. His face was expressionless and he stared ahead as if nothing were happening.
I looked at Daniel for help. His face was a mixture of disbelief and uncomfortable amusement. He said nothing. I turned back to face the seat in front of me and said nothing for the rest of the ride home. I was frozen and didn’t know what to do. My heart was thumping again, but it was different from the time Rob grabbed my hand in the church parking lot. No one had ever placed their hands on me in quite this way without my consent before.
When we got off the bus, I turned to Daniel.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” I said, still in disbelief.
“Yeah, I mean, that was kind of disappointing to watch, honestly. You should have stood up for yourself,” he said. With a look of pity and a shake of the head, he turned to walk home.
I walked down the road to my house feeling dirty. Not only had I elicited the attention of someone to touch me, but I’d failed to react. I was the one who aroused desire, but the part that hurt the most was that I hadn’t stopped it from happening. And I hadn’t stopped it from happening in front of Daniel. Did he think I’d wanted it?
Stewing with a mix of emotions I couldn’t quite pinpoint, I dejectedly stared down at my legs, the provocation for basketball shorts kid. I felt shame, but I also felt anger and disappointment towards Daniel. Maybe I was hoping he would step in on my behalf, all chivalrous, telling basketball-shorts-kid to take his hands off me. But he hadn’t. And I hadn’t, either. I wasn’t sure which was more disheartening.
It was seemingly that one day on the bus that ended the friendship between Daniel and me. I’d lost Daniel’s respect. I’ve forgiven myself for not responding, and I think I’ve forgiven Daniel, too. He was just a kid who probably didn’t know what to do, either. That’s my charitable read. The most painful piece for me is that Daniel probably doesn’t remember the incident at all and the shame I felt for years. He might not even remember me. I searched for a photo of him recently, and all I found was a photo of myself with him in the background, the bottom half of his face obscured by someone else’s shoulder.
All I can see is his jet-black hair and brown eyes, smiling mischievously.
Since Daniel was still friends with Rob, Josh, and Ashley, I stopped riding my bike in the neighborhood as fall grew colder. And as fall swelled to winter, spring, and summer, I only rode my bike around the neighborhood one more time. A swan song. But I realized it wasn’t any fun when I was alone. I never again spoke with Daniel, Rob, or Ashley, and only once with Josh in passing.
Ashley and Rob dated for a year or so. Josh later told me that he lifted Rob’s mattress to find what looked like hundreds of used condoms. And that sort of made me realize I’d dodged a bullet there because trash cans exist. Daniel eventually started dating a petite blonde girl with pink streaks in her hair who wore lots of black eyeliner.
The day after the incident, I couldn’t find Daniel on the bus after school, but it turns out the stranger found me. As soon as the wheels started turning, his hand made a return to my upper left thigh. Immediately, I grabbed his hand and threw it aside.
I looked him directly in the face and firmly said, “Don’t.”