The
next session of D&D is very awkward. It's very hard to
concentrate on running the game with Sven's hair, or skin, or laugh,
or voice constantly distracting me. I make a number of errors, like
when Jeff yells at me for telling him he misses a Kobold grunt with
armor class ten. That happened because Sven just handed my dice back
to me and I'm left staring at my palm as it tingles all over like it
does when it's been put inside one of those miniature pin art devices
from Spencer's Gifts. At Jeff's comment I whip the offending
hand out of sight, desperately hoping no one noticed.
But
none of these slip ups, glaring as they seem to me, in any way
prepare me for what happens when the gaming session ends. Linus
hangs around after everyone else has left and I'm not particularly
thrilled about this. Although I can't afford to be choosy about my
friends, or my players, Linus is not my favorite person in the world.
He has creepy friends who form a pseudo hippy commune, leaves half
eaten food hidden behind my furniture, and only passed the class we
had together by copying all my work, and I do mean all of it.
Not that I have anything against helping a friend out but I don't
think it was very nice of him that he never did anything in return.
But, I'm about to realize that these things are minor problems in the
grand scheme of things.
“What
happened to you liking Robert?” he asks as soon as the others are
gone.
“I'm
really freaking pissed at him,” I instantly shoot back, then freeze
and feel my heart start to race overtime into panic mode as the real
implication of his question dawns on me. I had been seriously hoping
to avoid this issue. I've never been in direct conflict with a
friend over a guy and, since my friends have always thought everyone
I liked sucked, I figured it wasn't something I would ever have to
deal with. Consequently, I'm utterly clueless about how to handle
such a situation. I decide playing dumb is the best course of action
and say nothing further.
“But
that isn't the whole story,” he goes on. “Isn't there something
else you should tell me?”
I raise
my chin proudly. “I don't see why. Your prodding shows you
already have your own ideas.”
“I
don't think it was a very nice thing for you to do.”
“Do?”
I scoff. “What do you mean do? I didn't do anything. It
just happened. And, believe me, if I could un-do it, I
would.”
Linus's
expression softens. “I know what you mean, so impossible to
resist.” I suppress the urge to gag. Despite the pin art type
shivers on my hand that he now gives me, Sven is still fully capable
of annoying the hell out of me which he loves and I hate as much as
ever. “You know,” Linus lowers his voice to his “persuasive,
conspiratorial” tone, “we don't have to be enemies and rivals.”
After my experience with him in class, I don't particularly trust
Linus's idea of “fairness,” so I remain dubious. “Well, we're
all friends here and they say that lovers and friends go well
together, in fact, are best when they're the same thing.”
“That
makes sense.” Actually, it makes a little too much sense. I would
like very much to know who “they” are. His creepy friends from
the pseudo hippie commune no doubt. I gesture for him to get on with
it, waiting impatiently to hear the catch.
“So,
why don't we just share,” he finishes brightly. I do actually gag
this time and only hide it with difficulty. I can think of a hundred
reasons why not without even trying but I don't say any of them
because they aren't nice. Oh god, what do I do now? If I say no,
I'll piss Linus off and then he might make trouble with his his
creepy friends, try to sabotage my involvement with Sven, or even
totally blow my cover by telling him about my feelings: a threat
that carries a lot more weight from him to me than it would from me
to him.
But, on
the other hand, if I say yes...well, I don't really know what that
would involve but I feel pretty certain I wouldn't like it. For one
thing, I see it as basically, being equivalent to agreeing to get
with Linus too, which is a truly revolting idea. I'm barely
able to tolerate being friends with him. Besides, I have a hunch
Sven wouldn't be too keen on Linus's idea and not just because it
involves him being with ugly Penelope. After all, it does sound
uncomfortably like we're bargaining over him, like a chicken for sale
in a market or something. If he found out about it, he might,
very likely, get pissed at me.
“Ah...um....yes, I see
what you mean,” I mumble, trying to stall for time, but Linus leaps
to conclusions.
