Can't We Be Sweethearts?

When I was 16, I fell madly in love.
It was doomed, of course, as are all first loves.
And of course, I thought it was true love, with she and I destined to be together forever.

The first time I saw Candy, I was surprised. First, because of the fact that there really was someone out in the world who really had the name Candy. (I was a very, very, VERY sheltered child.) But no, as she insisted, going so far as to show me her license: her name really was Candy. Second, the fact that she had green hair; not that I was a stranger to unnatural hair colors or anything.  My high school was one of those progressive, alternative types, where you got to call your teachers by their first names and you could design your own curriculum. However, the few times I had seen girls with orange or blue hair, they were in the pages of one of my classmate’s comic books, or on the head of an angry girl about to read some angry poetry in my Feminism Studies club. (I joined once I found out I would be the only male in the class, thus being a shoo-in to get dates. I ended up being singled out by the club members as the living, breathing example of “corporate, white male oppression.” I soon opted out for the Bird Watching Club.)
But, I’m getting  ahead of myself (and rambling a bit), so I’ll backtrack and explain how I met Candy.

It was my sophomore year, and I was… how to put this… well, I was a loser. Not a dweeb, or a geek, or nerd, but a loser; meaning of course, at least to me, that while I had a bunch of uncool hobbies and interests, at least I had friends to share in them with me. Granted, I don’t know if that’s better or worse, but I’m getting off the subject here.  The point I was getting at was: I wasn’t a shoo-in for prom king or anything like that. That’s how it had been for the majority of my life up until that point, and I was fine with that. Let them run off to their football games and track meets, or to their fancy trips to camp, I would think, I’ve got Stephen King and D&D to keep me company!

And once high school rolled along, I decided that it was time for a change. One say, I took a long look in the mirror and decided that I was better than just serving punch at the dance, or staying at school while everybody else went on field trips. No longer would I be confined to the prison that was the school paper, I was going to bust out and be free! I was going to be somebody, dammit!
Which is just a nice way of saying “Puberty hit like a ton of bricks, and I wanted to meet women.”
Sure, my other friends (all guys, of course) didn’t understand. I mean, we’ve got porn for free on the internet, and all those girls are just stuck up bitches; why try to impress them?

Don’t’ worry, I’ll spare you of the details of my trying to get them to join me in my attempts to get a girlfriend and our eventual falling out, seeing as how this is a story of romance, not nerd rage. (side note: speaking of nerd rage, one of them who ended up leaving the “Nerd Squad,” as we were dubbed by our classmates, confessed that the day after I had stopped talking to them, they brutally murdered my Dungeons & Dragons character. He looked shocked when I doubled over laughing at that news.)

So, at the start of my sophomore year, I found myself with no friends, no sense of style, no hope of ever getting a date. So, I reverted to my nerdy
ways and used what I had learned from my bird watching: I studied the habits of my more popular classmates and tried to mimic them. In particular, I went and bought all of the magazines I saw them reading. Mostly the usual run of the mill stuff: People, Vogue, Sports Illustrated and such. However, I was thrown when I bought Spin, which I saw one of the cool seniors reading. As I flipped through its glossy pages, I was stunned. All the wild fashion, strange band names… it was overwhelming. Following a search of several bands that kept popping up in passing reference throughout the magazine (The Pixies, The Replacements, The White Stripes… a lot of band names starting with “The” in general), I was ever more confused. I mean, I liked it, but… I didn’t know what to make of it.

I decided to spend the weekend after reading thorough the magazine ad nauseum going to the downtown area of where I lived, as that was the “cool” part of town and figured someone there could maybe be my rock and roll Sherpa.

(Yes, I realize how lame that sounds, but as it was my actual thought at the time, I felt the need to include it. Good God, I was lame.)

After going from store to store, not really sure what I was looking for, I found my Shangri-la (again, what I really thought.)  There was no formal sign on the place, but on the window, in neon green letters was the name: RADIATION RECORDS & TAPES.
I stepped inside, chest tight, anxious, unsure of what stood on the other side of the shabby wooden door (painted bright yellow, which reminded me of the Magic School Bus, which led to me getting mad at myself for such a “babyish” thought.)
Inside I was relieved to find it was empty, calming my fears of it my lack of music knowledge would be mocked as much as my inability to throw a ball was at school. As I  looked around from the front of thes tore, I noticed it was an odd layout for a store (I found out later it was a pharmacy before it was a record store, which kind of helped explain it, but it was still kind of weird.) There was a giant wrap-around counter right by the door (painted orange), with dozens of racks full of CD’s, records, and tapes throughout the rest of the store (save for a small stage in the corner and some shelves full of comic books along the far right wall. There was no one behind the counter when I first walked in, and worried the store might be closed. But, I saw the bright “OPEN” sign on behind the counter, as well as the fact that the door was unlocked, I figured it was open, and whoever was running the store was in the back or something.

