OCR Text |
Show 77 On the Greyhound I listened to a voicemail from Valerie in which she told me I had problems. I didn't disagree. That wasn't the first time I'd done something like that. At first my dodges were out of religious necessity. Thanks to the visual aids, I knew they told girls that, as virgins, they were peaches-and after having sex became a rotten peach-and who will want you once you're rotten? But that didn't help because all I could focus on there was the peach part. So I tried to take the advice given to me by my uncle to ensure that I would stay pure until it was time to go on a mission: Just tell yourself that she's cut down there. Eventually I decided that sex looked more fun than church, but that was over a year ago, and I was, as Valerie noted, still having problems. The lock on the window to my room that I took off when I was sixteen was still missing, which made me want to go outside like I used to do. Aware of how tepid that sort of rebellion was, I still felt excited by the memory, and more-so by the possibility of doing it again. I thought of Allison because we used to make out in Lindon park on some of those nights in the summer. She had shiny black hair and dark eyes and looked good at night. I decided I would try calling her, even though I hadn't talked to her in over a year, because I knew she was still in the area and there was a chance she was bored too. Allison picked me up to go get coffee at Denny's. The music there was alternately Christmas covers and songs that involved a lot of talk about "the miracle that we found each other." Allison talked slowly and made unnecessary |