“Excellent. I'm so glad
you agree. I knew you seemed like the kind of person who would
understand.” He embraces me impulsively, exactly like the
sister/lover he thinks I am now. I feel sick. Really sick. “I
look forward exceedingly to the next gaming session,” he calls
over his shoulder as he leaves, “when we get to see our dear lover
again.” I feel even sicker. And I don't tell Linus that I have
every intention of seeing, or at least talking to Sven long before
our next gaming session and, after my conversation with Linus, I
consider it far more important to do so.
********
Sven and I start having late night
phone conversations. It begins when his father makes him call me to
ask a question about Old Man and the Sea for his summer
reading intensive. After answering the question, I ask how he likes
the book and he says it sucks. It's boring like 99% of all books. I
have to disagree and talk about fantasy novels and history books with
raging battles and exciting intrigue.
“It's just like a D&D game on
paper,” I say enthusiastically. Although Sven is unconvinced, this
leads us into a long discussion about the campaign. By the time we
finish, the late summer light has died and I'm sitting in total
blackness, looking at the stars through my window. Finally, he has
to go finish his assignment but says he'll call back if he has more
questions.
Soon, however, it's no longer about
questions. We call each other almost every week and just talk. The
setting sun makes a hot pool on my bed and I can smell the baking
grass and wet dirt outside my window. After we finish, I can never
fully remember what we talked about. I'm simply aware of words
rushing, tumbling like white water, of being vulnerable, letting
secrets leak, then spill. Sometimes a voice in the back of my head
reminds me that this isn't safe. Sven is little more than a stranger
and I always try to avoid sharing too much personal information, even
with people I know well. But, somehow, I just can't stop myself.
We argue about science versus
religion. He coaches me on Magic deck strategies and, when I
say I can't afford some of the rare cards he suggests, he offers to
buy them for me. I tell him about how I used to go wander around in
the woods behind my house when I was young and collect caterpillars
and, when I could catch them, frogs in jars. Once of his favorite
activities as a kid was for him and Jeff to have duels by beating
each other with baseball bats. I can't help wondering, hoping, that
he's telling me this to impress me. In reality though, it makes me
incredibly jealous. It would have been so refreshing to be able to
duel with my friends. They all just wanted to have tea parties. I
hate being a girl. He also
complains frequently about all the yard work he has to do, especially
cleaning out the garden.
“Ooh, what kind
of garden?” I ask eagerly, imagining something romantic like roses.
If I ever get to go to his house, maybe he'll pick one for me.
“Grass,” he
says bitterly.
“Wait, no, I
asked you about your garden.”
“Yea, and it's
grass. We have a garden plot with several kinds of exotic grass in
it. And it's a royal pain to keep alive in this climate.”
“A grass
garden?” I giggle. I feel dizzy and my head spins. “That's too
ridiculous. You're making it up.”
“Am not.”
“I
don't believe you. You'll have to show it to me.” I
pressure him to sign up for the world literature course next year. I
took it last year and loved it so it would be awesome to be able to
talk to him about it. Also, if he needs help with the course, I'll
be in a perfect position to maintain this private link between us.
But he says no, he's going to take American literature instead.
“I've seen the world literature text
book. It's full of poetry.”
“And?”
“Poetry sucks. It's totally boring
and I can't follow what it says most of the time.”
“You think it's boring because you
can't understand it. If you get all the little tricks hidden in it,
there's no way you can be bored.”
“I highly doubt that.
“Let me show you.” I jump at the
the chance to recite poetry for him, one of the world's oldest tools
of seduction. But, at the same time, this very thought makes me
incredibly nervous and I draw a blank on almost all the poetry I
know. In a knee jerk reaction, I start reciting one of John Donne's
holy sonnets, because it's the first thing that comes to mind. I
always thought the way it used contradictory language to develop the
metaphor of god as the lover of the worshiper was fascinating. But
now, when I get to the final lines of the poem, I hesitate. My
cheeks flood with fire. My voice shakes along with the rest of me as
I say, “Except you enthrall me, never shall I be free, never
chaste, except you ravish me.”
