The muffled music becomes louder and clearer as the door in front of me opens. A girl in a red bralette and tight black shorts riding up her ass, with a red solo cup in hand, stumbles out and bumps into me on her way out. I walk inside the dark, loud, crowded space – lights flashing different colors – having to shove bodies just to get out of the entrance way and into the house. As I brush past people, my skirt starts to slide up, and I can feel my bare skin against people’s clothing. I pull the hem down and then my crop top, trying, unsuccessfully, to make them touch and cover my belly.
As I reach what I guess would normally be a living room, I’m faced with the typical scene I expected. Guys and girls grinding on each other, some against the wall looking like they’re eating each other’s faces, and people otherwise swaying or jumping to the music, red solo cups in every hand. The music is so loud I can feel the bass in my chest and the pulsing lights are already starting to make me dizzy, even completely sober.
I can’t even really believe that I’m actually here: a frat party at a mediocre state university. Even after I accepted, I don’t think I ever really processed that this would be my life now. If you asked me less than a year ago where I would be today, I would have told you Brown, or maybe my back-up school of UPenn. I never would have guessed that the best my 4.0 and 1500 would get me is here. It turns out no, not all your dreams come true, even if you work your ass off.
I scan the room for my roommate who invited me to meet her here, but quickly give up. I can’t see anything in this mass of people. I head to the back where they’re serving drinks. A shirtless guy (who frankly doesn’t look good shirtless) behind a table pours me what I assume to be beer into a solo cup and hands it to me. I take one sip and nearly sip it out. As far as alcohol goes, I’ve only had wine before at Passover dinners, which is almost as sweet as juice. I take another little sip. This stuff is hard to swallow; I gag. It’s more bitter than black coffee and I soon realize, has the worst aftertaste.
I walk back towards the dance room, keeping my cup with me to look natural. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t see anyone I recognize. Well, screw it. I’m here. Why not have some fun for once in my life? I shove in between people, my arm up high keeping my cup above my head trying not to spill it, until I get to a small group of girls dancing. I just join in and they wordlessly add me into the fold. The little ‘dance circle’ thing reminds me of the bar/bat mitzvahs of middle school, but the girls are surprisingly more welcoming than my old classmates ever were.
One girl next to me turns to me and pulls me closer but still has to yell over the music, “I’m Abi, what’s your name?”
“Catherine,” I yell back.
Another girl in the circle, picking up on our ‘conversation,’ if you even want to call it that, yells from across the small circle, “I’m Lurline. What year are you?”
“Freshman.” I respond.
Lurline reaches out her hand for mine and when I grab it she pulls me to her and plants me next to her in the circle. “Hard to hear you all the way over there. I’m a freshman too.”
“Cool,” I say, “What’s your major?”
“Not sure yet, I’m thinking English or Media. How ‘bout you?”
“Sociology,” I say, “I want to be a lawyer.” I didn’t want to tell any of these girls I was planning on transferring next year, hopefully to a school with a Criminal Justice program.
“Oh, wow.” She says, seeming impressed but I also think I just gave away the fact that I’m a big nerd. I don’t want to seem like that girl that doesn’t party, but that’s exactly who I am. I can feel myself blushing. “Come on,” She says, pausing to chug the rest of her drink, “Let’s go get a refill.”
I try to follow her lead, but I end up spilling a lot of beer on myself. God this shit is awful. I manage to finish it and she takes my hand, pulling me out of the circle and out of the room, back towards the drink table. Once our cups are full once more we head back to the dance floor.
When we reach the edge of the mob of people back in the living room, she grabs her left hand to my left – because both of our rights were occupied with the red solo cups – spins me and pulls me towards her, nearly spilling both our drinks. I quickly forget who I was and just start to feel the music – and the booze.
We dance for a while more before we start to tire, eventually retiring to the side, leaning against the wall to talk. Lurline tells me she’s from California where she has a little sister and two dogs. She talks about her years in high school where she was known for being a star soccer player and running the slam poetry club. I tell my story of applying to colleges and being denied from ten schools, which I haven’t really told anyone, even admitting my nerdy-high grades and SAT.
The words are just slipping out. I don’t even realize what I’m saying until I’ve said it. The two of us are laughing and smiling. I can’t remember the last time I was happy like this. My head is fuzzy though. I look down at my cup; I didn’t even realize I’ve finished my beer again. Oh… I must be drunk, or tipsy at least… but I can still walk. I take a step forward to prove it to myself and stumble leaning into Lurline and laugh. She supports me and I look up at her. Her hazel eyes are staring down at me.
Lurline brushes the hair away from my mouth and pulls me up towards her chest, and I’m kissing her.
