LITMIR.BIZ

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boyfriend.

      I had a mini-crush on a boy at Babson and an even greater infatuation with a boy named Blake who went to New York University. He was a tall, dark, handsome, half-Filipino, and originally from my hometown. We were acquaintances who’d shared a lot of classes, the same honors path, but nothing more.

      Then we found ourselves on spring break together in the Bahamas senior year of high school. We would sit and talk for hours, laughing and observing while everyone else was enjoying foam parties and the drinking age of eighteen. We were enjoying these benefits too, but in our own kind of nerdy way.

      “You know what I keep thinking? That foam must be laced with vomit, beer, and…”

      “Soap and water,” he interrupted. We were sitting on the balcony of a club overlooking a foam-filled mosh-pit dance floor.

      “Yes, but that’s too obvious…more like lost room keys, spit, maybe a shirt or two,” I mused, watching dancers bump their bodies against each other.

      “You think people lost their tops in the foam?”

      “Hell yeah, and probably on purpose. Look at them! Clearly, we aren’t having enough fun! Okay, Blakey, we need to step up our game. Think I am going to go into the foam.”

      “I am not rescuing you, and you may get pregnant by contact.”

      “Good point. Then I’d have to go on Maury to find out who the father was, and there are too many guys here to ever know.”

      “You better stay here then,” he laughed pulling me to his side.

      “If I must,” I joked, picking up my drink.

      He smirked, clinking his beer with my Diet Coke. “Cheers. Spring break, baby.”

      “To spring break.” I clinked my soda back.

      Blake became one of my closest friends on this rite-of-passage trip. When we were stressed at school, we’d dream about going to a deserted island together to get away from it all. I was more comfortable being my silly self with him than I’d felt with anyone outside of family. I started to really like him, and really trust him, listening for that door-opening sound (oh yes, nineties kids, you know what I am talking about) indicating that he’d signed onto AIM (AOL Instant Messenger) so we could talk. It was like I was already in a relationship, without the physical aspect. But, I kind of wanted the physical aspect too. Who can blame a girl?

      I visited Blake at school a couple of times in the first semester, once over my winter break, and though we snuggled all night in the same bed, he didn’t even try to make a move. This was a little confusing. I wanted to be more than his teddy bear.

      Back at school in January, I finally started drinking, wanting to have a little more excitement and feeling I was ready to try it on my own terms. I never drank beer, only vodka, which meant I could get drunk with far fewer calories. One night, during a vodka-fueled phone call, I told Blake how I felt.

      “I think we should be more than friends,” I blurted into my cell phone.

      Silence for what seemed like a full minute.

      “Okay, shit. Not a good sign.” And oh shit, I said that out loud. In that moment, I wished I could go back in time, Back to the Future-style. Where was Dr. Emmett Brown when I needed him?

      “I don’t want to lose our friendship, Dani,” he said, concluding our humiliating conversation before it had even really begun.

      With my already feeble ego bruised, plus knowing I couldn’t really like anyone else if I kept talking to him, I made the decision to cut off our friendship.

      A week into this “friendship break,” I decided to tell my other crush how I felt about him. I had heard of a midlife crisis, where the person will purchase a luxury car or undergo some expensive plastic surgery procedure. I was having a mid-freshman-year crisis and was trying to fill the void I felt with a guy. I might have been better off with an expensive car or a nose job!

      We were sitting and talking outside our dormitory when I said, “I really like you,” like a second-grader. But what’s the right way to go about these things? Okay, maybe any way but this way…

      “Well, I really like you too. You are one of my best friends here,” he said, taking a sip of some strong alcohol concoction from his red Dixie cup. Best friend, not again, I didn’t like where this was headed. I could tell.

      We sat there silent. “Dani, I never had a best friend who was a girl and I really value your friendship.” He briefly paused. “I don’t want to lose it.”

      “Yeah, I totally get it.” I pretended I was okay with the whole notion of being the best friend again. He gave me a hug as I fake-yawned, probably too wide, looking like I had a face spasm.

      “Well, I am off to bed. I think I drank too much, and you know me. Got to be at the library early in the morning. That drink was strong.” I pointed to his red Dixie cup, as his Dixie cup was a brother, made with the same alcohol, of mine.

      “Yes, very strong. I hope we are okay.”

      “Of course we are,” I said, giving him the best toothy smile I could produce, probably resembling a face spasm once again. Turning to leave, that’s when my eyes started getting teary. Rejection hurts, and boy was I tired of being the good girl stuck in the friend zone.

      Two weeks into our break, Blake called and said he missed me and wanted to visit me in Boston. I took that as him possibly realizing he wanted more too. To make sure of it, I pulled out all the stops. I got my hair blown out and a new fresh cut. I wanted to look really good when he arrived. I wanted him not to recognize me, but in a who-is-that-hot-thing-sex-kitten way. I wanted to be more than his cute and cuddly teddy bear, dammit! I wore skintight jeans that made my legs look long and booty perkier, and heels to give me some height. I could tell by how my pants fit that I had already lost the little bit of weight I’d gained over winter break, plus some since he’d last seen me. I felt a little more confident as I stood for my last look at this person in the mirror, my hardest critic, me. “You got this,” I said, trying to ease my anxiety.

      When he arrived, I picked him up at the train. I saw him tugging a suitcase behind him, wearing a black beanie and peacoat, kind of like Paddington Bear, but way more handsome. I parked the car and got out to help him with his bag. First thing he did, besides embracing me, was put his hand around my right wrist. “You are so tiny, Dani. What happened?” Not the reaction I was going for at all, but maybe I could rebound.

      The rest of the weekend was filled with picking at food, laughing, drinking, and then our first kiss. The last night of his stay, I took him to a frat party with a bunch of my college guy friends and got the “powerful” screwdriver, which contained God knows what, to impress him. This resulted in Blake holding my hair as I hurled into the toilet, praying for my life. Not quite what I was going for, either. Alas, this was intimacy with my very first boyfriend.

      Change two: Elizabeth and I lost contact. She had cried and so had I when we’d headed for our respective schools. We both knew we were really leaving and growing up. Though we promised to talk all the time, I never heard from her, despite my many messages to her “Hi, this is Elizabeth, leave a message or don’t bother. Peace out” recording. Eventually I gave up.

      When I heard from my parents—they were very friendly with Elizabeth’s—that Elizabeth had come home from college mid-semester, I was saddened. I would later hear that her friends speculated it was drugs. I could picture her dancing at a house party, the DJ (a.k.a. frat pledge) booming loud music in the background, drink in her hand, cigarette between her lips, brown hair wild, and dripping with sweat. My need to fix things and make everything perfect kicked into high gear. I wanted to go home and help take care of her, apologize for losing touch and giving up, for being a bad friend. But she needed time alone with her parents to regroup, recharge, and rehabilitate.

      During March break, I went to visit her.

      “Hi,

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