The words seem to pulsate in the heavy
humidity of the air. Power thrums and vibrates like a plucked
string. I've changed so much in such a short time. When I studied
the poem in class at the end of last year, less than four short
months ago, these lines were just the final example of the author's
cleverness, with no more relevance to my life than an elaborate logic
problem in math. Yes, I though I was in love with Robert, but I
would never have dreamed of applying worlds like “enthrall” and
“ravish” to that situation. Now, I can think of nothing but
their application in context between me and Sven.
I don't tell
Kendra about these conversations. They're my delicious and guilty
secret. Whispering in the darkness with the heat of my skin
radiating through my clothes and my jeans stuck to me with sweat, I
feel like the bulimic or the girl who cuts herself with razor blades,
locking themselves away to revel in their sick fascination.
************
“I have an idea,” Jeff bursts out
suddenly in the middle of a battle.
“I hope it’s a good one,” says
Sven. “These odds aren’t very good.”
“I want to have a party.”
“Do you mind?” Mike makes a face,
pausing in the very act of dropping the dice on the table. “I’m
trying to make a very important called shot.”
“But we only have a week left
before school starts. We need to do something fun.” I scowl at
the implication that my DMing isn’t fun and tell Mike to make his
roll.
“Ha! I make it. I stab the ogre
chieftain right in the eye.”
“Yes, you do but, of course, you
realize this just makes his followers angrier and more eager to kill
you.”
“Would you all shut up and listen to
me?” yells Jeff. “This is important.”
“Fine,” growls Mike. “Tell us
about your damn party.”
“It will be the most stereotypical
summer party every. To celebrate our last day of freedom before the
fall.”
> “Watermelon?” I ask eagerly.
“No, watermelon is boring.”
“Unless you cut a hole in it and
make a vodka watermelon,” Mike offers.
“True, true, that idea does have
some merit,” says Jeff stroking his chin as if pondering some deep
philosophical concept. “But where could we get a bottle of vodka.”
“I’m sure Sven could get his hands
on one.”
“Highly doubtful. My father’s
still put out about that stuff that happened at summer camp.” Mike
snorts with suppressed laughter.
“So, no watermelon.” Jeff waves
his hand dismissively. “But we will have chips, roasted peanuts,
and home made mountain dew popsicles.”
“And who all is coming to this party
anyway?” I ask suspiciously.
“Just us here.” Four people
doesn’t sound like much of a party but I see no reason to let him
know that. In truth I’m quite relieved because I don’t want a
bunch of strangers hanging around, making me nervous and anti-social.
I also notice that he brought this up on a day when Linus isn’t
here. Since he made his creepy offer I would really prefer to have
him around as little as possible. It’s good to see that others
seem to feel the same. Yes, it was Jeff’s idea but neither Mike
nor Sven asks, “So, what about Linus?”
“So when do you want to do this?”
asks Sven.
“Next Wednesday. Sven, you can come
with me to get supplies and then pick everyone up.”
“Good, it’s
all decided,” I say. “Now, can we please get back to the game?”
***********
The day of the
party, I'm waiting nervously outside the library, where Sven agreed
to meet me. Desperate to look nice, I stole one of my mother's old
hippie dresses out of the bottom or her dresser. It's black and
bright orange and not exactly sexy but it does show part of my calf.
I feel almost naked because I haven't shown my legs in, like, four
years. I keep imagining people are staring at me. If only Sven
thinks I look nice, my shame will not have been for nothing.