Worries of breaking and entering put aside, I resisted the urge to go over and see the comics and began scouring the store for albums from the bands I had found out about in Spin. As I was wondering who Guided By Voices was and how they had managed to make so many records, there was a voice right behind me. “Find anything?”
I jumped like a cheerleader in a horror movie, causing the girl behind me to giggle. Pissed, I turned around and was ready to lay verbally lay into her… and that’s when I saw her, and it felt like my heart had was up behind my eyeballs.

She looked like she was a little older than me, no more than 21. She was a little shorter than me, pale, with a tattoo of the star from Super Mario Brothers on her inner arm; she was wearing an old sun dress, like something your great aunt might wear, and had on a pair of work boots. As I mentioned, her hair was green, and in a style I’d remember later on when watching an old Clara Bow movie. She was grinning as she introduced herself. “Hi; my name is Candy.”
I was smiling like a dope as I replied something like: “Flabber jabbie.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, uh… Hi! My name’s Felix.”
“Felix?”
“Uh huh.”
“Hold on… one second.”
She had a little look in her eyes I’d recognize later as her “up to something” look.
Candy went back to the counter. I tried to follow, but she said “Hold on, just stay right there. I want this to be a surprise.”
I stopped and did as she asked, curious to see what it was this strange woman was planning on giving (or doing to) me. For a moment, my brain drifted off into unpleasant thoughts, wondering if I was going to be another victim of the Record Shop Killer, a vicious, sadistic psychopathic serial killer my brain invented at that moment because I am a worrier by nature and have always had an anxiety problem.
As I was scouring the store for possible weapons, Candy came back. Still grinning, though it was really more of a smirk, she said “Now hold out your hands, close your eyes, and you will get a big surprise.”
“Um…”
“What?”
“Do I want the surprise?”
She nodded. I noticed she kept one hand behind her back.
“Erm… ok, I guess.”
“What? What’s the matter?”
“I mean, you’re a stranger and al-”
She laughed in disbelief.
“A stranger? What are you, four? Come on, do you really think I’m going to do something to you?”
“Well, no, it’s just that I-”
She asked, this time in a different  voice, that soft tone women use in comedies when they’re trying to hard to be sexy: “Do you want me to do something to you?”
She accentuated the come-on by brushing a hand down my arm; my brain was screaming for me to make a break for it, but my heart (among other organs,) had me cemented firmly in place.
She withdrew her hand and put an index finger over her closed mouth, in a classic pin-up pose fashion. Then… she laughed again.
“Just messing with you.”
“Heh… right…”
“Aww… you’re blushing! That’s so cute.”
This of course made me blush even more.
“Aw… well, I wouldn’t want you end up looking like a tomato,” she said, as she brought her hand from behind her back and gave me what she had been hiding. “This is to make up for me scaring you.”
It was… a sticker.
Of Felix the Cat.
I looked at the sticker and then back at her.
“Do you like it?”
I nodded.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded
“Can you do anything besides nod?”
I nodded.
She laughed and said, “I think I like you, Felix.”

I like you too. In fact, I think I love you. And not in that usual way reserved for teenaged boys, which they think is love but is really a convenient excuse their brain makes up so they don’t feel so guilty for the tsunami of hormones that is controlling all of their actions. This is real, honest to God love. Which, I know, is insane considering I’ve known you for all of ten minutes and now that I think about it sounds creepy as hell. But… it’s true. I love you. I want us to get married, to have a house in the suburbs, to have a couple of kids together, and to just… grow old together. And I know, I know, you have every right to be creeped out right now; if the shoe was on the other foot, I know I would. But, I just had to tell you that.


That’s what I wanted to say.

Thankfully, my brain vetoed that and kept me from knowing first-hand the tangy taste of mace. Instead, what I managed to sputter out after a lot of staring like a mindless idiot was: “I like you too, Candy.”
“So,” she asked, “do you need any help?”
“Very much so.”
She was a pretty, older woman who was intelligent, thought flirting was fun, had good taste in music and other entertainment, and, most of all, seemed actually self-assured and happy with her niche in life.
I was hooked.

