Is it in Yet?

My friend recently asked, “When does a girl become a woman?” A lot would say it’s the first time she has sex. I say it’s also the first time she realizes that not every story has a happy ending. And in a young girl’s mind, that happy ending involves a man rescuing her from a life that society says would otherwise be shit. In a boy’s mind, a happy ending is...well, a happy ending. Wink wink. Nudge nudge.

So this story is about when I first became a woman—in every sense of the word.

Enter Steve. Technically, he was my first love. However, looking back now, I’ve only had one and a half loves in my life and Steve was not one (or a half). I’ll write later about the real loves but that’s an emotional place and I don’t have the strength to visit right now.

After my stint with DJ in my tween years, I took some time to really find myself and to get over the “fiery” end to our relationship. So at 17 years old, I finally fell for Steve. He was a tall and lean lacrosse player with wavy dark brown hair. He had the biggest and clearest blue eyes I’d ever seen—they would sear a hole into your soul if you let them and boy did I let them.

I was a female version of Steve at that time in my life. I played lacrosse and the role of the nice, normal, sporty girl (with a splash of trendy 90s grunge). I decided it was easier to follow the flock while dying on the inside than it was to outwardly buck the system. I hung out with cheerleaders—although at 5’11", I was too “big” to be a cheerleader so I was always a bit of an outsider looking in (or looking down, as the case may be). Being tall came with issues, let me tell you. A simple hug became an awkward pseudo-sexual encounter when most friends’ faces were at my boob level. I perfected the art of the sideways hug for anyone under 5’7”. I also perfected the wide-leg stance that would shave off at least 3 inches. I’d probably have done the splits if I could.

As music went, I listened to Pearl Jam, Nirvana, and Cypress Hill. That’s right folks. Cypress Fucking Hill. Each time I hear “Insane in the Brain”—besides wanting to gouge my ear drums with a pencil— I picture Steve dancing and drinking Boone’s Farm in my parent’s living room. And because I know you’re wondering, he definitely had some gay genes in him somewhere. Again, a huge foreshadow to my dating life.

Our relationship was a normal high school relationship and was far less tumultuous than my relationship with DJ. I finally let a guy love me and I loved him right back, maybe a bit too much. As you’ll soon read, my treatment of DJ came back to haunt me on an unbelievably heartbreaking level. Karma truly is an evil, evil bitch.

I had a lot of firsts with Steve; prom, homecoming, smoking pot, making out after hours at the pool where I was a lifeguard. The most poignant first that I had with Steve is to be classified as the biggest first… disappointment… and one of the steps to being a woman. Read on.

I was 17 when we first had sex in my bed at my parent’s house afterschool on a Tuesday. The sunlight shining in was worse than being under a light in an interrogation room. Although, I’d assume in an interrogation room there would be a lot more screaming and sweating. My encounter with Steve was just the opposite—it was awkward, quiet, and quick. I can sum it up with the following verbatim exchange: Me, “Is it in yet?” Steve, “I’m done.” I know, it’s a cringe fest for me, too. Well, that exchange is very telling about how our relationship was to unravel—me waiting for something from him but all the while he was done. For being such a smart person, I have the emotional intelligence of a gnat.

So Steve and I went on to date for about 8 months. But to a short-lived 17 year old, those 8 high school months were calculated like a dog’s life and were the equivalent of about 4 years. The end of this coupledom happened during beach week. This is the week following senior year where everyone goes to the beach to celebrate their bright futures before heading off to college. This is also, ironically, the week when karma decided to shine its lovely rays of sunshine down onto my unsuspecting head.

So the day before we were all set to leave for the beach, I got sick. I mean, this was that kind of sick where your bones hurt and your eyeballs should be bleeding but they don’t because that would be too fitting. I was rocking a fever of about 104. I wanted to soldier on but my mom insisted I stay home and not die. She was so mean! I curled up alone on the sofa while all my friends partied and puked for fun. I thought my life couldn’t get worse. Boy was I wrong.

As beach week ended, I knew something was amiss. My friends were home but no one called to tell me how fucking amazing it was and how much I suck. I called them, they didn’t call me back. I called Steve, he didn’t call me back. This was before cell phones and home computers, so I was left talking to answering machines and lying parents—I know full well that Heather is home, Ms. Davis. Fuck you.

Finally, after a few days, Heather called to tell me to come over. She sat me down on her bed and proceeded to cry. And then she told me the heartbreaking news and much like my reaction to “Insane in the Brain”, I wanted to gouge my ear drums with a pencil. Steve had sex with a girl from another school. Not only that but he did it while my friends were banging on the locked hotel door trying to get him to stop. He did it anyway.

Steve never called me back. He took the coward’s road and let my friends tell me that he was an asshole. The rest of the summer was difficult to say the least. I had to avoid certain events so as not to run into him and have my heart broken all over again. My saving grace was going away to college, to a new land where Steve didn’t exist. But I suppose the karma gods wanted Steve to exist there, too—because within two weeks he sent me a handwritten letter.

The letter didn’t address his indiscretion, it just talked about how great he was doing at school and how he hoped I was well, too. Boy was I excited to hear how great things were for him! Thanks Steve! Do you want to pour salt directly into the wound or just kinda pick at it with a dull blade? I remember one line so clearly, the one that made me breathe a sigh of relief that we didn’t last longer than 8 months. He wrote, simply, “I’m kind of a big deal on campus.” So maybe karma isn’t a bitch in the end. Maybe she’s just a bitch in how she went about saving me from Steve and his overly-developed ego.

Looking back and knowing what I know now, that incident changed me and affected my life in a profound way and was when I became a real woman. It wasn’t about losing Steve and it wasn’t about the heartbreak of losing a first love. It was about losing the part of me who knew how to trust without reservation. That, my friends, can fuck you harder than Steve fucked that girl at beach week. Oh never mind, that isn’t really making my point because I assume she also asked, “Is it in yet?”