1 I honestly didn’t. Because I never even kissed anyone until I was thirteen and three quarters. This is an embarrassing and sadly true fact, made even worse by the fact that the guy I kissed was totally gross and I didn’t kiss anyone else after that until the end of my freshman year.2 Three sample entries from The Boy Book under this heading:
1. Kim e-mailed Finn re: that fight they had about her missing his soccer match, and he never e-mailed her back the whole weekend. Kim checked her e-mail every ten minutes and didn’t pick up her phone because she didn’t want to talk to him unless he’d read what she wrote. Then on Monday, Finn said he never got her e-mail, it must have gotten lost. But later he said he never checked his e-mail. Which one was it? The guy didn’t even get his stories straight.
2. Cricket’s drama-school boyfriend Kaleb, who lasted only six weeks (good riddance!) was always creating a sense of mystery around his answering machine. He would never check his messages if she was there to hear them—like there was going to be some big secret phone call from another girl on there. Cricket said she was pretty sure there were only messages from his friend Mike, or some similar Neanderthal, and that Kaleb was only faking her out by pointedly ignoring the message machine, and it must have meant a lot to him to do so—because by nature he was a compulsive message checker. He checked his cell like every hour.
3. In the period between Kaleb and Pete, Cricket got a ride home from a basketball game with Billy Alexander, and she was all excited because they were sitting in his car talking, parked in the driveway in front of her house. It seemed like he was going to kiss her, or ask her out, or something. But then his cell phone rang, and he answered it, and said “Dude!” a lot, and waved at Cricket as if to say “See you later!” So she got out and went inside—and that was that.3 Don’t I sound paranoid? When I told this story to Doctor Z, I tried to make a bit of a joke out of me thinking these insane things about Heidi and Jackson making out. I said something like “Oh, I know this is insane stalker paranoia, but these crazy thoughts went through my head.”
But Doctor Z said, “They don’t sound crazy to me, Ruby. It sounds like your trust had been shaken by Jackson’s hiding the fact that he’d gone out with Heidi.” And while the way she put it was pretty touchy-feely, and I found it kind of annoying to have her repeating my feelings back to me, I did appreciate that she didn’t try to talk me out of it, or tell me it probably wasn’t true.4 Either these thoughts are insane and paranoid (see previous footnote) and I am a superpossessive jealous lady, or they are completely justified reactions to a tense situation in which there is a completely reasonable possibility of betrayal.
And either Jackson was entitled to a private life and it was none of my business, or (as his girlfriend) I was entitled to an explanation of what he was up to when it concerns other girls. Which is right? I have been in therapy for several months now and have no answer.5 Know what Doctor Z said when I told her this about my dad? “You can blame him, Ruby. Blame away, if you’re angry.”
“I wasn’t angry.”
“It sounds like he wasn’t noticing the signals you were sending out. Did you hope he’d be more responsive?”
“Maybe he did notice completely and was just trying to give me space and not intrude on my business,” I said. “So there.”
Doctor Z chewed her Nicorette. “But either way, you wanted him to bring it up, isn’t that what you’re saying?”
“No. It’s not like I want to talk to my dad about that kind of thing.”
“You don’t want to?”
I tried to actually think about it. “No. …; I mean, yes…. I mean, I did want to. I guess.”
“Is there a way you could have helped that to happen?”
Oh, she makes me so annoyed sometimes. “Yes ma’am,” I said, sarcastically. “I could have told him how I felt. That’s the right answer, isn’t it? That’s what you want me to say.”
She was quiet.
“Therapists are all the same,” I went on. “Tell people how you feel. It’s like the solution to every problem. Blah blah blah.”
“Have you had another therapist, Ruby?” she asked me.
We sat there for the rest of the session.6 Gloria Steinem. A famous feminist. My favorite thing she said: “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.”
6. Tommy (but it was impossible.)
When I was in seventh grade, Tommy Hazard was a blond California boy, a top surfer for his age. He wore bright color-block shorts and had a smile that showed his slightly crooked front teeth. His voice was low, so when he talked it was like you were the only person in the world who could hear it. He had a blue ten-speed bike and would ride me on the handlebars. He smelled faintly of chlorine from his family’s swimming pool, and the two of us would spend warm afternoons with our feet in the water, holding hands and watching the clouds go by.
In eighth grade, Tommy Hazard had a Mohawk and rode a skateboard. He could play electric guitar, and hung out at an underage punk-rock club downtown. He always had a novel in his back pocket, and he bought his clothes at vintage shops, like I did. He seemed tough, but on the inside he was vulnerable and kind.
By the time I was in ninth grade, Tommy Hazard was old enough to drive, and he rode an old Vespa scooter. His helmet was painted with zebra stripes, and I’d ride along behind him with my arms around his narrow waist. Tommy’s hair was shaggy and dark, and he wore an old sharkskin suit and a narrow tie; he had a darkroom in the garage of his family’s house, and when he was alone he’d go in there and develop the most beautiful black-and-white photographs. He took a lot of pictures of me, saying he didn’t want to miss a moment.
Then I met Jackson, and now there is no Tommy Hazard. He’s just gone.
Kim still has him, I bet. Her Tommy was always the same, whereas mine was always changing.
We invented Tommy Hazard on our seventh-grade day hike, which was basically a bunch of harassed teachers trying to move our twelve-year-old butts up a mountain and get us to like it, while we all gossiped and wished we were at the mall.
We ran out of stuff to talk about halfway up the trail.
We walked in silence for a mile or so; then we made up Tommy Hazard. He was the perfect boy. The boy who was never obnoxious in math; the boy who never threw spitballs, or pushed anyone on the playground; the boy with clear skin and a sense of purpose; the boy who never did anything stupid in gym class or the talent show; the boy who knew the answers in class but didn’t say them; the boy who was beautiful; the boy who was cool; the boy who could have any girl he wanted—and all he wanted was me. Or Kim.