One: The Thursday Emma Lost Her Virginity

 

      "Page to the Reference Desk." 

      I suddenly woke up sitting at a desk, in the library, in a daze. 

James Joyce’s Ulysses was open in front of me.  I had always wanted to read it, but every time it was open a brief spell of A.D.D. came over me, and my attention became diverted to the tiniest change in the environment.  So, I always ended up closing the book a few pages in. But my failure for reading the book was preceded in my mind by the dream I had, which I found most strange because I rarely remember my dreams. 

      Do dreams really have a subconscious link to our real thoughts, or even the future?  If so what did that all mean: an empty field, breathing on the back of my neck....
      "Page to the Reference Desk." Damn people. 

      I worked at a library.  It was pretty much a do nothing job for good enough money, less than most jobs, but it was all right for doing nothing. 

      "Page to the Reference Desk." I hear you.

I looked at the titles of every book.  So much to read, so little patience.  One virtue I was not blessed with: patience.

My interests have always been too great to satisfy completely.  Psychology, religion, electronics, music, art, chemistry, physics, mythology.  All of these things fascinate me.  I am so selfish.  A hall of knowledge at my fingertips and I sit idle everyday. 
      Walking toward the Reference Desk Holly's look of dismay made me angry.
      "What we're you doing?" she said rudely. 

Your mother.
      "I dropped some books," I said in the brusque tone I only used when I wanted someone to know I didn't like them. 
      "Someone needs help with the copier," she said.

Of course they do, people always need help with that damn copier.

My God, I didn't like her.  Her platinum blonde hair was an eyesore, especially because three days ago it had been black peppered with white.  This woman changed her hair more than people change the channel during the afternoon.  And the way she said, "page" it's so insulting.  I'm not going to be here forever, unlike her. 

She had been there thirty-five years.  She took a job at fifteen and never left.  That's probably why she's so bitter.
      I couldn't see the person who needed help with the copier because a huge pillar was blocking my view; and as I walked over to the copier my hatred for Holly took over my curiosity for the idiot who couldn't figure out the copier. 

People always needed help with that copier.  Stupid people. I hated stupid people.  And it's amazing how many there are in the world. I can’t tell you how many people asked for help with the copier.  They always says, “I’m having a problem with the copier,” even though it isn’t on.  And then they get that bashful look on their face, as if they’re saying, “I knew that...I just couldn’t find the button.” 
      When I rounded the corner everything I had my mind the dream I had before, how much I hated Holly, and stupid people, completely disappeared. 

There she was. 

Standing  at the copier wasn't the old woman or stupid, middle aged, obese man I expected; it was Emma, my ex-girlfriend. 

Damn.

We hadn't broken up long ago.  Long enough for either of us to move on. She had, I hadn't; but it was still two months ago. 

She was beautiful. A slender girl of 5 foot 3; thick, tawny colored hair that always had a “just been burnt” smell, which you think would be sickening, but I grew quite fond of.  

And, of course, her eyes. 

They were an amazing shade of crystal blue, the kind you only see in busted open rocks they sell at a cave gift shop. I’ve only seen that color in one person’s eyes since her, and I’m not even sure that counts. 

The reasons for our breakup were complicated, and looming, since the day I had asked her out, I thought.  But the day I dreaded for months came one day:

I had started out warm that night.  By the end of the night we were both shaking. Nerves for me, I can’t speak for her.  At the end of it all we decided just to be friends. 

That didn't work, I knew it wouldn't.  It couldn't have. 

She ended up almost completely ignoring me, and started dating some guy from the boy's soccer team.  I wished them good luck, because I wanted her to be happy. 

The first part was a lie.
      As I walked toward her, the awkwardness was so palpable I thought it would choke us both. 

It had been like that since the breakup.  Every conversation now became small talk.  Before they had been thought provoking. 

Or insulting.  You see when I like a girl, I have a tendency to make fun of her. I’m not sure why.  It’s never meant to be cruel, but it’s more of like an ice-breaker. 

Insults make great ice-breakers.  And I knew insults that could break a glacier.  I needed that now.
      When Emma turned around she froze and look of terror came over her face. 

"Hello," I said, as friendly as I could. Maybe a feigned smile might ease her into the shock of seeing me. 

It didn’t. 

I thought, all right, this isn't going to be different than any other day when we see each other. 
      "What's wrong with it?"

No comment. 

This is going to be worse than I thought. 

Check if the paper needed to be fill.  It's there. 

Paper jam? Nope.

Toner’s all there. 

"Did you put money in it?" I asked. 

She nodded.  She looked nervous.  More so than usual. 

I thought, maybe, whatever ever she was copying she put in wrong.  That was another stupid person's mistake.  Her hand pushed down mine as I tried to open the copier hatch. That's strange.  Her body wriggled in between the copier and me.  Making it even more awkward because we hadn’t been this close to each other in a while.  A guilty smile came across her face as I stepped back. 
      "You know I really don't need the copy.  I'll just put it back."  Emma was never a good liar.
      "I'll put it back for you."  I said reaching for the book and she slapped my hand away. Whatever was in that copier she did not want me to see it. 
      "No you have to get back to work."
      "That's what I do.  Shelve books."
      "Well, you don't have to worry about this one I can get it.  I think I can put it back where I got it."  She never once looked away from me.  But she never made eye contact. 