To distract
myself, I look at the book I checked out from the library. Although
it's officially a fantasy novel, not a romance novel, I can tell
it's racy. The cover has a picture of a woman with a languid
expression and a dragon curled sensually around her with the tip of
its beak resting between her mostly exposed breasts. A quick scan of
the content proves my guess is correct. One passage in particular
seems to jump out at me: "She had thought men were the only
ones with carnal desires but now she learned women could burn just as
intensely as she lay restlessly on the bed where she and her now long
absent husband had shared one night as sword and sheath...for form's
sake only. But like the mercenary he was, he never sheathed his
sword and wonder over the mystery un-revealed seemed now about to
drive her mad." I feel my face get hot and slam the book shut,
glancing nervously around as if someone might have been reading over
my shoulder.
I still don't
really understand what sex is, beyond the mechanical description they
give you in health class, which seems so utterly disconnected from
reality, but I'm starting to learn. My body is teaching me even
though I don't really want it to. As soon as I read it, I understand
what it means for a woman to burn because I do it every time I'm
around Sven. And I don't mean blushing. Yea, I do that too, with
embarrassing frequency. But this burning is not shame, it's wanting.
What I want, I still don't have figured out, but now I know that it
has something to do with the fact that Sven and I are, apparently,
"sword and sheath." I don't understand what that means
either or what I'm supposed to do about it, except that it involves
us lying together on a bed and that image alone is almost too hot for
my brain to handle.
I hear someone
yelling at me and, startled from my thoughts, I look up in confusion.
I don't see Sven's van anywhere. Instead, a huge black pick-up
truck has pulled up in front of me. Suddenly, Jeff leaps wildly from
the passenger’s side and dashes around to the back, apparently to
make sure the large number of water balloons, squirt guns, and other
"summer fun" items piled in the bed of the truck are all
still there.
While he's doing
this, Sven sticks his head out the window. "Don't just stand
there," he yells. "Hurry up. It's hot in here." I
blush…and burn in the other way too, hoping no one notices, while I
try to get to the truck as quickly as possible while still looking
dignified and like I'm not letting him order me around. The truck
seems very old and I notice the seat is worn and ripped as I slide
in. This is also probably why it doesn't have any air conditioning.
It is absolutely boiling inside and I'm wearing a black dress made
out of heavy fabric. Great.
"What's with
this truck?" I ask, pulling uncomfortably at my dress, which I
can already feel starting to stick to me.
"This isn't
mine," says Sven almost defensively. "This is Jeff's
truck." He's sweating. His forelock is sticking to his face
and the rest of his hair to the back of his neck. "Let's go,"
he yells out the window. "You can deal with that stuff later."
Jeff comes dashing back and jumps in without waiting for me to move
over. I scramble to get out of the way and bump into Sven. He
glares at Jeff and tries to punch him by reaching over me. When this
doesn't work he makes a pointed comment about how if you don't have a
license you should behave for the person who drives your car for you.
This temporarily subdues Jeff and we drive off to get Mike. I
carefully keep my elbows in my lap so I don't bother Sven but, every
time we turn a corner, I can't avoid falling against him and the skin
of my side shivers, like a horse's skin when a bug lands on it. When
we get to Mike's house, Jeff again leaps out and runs to check the
supplies. Mike refuses to be rushed and, when Sven yells at him to
hurry up, he makes a rude gesture at him. The seat in the cab of the
truck is only wide enough for three people and I wonder aloud where
Jeff is going to sit.
"We'll tie
him on the roof," says Mike and he and Sven laugh loudly. Jeff
doesn't get the hint, so Sven revs the engine and pulls the truck out
of the driveway. Jeff comes running and bangs loudly on the
passenger door. Mike gives me a look. "Move over," he
says. "I'm not having him in my lap." I look down. My
leg is already against Sven's. Tentatively, I press closer and Mike
and Sven become impatient. Sven grabs my shoulder and pulls from one
side and Mike shoves from the other side until Jeff is able to
squeeze in, leaving me too enraged and breathless about this
treatment to make any protest.
"By the
way," Sven remarks casually, as he abruptly floors the
accelerator. "I don't remember how to get back to your house
from here."