Any and all of my free time was spent at that store. I became something of a second unofficial mascot to the store, the first being  Walter, the black tomcat owned by the owner of the store. The staff and I knew each other on a first name basis, and were always very kind toward me, some going out of their way to teach me about the finer points of the various genres that they loved. (For example, Billy, the friendly redneck, explained the difference between “honky tonk” and “Nashville Sound” country music. Or Felicia, the requisite Goth girl, who introduced me to the wonders of Siouxie and the Banshees and Nick Cave when not busy scribbling away her own dark poetry. I think she’s actually a professional poet now… or a vegan farmer. I can’t remember which. Have to look that up online later. But, that’s not here or there.)
As much as I appreciated the tutelage from these various amateur experts, there was only one knight in shining punk rock armor for me to serve my apprenticeship under, one Yen Sid for my Mickey, one Yoda for my Luke (or Palpatine for my Anakin, depending on which side of the Force you swing for.) Candy.  With her as my tattooed Sherpa (my favorite being either the Wonder Woman logo or Minnie Mouse on either side of her right bicep), I slowly but surely scaled the indie/alternative mountain.

And I wasn’t lazy with what I learned; I applied it to everyday life. I took to writing popular music out of the reviews section of the school paper, to the shock and annoyance of my classmates, preferring to devote space lavishing praise on bands “no one has ever heard of.” (though, I got many a thank-you in the hallway for introducing someone to the Smiths or the Breeders.) I would ignore summer blockbusters crowding the multiplexes in favor of sitting at home watching cult classics on my VCR (still love to watch Plan 9 from Outer Space and Pink Flamingos.) I ignored the glare from my old friends as I scoured the local comic book shop for issues of Love & Rockets and American Splendor. Much to the chagrin of my mother, I was soon forgoing the trips to the mall’s department stores and turning to the Salvation Army and Goodwill for all my clothing needs. I even got grounded for three days for dying my hair blue, leading to my crushing defeat when my father took his electric razor to it and shaved my head to the scalp.   


All thanks to Candy.


(Who, incidentally, picked my spirits up after saying how she liked my new “hairdo.” “Makes you look like…hmm… Ian McKaye!” Which led to her gushing how handsome she thought Ian was. Which led to me feeling giddy that she thought I was, by association, handsome.)
I know, there’s a lot of you thinking that this sounds like the run of the mill story about some kid lost in puppy love, contorting some girl that had moderate interest in him into the love of his life, at least in his mind. That all of this is just the remembrances of oncoming maturity that the narrator, at least at the time, had no idea was going to come down on him like the Golden Gate falling off a crane.
And you’d be exactly right. And that’s the point of this story: this is a universal theme. Be you man, woman, gay or straight, there’s always a first crush, a first love, however you’d like to put it is merely a matter of preference. Whatever name you put on it, there’s some points that ring true in everyone’s story: it’s always someone that you’d only recently met. They have some sort of feature, or trait, or personality that just fascinates you to no end. You gladly go out of your way to sacrifice for them, bend over backwards to please them; do anything they ask in the hopes of getting a smile or some simple form of acknowledgement. Something from your object of affection that says, “Yes, in spite of all of those nights you spent staring up at the ceiling, playing those records that I got you over and over again until the words and music melted together into some sort of seamless, muddled concoction that swims around in your mind as you fret and worry that I don’t even consider you a living being, the opposite is true. You are a living, breathing human, who has done enough to warrant my affection, if only for this moment. And I thank you for it.”
Which, when you look back on it, makes you feel as dull as a bag of hammers; but in the moment, it makes total sense.

