I hesitated, thinking of Gandee. “I’m not sure. Nobody’s been inside there, though.”
“Let’s call that a ‘no,’ then.”
She talked me through the pelvic exam, stopping when I flinched. “You’re doing great, Ailey. I know this isn’t fun.”
“Sure it is.”
“Then you’re the first woman in the history of the universe who enjoys this. I hate mine. I always have pepperoni pizza afterward.”
I lifted on my elbow. “You get these, too?”
“Every woman does. Or she should.”
“Geez.”
“That pizza’s sounding pretty good right about now, isn’t it? Okay, lie back down. I’m going to do the anal exam. Here we go.”
“Ouch!”
“I know, honey. Just a few more seconds. You’re very, very brave.”
When I limped to the lobby, brandishing my packet of birth control, Chris did a victory dance. In the car, he was all over me.
“Don’t get too excited,” I said. “I’ve got to wait awhile for these pills to kick in.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of the colorful free condoms the clinic offered.
“Damn, Chris, did you leave any for the other people?”
“They had their chance. You snooze, you lose.”
“Okay, but let’s stop at the pharmacy. I want to get some of that jelly stuff.”
“These have the spermicide on them. I checked. I’ll be careful. I promise.”
Chris’s mother was away until that evening, so his house was empty. I wanted things to be special, suggesting a picnic, but inside, he wedged me against the kitchen counter, fumbling with the front of my jeans. When he couldn’t find his way past the zipper, he gave up and grabbed at my crotch. I sighed and told him, sure. He led me upstairs, squeezing my hand. On his bed, he pulled at my jeans, repeating how much he loved me, then fumbled with the condom. When he lay on me, he grabbed at my crotch again, searching, while I told him that wasn’t it. That was the wrong hole. Finally, he found the proper place, and there were thirteen seconds of incredibly painful pressure, as if I had to make a bowel movement but couldn’t.
He kissed the side of my face and told me again that he loved me.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Is it over?”
His face was hidden in my neck, but he nodded. His breath deepened and he went to sleep on me. I wanted to kick him in his exhausted balls. He didn’t remember that he was supposed to hold on to the condom afterward, either. It had slipped off inside me, and I ran to the bathroom when he turned over, deep in sleep. I squatted and snagged the condom with my fingernail, wrinkling my nose at the mess.
A few days before this disgusting moment, Mama had conducted the sex talk with me. She wasn’t accusing me of anything, she’d said. She only wanted to talk, because I was a young lady, and I needed to know a few things. Such as, prayer wasn’t an effective form of birth control. It had seemed a silly statement, and I’d laughed at her seriousness. But it hit me what she meant when my period was four days late. During that time, I sat on the toilet at least ten times a day, waiting for blood, and asking God to spare me, this once.
After that, every time Chris and I were together, I withstood his awkwardness, telling him, don’t squeeze my breasts like that, and I needed more than a few seconds of kissing to get ready. And I thought of David, how I hadn’t been able to wait for him to touch me. How he’d been so gentle, and I’d been the one to pull him to me whenever we were alone. But David had a new girlfriend. She was receiving his tenderness.
Chris and I were a couple, though. My patience had won out. Instead of Mama dropping me off at school, Chris picked me up each morning, that fall of our senior year. My dream of us walking though the hallways was fulfilled, and before we headed to our respective classes, he kissed me and strutted off. We even planned to attend college together, down south. I’d convinced him to apply to Routledge College, giving him a list of distinguished alumni. There were plenty of physicians, too, in case Chris wanted to study premed. When Mama suggested I apply to Harvard or Yale, I told her there was no way I was spending another four years surrounded by honkies. And I didn’t want to attend Mecca, either. What kind of adulthood apprenticeship would that be, living at home with my parents? She told me, all right, I was her baby, but she knew I would be safe in Georgia. I’d only be a few miles up the road from Uncle Root.
We avoided talk of my sister, how she’d attended Routledge, too. In two years, we hadn’t heard from Lydia. No phone calls, no letters. I’d matured enough to know mentioning her name would only cause my mother grief. But I’d go into Coco’s room, where Lydia had moved to escape me. I’d close the door and take down a box of my sister’s belongings and go through her keepsakes from college: Smiling photos of her with her friends. Graded assignments that Lydia had saved with her professor’s complimentary comments written in red ink. I pulled her Beta Alpha Beta orange-and-white sorority jacket off the hanger. I put it on and rubbed my hands along the sleeves. I’d decided I wanted to pledge Beta, too; it would bring me closer to Lydia, even if I didn’t know where she was now.