“Fine.” I'll see you in a minute, anyway.  

I could anticipate Emma; it was easy.  The best example of that I knew the guy she would start dating, after we broke up, two weeks before they had their first date.

It was something about her eyes; those beautiful, blue eyes; they were easy to read.
      I shot Holly a dirty look when I walked passed the reference desk. 

The bookshelves towered over me as I walked to where Emma was putting he book back.   Looking over the books on the shelf, I waited.  She walked into my field of vision, and looked around to make sure no one was watching her. And she put the book back exactly where I knew she would.  I couldn't see the title yet but she had pushed it in so that it stuck out a bit. 

Perfect. 

I moved as quickly towards the book as she did away from it.  What I thought was going on was cemented into my mind as fact.  I knew what was coming but I didn't want it to.         

I'm not impulsive.  I think before I act; I go over my actions in my head before I go through with them. 

Every once in a while, though, I will be.  And at that moment something came over me.

For an instant I wasn’t myself anymore.  These instances are few and far between but they happen.

I opened to the first page that contained paragraphs on it. 

The page was headed "Prologue".

I cleared my throat with a slight cough and Emma froze in mid-step. 
      "So, you think you're ready to have sex."  My stomach felt like it turned as I read it.

"If this initial question is answered with any hesitation, or reluctance, close the book and walk away, because you're not." 

Emma looked back over her shoulder. 

"Well?....Why even ask?  You were copying the book.” 

I read on:
      "If you're still reading this you are either ready or a complete fool.  Either way it is my job to tell you about sex.  Having sex for the first time is a very big deal, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  There is major question you must ask yourself before you decide to have sex: 

“Will you be able to cope with life after sex?  What I mean by this is that after you lose your virginity life will change immediately. 

“For instance with your partner, not only could it make your relationship stronger, but it also can destroy the relationship.  Will you able to deal with that? 

“Sex can also change reputation.  For women (I say "women" because if your making an adult decision you have the right to be considered an adult, regardless of age) reading this book are you ready to be thought of as a s**t, a w***e, or easy?  For the men (again I say "men" for the same reason I say "women") are you ready to be thought of as inadequate if you are? 

“Are you ready to deal with a disease or even a child if the case may be?  Of course I am only talking of the worst circumstances, but when dealing with sex one must think of the worst circumstances.  Because everything has consequences and if you don’t think about them you’re dumber than a rock.

“Will you be able to handle any, and all, of this?  If by reading this you are having second thoughts, it's okay, just place the book back on the shelf, and come back when you think it's time.  Then, and only then will this book be for you."

I'll never forget the title because, even though I was angry, and somewhat jealous, it struck me as funny:

"So You Think You're Ready to Have Sex?” subtitled “Before You Buy This Book Read the Prologue."  

It’s a good thing this author has a sense of humor.  When writing a book like that you need to have a sense of humor about it, otherwise it’s just facts.

I closed the book and placed it on the shelf, and then an awkward silence followed.  Finally, after what seemed to be two eternities, I said:
      "Well, this was an educational experience." 

Whenever I became nervous, or angry, someone in my head immediately turned on the switch marked “sarcastic a*****e”.  I wanted to say much more.  I couldn't though.  It was like my mouth shut off.  Words waiting for their chance to get out but couldn’t. 

Emma finally said: 
      "Don't try and make me feel guilty." What are you crazy?
      "What, are you crazy?  I'm not trying to make you feel guilty." Was I?
      "Yes you are.  Just because I love Gregg now does not...." I didn't hear the rest of the sentence. 

Love?

Do you actually love him? 

My stomach was doing summersaults inside.  I felt so sick.  I knife could have stabbed me in the gut and the pain wouldn't have changed. 

"Love" had always been a taboo word during our relationship.  We had discussed that sixteen year old kids saying "I love you" to each other was kind of stupid.  Then I realized that I loved her, I was just too afraid to say it.  Maybe if I had I wouldn't have been in that situation, or maybe I would have been there sooner.
      "...Okay?" I tuned in just as she finished.  She was completely facing me now. 
      "What?" I asked having no clue what she said.
      "Oh my God! That's just like you, to stop listening to me."

I always listened to you I thought, but said nothing.  My stomach could have won the gold medal for gymnastics.  She scoffed and I knew she was annoyed with me.  I was still surprised by the book on her reading list and her "love" comment. 

Before walking away, she muttered something under her breath; it sounded like “jackass.” But what do I know? 

As she walked away, I kept my eye on her. 

God she's gorgeous. 

It was the last thought I wanted that have that moment.  But nonetheless it came. 

How could I lose her? 

It was three days before Christmas when this happened.  That was the best Christmas present she could have given me: self-loathing. 

“Page to the Reference Desk!”

People always needed help with that damn copier.

Merry Christmas!!