Speaking of looking back on things: in retrospect, it was probably obvious to everyone at the record store that I had a massive crush on Candy; that goes double for her. Some of them wouldn’t even bother talking to me, just smile and point me in the direction Candy was in at the store. A few, like Felicia, would grin and call out (loud enough for the whole store to hear, of course) “Oh Caaandy, your little boy toy is here!” Then everyone would laugh and laugh, with the women taking time to note how adorable I looked while blushing heavily. I’m sure they found it “cute” or “sweet,” or some such adjective people attach to such a thing in order to spare the one with the crush’s feelings (or the “chrushee,” if you will.) Which, naturally, makes it all the worse if things should fall apart, as they did for me.
As attractive and lovely a person as Candy was, I guess I should have thought it more of note that she seemed to lack a boyfriend. I mean, I did notice that there was no guy hanging around, I just took it to mean I had less to worry about in my attempts to impress/woo her. I even went out of my way to bribe a few of the other employees to confirm that, indeed, she had no boyfriend. Whether they told her about it later on, I don’t know. I assume they probably did, but she was just too nice to mention it.
I will never forget that day. It was a Saturday, it was a bit cloudy outside, but all in all a pretty nice day. I had just gotten my pay for the “editing” I did of my classmates papers (which amounted to them paying me $20 a piece for me to write their English or History papers. It was a rather booming business, and I’m kind of shocked the teachers never caught onto it, to be perfectly honest.)
I walked into the store to see that the lights had been darkened a little bit; there were a few customers inside, but not as many as there usually was. After noticing the posters up on the wall, I was reminded Sonic Youth was playing that night, and most of the other regulars were camped out either in front of their hotel or near the club they were playing that night in hopes of getting a photo or autograph. All the better for me, I figured; less I have to worry about Candy & I being interrupted by some jackass looking for a 45 of Talking Heads. “You know, before they sold out and went all commercial. Fucking… David Byrne in a giant white suit. Ugh; horseshit.”
There was a  new record playing on the store’s PA system, but I soon recognized it as that band Tegan & Sara, a new favorite of Candy’s, who had being going on and on about them a few weeks ago while playing me various songs, which was her method of introducing me to new singers and bands. At first, they just sounded to me like one of those angry woman with an acoustic guitar that got signed after Lilith Fair hit it big.  But… they grew on me; they had a real talent for melody, their lyrics were full of the sort of melodramatic angst I secretly loved, and there was something charming in there soft, high pitched harmonizing. And as luck would have it, my favorite song of theirs was playing: “And Darling.”

Creep up and tell me that you
You love me more each time you
Look into my eyes, I feel like
I know you don't mean to be mean
I'm sure you know the same for me
When you creep up and tell me
Darling

There was nobody behind the desk, so I went to the backroom.

You slip your hands inside my pockets
Tell me nothing else would do
Without me, you can't live and
You slip your heart into my chest

I saw Candy, who had her back turned to the door. “Hey, what are you-”
I stopped seeing someone was with her; a tall, purple-haired woman. The mystery woman had on a striped tank top, some black jeans, and some dark purple sneakers on. Oh, and she also had her tongue buried down Candy’s throat.


This thing that breaks my heart and
Darling
You break my heart each time you
Darling
This thing that breaks my heart and
Darling
You break my heart each time you