She’s really kissing me, people on all sides of us, her hands around my waist keeping me close. This girl is definitely gay.
I pull back and giggle, my eyes looking to the ground. Wow, the things I’m doing drunk! I can’t believe I just did that. This is a fun night. I’ve never felt so carefree.
“Maybe it’s time to head back to the dorms. What building are you in?” Lurline asks.
Ya, it’s probably time for me to go to bed. I’ve done enough crazy things for one night. I tell her the building and we head out.
When we reach my door, I unlock it. When it’s open, I turn around to say goodnight and thanks for walking me back. I barely get a word out before Lurline grabs the sides of my face and kisses me again– and this time I really kiss her back.
Lurline pulls me towards the bed, our lips barely parting. It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve been kissed like this; I’ve forgotten what it’s like. Thoughts are scarce. I’m just focusing on touch: Lurline’s lips and body pushed against mine.
Lurline pushes me down onto the bed and gets on top, leaning down to kiss me again. She reaches to take off my shirt, then her own. Acting on impulse, I reach for my bra clasp.
I feel my body come alive in a way I had forgotten it could. More clothes are thrown away. Every touch reawakes me, reminds me – reminds me how great this feels. She reaches for my panties. I feel them slip down my legs, I remember this feeling – I remember Tim.
I get up suddenly, pushing Lurline off of me. She looks confused. I just start to cry, suddenly feeling a lot more sober.
As I’m frantically searching for my clothes, I think of Tim kissing me, of Tim’s hands on the small of my back, or around my waist as we took photos for prom, or holding mine over the table at Baumgart’s with a milkshake between us. I find my shirt and throw it on. Tim’s fingers entwined in my hair as he plays with it while we watch a movie at his place on the couch in the basement. The same couch we both lost our virginity on together.
I notice Lurline just staring at me, still mostly naked.
“GET OUT!” I scream. She continues to just stare at me blankly. “GET! OUT!” I scream again, probably waking up the whole floor.
She goes around picking up her clothes, getting dressed as fast as she can. As she heads to the door, she turns back, “Sorry.” she says in a quiet voice. She pauses, as if she’s going to say something more, then walks out and closes the door behind her.
I collapse onto the bed, sobbing into my hands. How could I? Memories flash back to the boy who spoke to me nervously for a week before he worked up the courage to ask for my number. Those kind green eyes that went into shock when I asked if our “hang out” was a date.
What have I done? I love Tim. We agreed to stay together even though we were almost a 10 hour drive away from each other. We said we would try. I told him I loved him. I told him he had nothing to worry about. I told him I would never find another guy.
He was also the boy who got tired of going out after three years of dating and just wanted me to come over to fool around in his room. The boy who got so angry if I wasn’t in the mood. The boy who grabbed my ass while walking down the street instead of holding my hand.
But that doesn’t excuse what I’ve done. I feel so guilty. I can’t think. I just want to say sorry. I am so sorry. Next thing I know, Tim’s number is already ringing on my phone.
I wait for him to pick up, “Hello? Catherine? What’s wrong? It’s late.”
At first all I can do is sob again after hearing his voice. “Catherine? What’s wrong? Shhh… it’s ok, baby. I love you. Whatever it is, it’s ok. I’m here.” He says in his caring voice, the one that made me fall for him. His comforting makes me feel even worse, and I cry harder. He says something more but I can’t hear it over my own cries.
I finally get myself to quiet. Tim continues to try to comfort me and I can’t take it anymore; I just spit out the words, “I cheated on you!” yelling over whatever he was saying.
He goes quiet.
“What?” he finally says. I can tell he’s confused, hurt. I hold back another sob. He would never have done this to me.
I start speaking rapidly, trying not to sound defensive, but I can tell that I do. I don’t even think about what I’m saying, none of it makes any sense, even to me, as I hear myself speak.
“I was at a party and we were drinking and dancing and we kissed and then she walked me back and then we were in my room and she–”
“Wait, did you say she?” Tim says, “You kissed a girl?”
“Ya but-”
“Hot.” He cuts me off in his jerk voice. I can see the smirk he probably has on his face right now.
“But it wasn’t just a kiss, it was… “ I try to make sense of it in my head. What I did was cheating. I cheated. But I cheated with a girl. That’s why he’s not mad, because I’m not gay. So it doesn’t really count as cheating. To him. But it felt like cheating. It wasn’t just silly fun.
“Catherine?” Tim’s voice breaks through. “So… what was it?”
I’m frozen, “I don’t know.”
“…Are you gay?” He sounds mostly confused, but also unhappy.
