But it’s memories like that weekend that I sort of wanted to forget. I don’t know, it’s almost like I felt guilty about having fun, like it was the wrong kind of fun. I felt bad about enjoying life. I even felt that way all the way up until being with Megan in Central Park. Even at that moment I felt like there was a dire need for me to compensate for what was lost, whatever it was. It was strange, really. It’s frightening to live in fear of the past, because your past is all you have. You are your past.
And that’s why I wanted to forget my past, and make up for it with the future. That’s why I thought it was crucial for Maria and I to stay together forever. She was the key to setting my past free. She would extinguish all the fires I had set.
Likewise, it was my job to help Maria erase her past. She never explicitly stated that she wanted me to do it, but I sensed it. I knew that she feared trusting people because her father and friends had let her down so often. She needed someone to get that shit out of her mind, and I wanted to help her do it. That was the genesis of the L’Enfant Reformation. I did it for Maria.
Just think about how perfect it could have been: both Maria and I were unhappy with our past lives and relationships, and each could help the other smother the rage the other felt. With my plan, I thought that nothing could stop us from being together forever, each always supporting the other when the past reared its ugly head. It was a flawless plan. It was a plan for true love.
On our last date of the summer of ’92, Maria and I began our date by making out. This was unusual, because we usually talked for hours before making any physical contact. Her parents were upstairs preparing a barbecue. Lucky for us, they seldom bothered to come down to Maria’s room in the basement and check on us. Her father was usually too drunk to care; her mother simply trusted her.
As we started to kiss, I mentioned that I really wished I could see her naked. Although it wasn’t my decision to make, I sincerely felt that the right time had come. Before she had a chance to say yes or no, I asked her if anyone else had ever seen them—like her girlfriend or something. She said that only one person had seen her naked, and that was her old friend, Rosie. It happened at the beach when she was changing in the bathroom at Rockaway Beach. Apparently, Rosie was her best friend until she got to high school, when she met Lynn. She was a real scumbag, too. That wasn’t just my opinion of her. “Scumbag” is Maria’s word, not my own.
Maria had mentioned Rosie a few times. But until that day I didn’t realize that Rosie was the same girl who had made fun of her reading in middle school. Maria always chose her own time to say what she wanted to say. She was cautious, never hasty, when revealing her feelings, and discussing her past. She didn’t want people to connect the dots of her life, I guess, because that would lead to understanding and, with that, potential disappointment. I loved her for it, because she always had better control over herself than I did over myself. As a matter of fact, had I asked her to elaborate about Rosie prior to that day in August, she probably wouldn’t have given me a straight answer. Well, actually, it would’ve been straight. It would’ve probably been something like: “I don’t want to talk about Rosie yet.” Case closed.
Maria always proceeded with discretion, anticipating her tenth step before she took her first. It was like she was waiting patiently for the story, her story, to let itself unfold. She didn’t want to accelerate the process of divulging her life’s history to me or anyone else. It would’ve been unnatural for her to do so. Maria let fate take it’s course. Sometimes it bugged me, because I really wanted to dive right into her life, from the very beginning. But whether it was an emotional secret or a physical act, Maria was endlessly vigilant of what could happen if she threw reason to the wind. Sometimes I wish I’d paid closer attention to her strategy. I could have learned a lot from Maria.
“That day at the beach,” I said, “did Guido see you naked?”
“A.J.!” She was angry that I asked that, but I just had to.
I held her hand and continued to listen, trying to keep my mouth shut.
“Anyway, me and Rosie were in the changing room after we went swimming. Usually, after went in the water, we just went straight home, in our bathing suits. It wasn’t a big deal ’cause the M train was always so hot. I’d just throw a top on and go straight home. But that day, we planned to go to Jeff’s house, for his sister’s birthday. So I had to change out of my bathing suit and into a party dress.”
Okay, I thought, so what’s the big deal?
As if she heard me ask myself that question, she said, “No, you don’t understand. I was very insecure about my body. Not just in front of boys, but everyone.
“That’s cool,” I said, “we all are a little embarrassed about that stuff.” And I was sincere, because most people are a little ashamed of their bodies.
“No, A.J., Rosie started to make fun of me because I was afraid of getting naked with a guy, of having sex with a guy. She kept saying, ‘Guido likes you, but he thinks you’re a prude.’ She made me feel so ashamed of myself. I was standing there naked, and helpless, and she was relentless. ‘They’re just tits! It’s just a pussy,” she said, erupting in tears. “And she even reached out and tried to grab me, like it was no big deal—uh, huw, huh, huh, huh…
“…—uh, huw, huh,” she inhaled, loudly—“and said I was a freak and a prude.”
“‘Just do it,’” she commanded, “‘just do it.’ She was manipulating me, A.J.!”
I was about to speak, when she said: “That’s what was so sick!”
“Then why did you keep hanging out with her?” I asked. Then I saw her eyes about to burst again and was pissed that I even opened my fucking mouth.
Thankfully, she stopped herself from crying and answered, “I don’t know. I don’t know why I did a lot of stuff back then.”
“Well, you got naked, and she tried to grab you and made fun of you, and then what?” Again, Maria looked at me as if I wasn’t getting it, whatever ‘it’ was. I thought: Guess the phrase ‘got naked’ was a little too coarse.
“And then nothing. She just said I was stupid for not having sex with guys—you know what I mean? She said I’d never get a guy like Guido to like me if I wasn’t willing to do it. And I sort of believed her. I thought there was something wrong with me, because I didn’t understand why anyone would ever want to show boobs to anyone. I knew there was an emotion out there that allowed a girl to expose herself like that, and make herself vulnerable, but still feel secure. And I wanted to feel that. But I had no idea where to find it…” She trailed off.
“But you didn’t show Guido anything, did you?” Damn!
“No! I already told you that!”
I was nervous. I have to admit, all that breast talk was turning me on just a little.
“She didn’t make fun of the way I looked—probably because she saw how much bigger mine were than hers.” I couldn’t help but chuckle out loud.
“So, she didn’t make fun of the way you looked?”
“No, she didn’t. And because she didn’t, and because she was giving me all this advice, I guess I sort of trusted her opinion of me. It sounds sort of dumb, but I thought it was a special moment for me and Rosie, because it was the first time I really, I don’t know, showed her something that I’d never showed anyone before. But at the same time, she was so cruel. This all must sound so dumb, because you’re a guy. You don’t understand girls.”