I didn’t handle that revelation as best as I could have. The tall woman happened to open her eyes and saw me, breaking away from the kiss to say “Uh… hi?”
Candy turned at that, her look switching from confused to surprise at the sight of me, open mouthed and wide eyed, standing in the doorway.
“Oh, Felix! Hey, when did you get here?”
“Just now,” I answered in a spacy voice.
“That’s what I was guessing… I mean I didn’t hear you- not important. Come over here; I want you to meet someone.”
I walked over to the two of them, legs jellified and more or less moving on their own.
“Felix, this is my girlfriend, Lydia. Lydia, this is Felix.”
“Ohhh,” Lydia said with a laugh, “ok. This is Felix.”
“Well, that’s what I just said.”
“I know, I’m not dumb. I was saying it in understanding.”
She stuck her hand out to me.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Felix. Candy talks about you all the time, you know.”
I shook her hand as I mumbled about how nice it was to meet her. I tried to act as if I was fine; even though I was sure I looked like I had just seen a ghost, and was currently feeling a strange mixture of sadness, anger, and as though I was going to blow chunks.
Lydia stage whispered to Candy “You’re right, he IS cute.”
The two of them laughed; I forced myself to smile.
“So,” Candy asked, “ready to go see Sonic Youth? Lydia is a bartender at the club, and she says she could get all three of us in, no problem.”
Lydia smiled and nodded.
“Um,” I said, “actually, I don’t feel so well. I think I need to go home. It was nice meeting you, Lydia.”
I turned and tried to walk calmly for the door, but ended up hauling ass out of the place, as though I was a slutty cheerleader getting hunted down by a psychopath with a hatchet. I heard Candy calling out for me from behind, but I just kept going. All I wanted to do at that moment was going home, put on my Neil Young records (my mom’s an ex-hippie. Don’t judge me,) and just bawl my eyes out.
And that’s exactly what I did.
After that, I didn’t go out that much for  a while. My routine consisted of: drift through school, eat dinner, stay in bed. And the music I listened to pretty much read like a cry for help: The Smiths, Joy Division, Burt Bacharach, David Bowie, R.E.M., Al Green, and that king of depressed music, Hank Williams.
Three weeks or so into this wallowing in self-loathing, there was a knock on my bedroom door. “Felix, honey? It’s your mom.”
I sighed, figuring I had best brace myself for another long speech on how it was perfectly natural to be having all sorts of emotions, how she went through the same thing when she was my age, and how she was always there to listen if I wanted to talk about whatever it was that was on my mind.
“Yes mom?”
“Could you come unlock the door? I have someone that wants to talk to you.”
“It’s not a therapist, is it?”
“No… but she says she knows what’s wrong, and she can help you.”
I got up off the bed and unlocked the door. As I swung the door open, I asked “It’s not one of those guys from your yoga class, is it?”
My mom was standing there, her usual chipper, flower child grin on her face.
And behind her was Candy.
Candy waved and said “Hi there.”
My mom looked at her, then at me, and then said “I’ll just leave you two alone.”
She slipped out from between us and headed out of the hallway.
Candy stood there, smiling at me; I tried to say something, but all that came out of my mouth was strings of flabbergasted gibberish in between stunned silence. Following a few moments of this, Candy asked “Could I come in? Or, is standing in a hallway the new cool thing. ‘Cause I mean, I thought I was pretty hip, but…”
“Right, right, uh… come in. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you.”
She walked into my bedroom and I found myself suddenly disregarding all my feelings of angst and became embarrassed by her surprise visit, hoping that my room looked cool enough to her, that it wasn’t too much of a pigsty to be off putting…
“I like your bedroom; looks a whole lot better than mine did.”
I grinned as I closed the door behind us.
“Thanks.”
She took a seat in in the old office chair at the desk mom had got me a few years ago. “I especially like the poster of Beck over your bed. Where did you get that?”
“Oh, they had them all pasted up everywhere when he came to town.”
“Ah, snatched it, huh? Nice.”
“Well, I mean, it was a 21 and over show, so… thought I’d get some kind of souvenir.”
Candy nodded.
“Understandable… though… over the bed… kind of odd choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, outside of the fact that it looks like you worship him (which, you could do a whole lot worse in heroes, don’t get me wrong,) it’s just…”
I asked “Just what?” as I sat down on my bed.
“How to put it… I can only imagine the things that poster has seen.”
She laughed as I felt my face get hot.
“Aw… I see you don’t hate me after all.”
“… I never said I hated you.”
“Well… you know, usually when someone takes off running like the cops are after him, even when you’re calling for them to stop and come back… your mind can’t help but wonder…”
“…”
“Silent treatment, huh?”
“…no, I just… I… uh…”
“Struggling for a comeback?”
“Uh huh.”
She smiled in that way she had that just made my guts melt.
“Don’t worry about it. I kind of had a little speech prepared for when I for when I got here, so… not trying to be all bossy or anything…”
“No, no, go ahead. I insist.”
“Oh, you’re so polite.”
I blushed again.
“I try.”
“I’m serious; that’s one of the reasons I like you. You’re way more polite than the most of the people I met. Hell, you’re more polite than most of the people my age… but, that’s not the point right now.”
She put her hands on her thighs, exhaled and said “Ok… here we go.”
I nodded, not really sure of what else to do.
“Ok, Felix. After you walked in on me and Lydia, I kind of figured out what got you so upset… well, Lydia had to point it out, but… well, you know what I’m trying to say, right?”
“…”
“Ok, let me try this another way: you have a crush on me, don’t you?”
“…”
“It’s ok, you can tell me. It would just be between you and me.”
“… I guess I kinda do…”