"You're
going right. I'll tell you when to turn," says Jeff, trying to
look backwards out the window to make sure none of his stuff falls
out. We're going about sixty down a residential street. I feel
panic rising in me and grip the underside of the dashboard to keep
from grabbing something else if I really lose it.
"Penelope
thinks she's going to get killed," says Sven in an
affectionately mocking voice and accelerates even more while he looks
away from the road to smile at me. This affects me so deeply that I
momentarily forget to be upset that he isn't looking where he's
going. I've never been this close to him before. His sweat is
drying on my skin. My side is pressed so tightly against his that I
can feel it swell and relax as he breaths.
Suddenly, Jeff,
who's still looking backwards, yells, "There's the turn off. We
just passed it." The truck comes screeching to an abrupt halt.
Then, Sven shifts into reverse and starts driving back up the street.
I've been so wrapped up in him that this is the first time today I
remember this guy is seriously nuts. Finally, after a few more
missed turns--and almost missed turns taken at ninety degree
angles--we reach Jeff's house, still alive. Before the truck has
even come to a complete stop, Jeff leaps out and runs to climb into
the back. Floundering through the water balloons, he jerks open the
back window of the cab and lobs one at Sven's head. The aim is true
and the balloon explodes on contact. I feel the water soak through
my clothes all down my left side.
For some reason,
even though it was exactly the kind of thing he would do, this
makes Sven really pissed. "You jack-ass," he yells and
jumps out of his side of the truck to go running after Jeff and beat
him. Then, a giant free for all starts in which we all throw and
shoot everything within reach at each other. I take off my shoes and
go barefoot to feel freer. While I'm trying to take aim at Jeff by
peering around the edge of Sven's van, which is parked in the
driveway, someone comes up behind me and forcibly breaks a balloon
against my head. They don't even throw it, they physically smash it
against my skull. Lame. But I never find out who it was because the
water plasters my hair over my face and I can't see. Later I'm
running from Jeff (I did manage to hit him). The waterlogged fabric
of my skirt slaps against my legs as I run. I stumble on one of the
concrete blocks paving the driveway. My ankle grates against the
rough edge of the cement and I feel the skin rip. I know I must be
bleeding but it doesn't seem to matter right now. Eventually, our
ammunition is all used up and we come back together next to the
driveway, all soaked to the skin, our faces flushed from the
exertion.
I try, probably
ineffectively, not to stare at the way the water makes Sven's clothes
cling to his skin. I've never noticed a guy's body before and not
just because I've never had a real-life opportunity. I've seen
plenty of stuff in movies--it would be impossible not to with Kendra
as a best friend--but skin was always just another costume to me,
until today. Sven drags his wet shirt off over his head with some
difficulty and I completely give up trying not to stare. If I look
like I feel, I must have the proportions of one of those deep sea
fish with the giant eyes. His skin is streaked with sweat and with
shinny trails from water drops as they fall from his hair and run
down it. The hair itself is dark with water and clinging half over
his face. And no, he's not tanned and cut like the popular ideal.
He doesn't even match the lean, smooth-skinned look you see on some
of the teen actors. He's kind of hairy and has a gut and he's so
sexy I can't bear it. I mean, it's not so weird for me because I
never liked "attractive" guys. But Kendra drools over the
football players. How did she explain away this contradiction? Too
bad I never asked her.
Jeff is offering
us food and Mike says he'll stay but Sven says he's leaving. He's
acting perfectly normal, as if the fact that he's half dressed is
completely irrelevant. Can he possibly not realize the effect
he's having on me? And he's not afraid at all either. Like, it
stresses me out to wear this dress that hits at the knee, especially
now that it's wet and sticks to me. Between the two things, I feel
almost like I’m naked and everyone's staring at me. But, even
though he's actually much closer to being naked than I am, that fact
doesn't seem to bother Sven at all. This brazen confidence, at least
when compared to the state of my nerves, makes me even more crazy for
him. Even under the coolness of my dripping hair, I can feel the
heat in my face.