“No. I can’t be.” I don’t even realize I’m continuing my thoughts aloud until I hear my own voice. “I did love you– I DO love you. I never lied to you.”
“So… what? You’re experimenting?” Usually I’m very good at reading him, but right now I can’t tell how he’s feeling or what he’s thinking about all this.
“No–” I say quickly but I honestly don’t know anything anymore let alone what I’m saying. Am I gay? I guess this makes me gay. No. I love Tim. I enjoy being with him. Suddenly memories I didn’t even know I had pop into my head. Thinking about kissing a girl and wondering if it felt any different than kissing a boy. Dreams about being with girls in bed. Thinking a girl’s smile at the mall was cuter than my own boyfriend’s. But none of that means I’m gay, right? They’re just dreams and thoughts. As a straight girl, I can imagine – right?
“Are you bisexual?” Tim’s voice interrupts my thoughts again. I’m barely paying any attention to him anymore. My head lost in questioning something I always thought was clear. I love Tim. I’ve loved him since we were in the 8th grade. All these years, I never questioned my sexuality. He was a boy. I was a girl. That meant I’m straight.
I feel like I should know by now if I wasn’t. Back home, my school had a Gay-Straight Alliance. My best friend was bisexual. It was normal to be out and show it loud and proud. Is that really me? Am I part of that too? I don’t feel like I am. I remember that Tim is waiting for an answer, but I still don’t know what that answer is.
“I don’t know.” I say.
“How do you not know!? You kept this from me?” Tim sounds angry, but also confused and sad. This is all my fault. I did this to him. There’s this stabbing pain in my chest, like someone is ripping out my heart. Not someone. You did this to yourself.
“No – Timmy – it’s not like that!” I yell out, trying desperately to convince him of something I’m not even sure I believe. I’m trying to scan my past, looking for anything to explain this to myself and Tim. Why would I do this? Growing up I had crushes on boys. Did I have crushes on girls? I can’t think of any. If there is any, they’re locked away somewhere in my mind I don’t know how to access right now.
“Babe – do you think this is working?” Tim asks sadly.
“What do you mean?” I know he doesn’t want to leave me; I can’t imagine him ever wanting that.
“Well If you had feelings for a girl – then why do you even want to be with me? Do you want to break up!?” Tim yells into my ear. I’m used to his slight temper, and the seemingly instantaneous switches from fine to angry, but he’s never threatened to break up with me. Even when I would threaten to break up with him, he would just beg me not to. This time I’m the one begging.
“No, baby, no. I love you. I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again – with anyone!” I can’t lose him. I don’t know how to be without him. I guess I have been pulling away some since we left for college, but I knew he was always there when I needed him. Whether he was in the middle of studying for exams or it was three in the morning, he always picked up my calls. He’s always been there for me. I’ve gotten so used to him in my life, without him, I don’t even know who I am.
“I’m so sick of you! I can’t stand your-your– bipolar-ness! You’re happy, then you’re sad! You’re straight, then you’re gay!” This is so out of character for Tim; I’m speechless. I almost can’t believe he’s the one who said it, although there is no one else around.
Tim takes a deep, anger-fueled breath, “You need to think about what you really want.”
I don’t know what I want right now. This whole night had just unfolded so fast, and now everything has changed, and there was no going back to the way things were mere hours ago.
“No, no, no, baby, stay.” I start to panic. I feel the fear rising in me: afraid for everything to change. The life I’d known for the past four years, which seemed like forever to me, was dissolving before my eyes. Even if it wasn’t perfect, it was what I knew, what I was comfortable with. “Talk to me, baby. Please!”
He hangs up.
“NO!” I scream to no one, breaking into sobs again. Hugging my knees and putting my head down, I rock back and forth on the edge of my bed.
When I wake in the morning still in my tee-shirt from last night, I look for my usual good morning text from Tim, but there are no messages or missed calls. Then I remember: all the details come flooding back. I feel crippled and at the same time, strangely free. I had felt trapped in the relationship for so long, yet I never really struggled to get out. But we’re not even really broken up, are we? Those words were never spoken. And suddenly I don’t feel free anymore. Just burdened by my poor decisions last night– I shouldn’t have kissed her. I shouldn’t have let her walk me back. I should have realized what she meant. I shouldn’t have called him right away. I should have thought it through first. I should have known– that I’m not straight.
I’m not straight
I decide not to call him back right away. We both need a little space. I need to think. Everything has come into question over the course of one night: What is my sexuality? Is my relationship ending? Do I want it to? I don’t know.
I wished for the blissful unconsciousness of sleep once more.
Written and edited 2019-2020
Life Is Just A Blur 