SIGNS (Post #5)

December 31, 1999-2000

I sit on the roof top of my friends’ apartment in Silverlake, CA. Some of the people are on acid, some are high from smoking pot, and some are drunk (or wasted rather). It's a new year. A new millennium. I ring it in with cheer in my hand and a pang in my heart. I miss Doug. We ended it just shy of two years. I am loving California. It's my first visit. It makes me hate New York City. I work too much in NY. I am in debt because of NY. I dropped out of school just to stay in NYC. I am barely surviving. But, I am not an oblivious idiot. This is a vacation. Life isn't always a tab of acid and unlimited miles on a rental car.

I met Rob the Z-Man December 31st, and it's inevitable. We are hooking up January 1st. I knew it before midnight and now it is nearly 4 a.m. I let myself get into Rob's TransAm even though I barely know him. But, I joke inside my head that it's been a year. We met in '99 and are gonna finally fuck in 2000. But, when I get into Rob's TransAm, I am really looking for validation, intimacy, love, tenderness, and acceptance. He drives drunk and high all the way back to Sherman Oaks while the sun comes up. We get into his bed that is draped with black curtains boxing it in. This pad is made for fucking. He must know what he is doing. He is older, taller, leaner, and bigger. He is much bigger than me. I ask him to do it. I tell him to do it. I almost command him. "Just DO IT," I say. He doesn't even hesitate. He attempts, but I am tense. So tight, I can't. He keeps trying. It hurts, but I feel like I need it. He turns me over. I bite the pillow, clench my fists, and sob silently. "What am I doing here?" I might have even said this out loud.

I get it now. Maybe not in that pillow biting moment but what followed, I did. Everything happens for a reason. The universe is teaching me-to grow, to strengthen, to listen. I will get through this. Z-man hears my cries. He stops. He lies on top of me and kisses my ear. He asks me if I am okay. I nod yes. He stays on top of me ear to ear, brushing my right arm with his fingertips for what feels like hours but is probably a few minutes. He doesn't ask me anything. He doesn't move. I would never have predicted this tenderness in him. I finally turn over. Our faces are centimeters apart. Through my tears I crack a small smile. He just looks me straight in the eye....and says..."You're a virgin, aren't you?"

I return to NYC grateful to the Z-Man and slightly rejuvenated. I am of course, s little ashamed of my failed attempt at a raunchy, racy loss of virginity, but ready to march through life with a restored faith in man and, more importantly, in myself.