I want… I want…
I want to kneel down in front of him and put my arms around his
knees and my cheek against the side of his leg, to express just how
in awe I am right now. The phrase "offer myself to him"
comes into my head. I probably read it in a book or saw it in a
movie somewhere. Of course, I don't understand what I would be
offering. To be "sword and sheath" with him I guess, but it
doesn't matter. The need for the act of offering is so
powerful inside me that what I would have to give is of small concern
to me. Of course, I don't actually do any of these things because I
am a dignified and sensible woman who is above the demands of her
body. No, actually I don't do them because there are people watching
and because I'm so scared of being rejected that I feel like I'm
about to piss myself.
Sven steps
towards the van, then turns back. "Penelope, you want me to
drive you?" he asks. I agree to this, though I try not to sound
too excited. At first, we don't talk much. I'm still tongue-tied
over how hot he is and he's watching the road I guess. At least,
we're driving at a normal speed now. But, when we stop at an
intersection, he turns to me and says sweetly, "Don't worry, I
promise I won't scare you again." I know he's teasing me and I
sulk at the offense. Suddenly, his expression changes almost to one
of disgust. "What did you do?" he asks in a
disturbed voice.
In a panic I
follow his gaze and see that my ankle and the foot below it are a
mess of dirt and blood. Quickly I try to hide it behind my other
leg. "It's nothing," I snap as I turn away in
embarrassment.
"Don't be so
moody," he chides. "I was just wondering how it happened.
It's not a problem. I'll do something about it when we get to my
house."
"We're going
to your house?" I ask stupidly, unable to believe my good
fortune.
"Of course.
I'm not staying in these clothes a second longer than I have to."
Okay, kind of rude for him to just go there without asking me first
but I'm so excited about seeing his house that I decide not to
mention it.
When we arrive,
his brother Ben and two other boys in their early teens are shooting
baskets in the drive way.
By the way, his
house is huge. It's like a mansion compared to what I and the
rest of my friends live in. "Your family must be rich," I
say admiringly.
He shoots me a
dark look. Apparently this is a touchy subject. "We are not,"
he snaps.
Ben and his
friends stop their game to get out of our way and then they stare at
the pair of us and our state of (un)dress. I know what they're
thinking and I give Ben the evil eye. "Yea, I know it looks
like I've just been messing around with your brother," I think
silently at him. "But, unfortunately, very unfortunately, you
are mistaken." The boys exchange looks and snicker.
Thankfully, Sven ignores them and I follow him through the garage
into the kitchen. Here I can see out the back window. They have a
pool. Of course, I immediately remember all the movie scenes
Kendra's told me about where hot stuff happens in people's private
pools. "You have a pool," I say, knowing it will bug him.
"Definitely rich."
"Shut up."
I just give him a knowing smile and toss my head. It feels good to
be the person being annoying for once. He makes a face, then
shrugs. "Let's see your ankle," he says as he reaches up
to take first aid supplies out of one of the cupboards. I put my
foot up on the seat of a chair and hold the skirt of my dress out of
the way. Still shirtless, with his wet hair in his face, he dries my
leg, washes the cut, and bandages it. All of his actions are calm
and gentle. "You're okay," he says softly, as I flinch
away from the sting of the disinfectant. I feel cold inside. Is
this the same person who makes stupid jokes, who drives insanely and
laughs when it scares me, who can't sit still for two seconds?
I've never seen
Sven act quiet and controlled before. But he seems natural, not like
he's forcing himself to slow down and hold back. I feel ashamed and
even kind of sad. Not for lusting after him, that's still
going on, but for despising him, like I did when we met and like I
still do whenever my hormones don't get in the way. I realize
there's stuff in him that I never knew about before.
"All set,"
he says straightening up. "I'm gonna go change. Be right
back." He dashes off up the stairs, suddenly energetic again
and I put my hands on the table to steady myself as I think about the
fact that he's taking his clothes off right now, somewhere above my
head.
©Amanda Hamlin 2025