She grinned.
“Uh huh. I mean, I knew, but I just wanted you to be honest.”
“You knew?”
She nodded slowly.
“How?”
She chuckled, which made me move away from her, looking away from her in embarrassment. I looked back when I felt a hand on one of my hands.
“Felix, I wasn’t laughing at you, I was laughing at the question.”
“So, you were laughing at my question then.”
“Well, yes, but… you have to understand: a blind man could see you had a crush on me.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know: the way you always hang around the store for hours and hours. Or, the way you always used to ask the other guys at the store if I was working that day. Or how about all those gifts you’d get me?”
“Um…”
“I mean, the bouquet of flowers on my birthday alone…”
“Hey, you said you liked baby’s breath!”
“I do, I love it. And I love that you went and bought me a whole bouquet of it. It was sweet… just like you. And that’s what everybody loves about you, Felix: you’re very sweet natured. Not to mention, kind, funny, very sincere; and I know that you are going to make a whole lot of girls happy later in your life. But, it’s not going to work like that between us. We’re friends; that’s it. I mean, you’re a great friend, but… we could never date.”
“Because you’re a lesbian?”
“I was gonna say difference in age, but, yeah that’s a big part of it.”
My face dropped as I mumbled something about how I understood.
“Hey, hey, no need to get all ‘sad boy’ on me. That’s not a good look, fella.”
She took both of my hands into hers and gave them a squeeze.
“Smile, dammit.”
I forced myself to grin; this made her squeeze harder. Unaware that she had a grip Sasquatch would envy, I winced and began to whimper a little. Still grinning, she said “Now, give me a real smile, unless you want me to make this worse.”
“How could this get worse?”
“Does the phrase ‘titty twister’ mean anything to you?”
I grinned a big, stupid grin. Candy laughed and stopped the pressure, but still held my hands.
“Much better.”
“Could I have my hands back?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“In case you get all mopey on me again. Plus, I read somewhere that if you have something important to tell someone, it’ll sink in better if you hold their hands and make direct eye contact.”
“Where’d you read that?”
“Eh, I think Spin, or Vogue… or maybe Psychology Today?”
“You read that?”
“What? I’m smart than I look.”
“Well, I, um…”
She laughed.
“Gotchya.”
“That you did.”
“Ok. Back to what I was saying. I realize that this isn’t how you pictured things going with us. I know, it hurts when your first crush ends badly. Believe me, I know. But you can’t let this define your life. Believe me, when you move on from this, you are going to be amazed how many girls are into guys like you. But you have to put yourself out there. And you have to get past this. Trust me. A guy pining for the girl he fell for many years ago… no es bueno.”
“… wow. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“And I hope I wasn’t too weird with all the… gifts and everything.”
She had an amused look on her face at that.
“No, it wasn’t weird; it was flattering.”
“Really?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Wow.”
“I mean, if you were creepy about it and like, stalked me, followed me home and all that, it would be a whole ‘nother thing. But… you were always respectful about it. And I mean, you know, you’re not the worst looking fellow in the world.”
“Ah, you’re just saying that.”
“Uh, no I’m not. You’re a handsome fellow; deal with it… and you look adorable when you blush like that.”
“Oh jeez.”
“Of course, after seeing your mom, I see where you get it from now…”
‘And I don’t think I like where this was going.”
“What? What’d I say?”
“Well, I mean… you do… uh…”
“Oh,” she said with a smirk, “because I’m a lesbian, you figure I want to do dirty things with your mom, huh?”
“… I wouldn’t put it in those words exactly, but, yeah…”
“Yeah, I get that a lot. Don’t worry, I’m not out to bed your mom… I mean, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed or anything…”
“Please stop.”
“I’m just saying, that’s an attractive lady.”
“Oh God.”
“And I never have been with an older woman before… hmmm… I’m sure Lydia would understand. Your mom didn’t have an ‘experimental’ phase in college, did she?”
“Well, she was a hippie and oh God, I regret saying that.”
“Oh… so, a lot of ‘free loving,’ huh? Oh, I’m so in there.”
“Please, shut up, I… don’t want to think about that.”
“Come on, you know I would be the best stepmom ever.”
I put my face in my hands and let out a groan; after Candy finished laughing, she said “I’m sorry, I just wanted to see how far I could push it. I promise, I won’t flirt with your mom.”
“Thank you very much,” I replied with my face still in my palms.
“Don’t mention it.”
I looked up from my hands and said “And you’re sure you weren’t bothered by me hanging around you all the time?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Yes, I’m sure. If anything, I should be apologizing to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I never let you know I wasn’t playing for your team.”
“Well… that’s not really your fault.”
“Yes it is. I was just all caught up in my little ego trip, I didn’t even stop to think about your feelings. ‘Oh, how charming. The poor boy pines for me.’ But, at the same time, when I did think about telling you, I would get worried about you getting your feelings hurt… kind of a Catch-22 sort of deal. So, in my own long, drawn out way, that’s I didn’t tell you.”
“Oh… well… you didn’t have to explain your reasons.”
“Yes I did. That’s what friends do.”
“Ah. Right. Thank you.”
“And thank you for letting me get that off my chest.”
“…um… as long as were being honest, can I admit something?”
“Sure.”
“Um… ok. Even though I’m sure this won’t end all that great, it’s… you shared with me, so I feel like I should return the favor. Not to mention that this is something I’ve never told anyone before in my life. And I-”
I was cut off by the sting of her squeezing my hands.
“Oh God, ow, ow, ow…”
“Just say it already! You know I won’t judge you.”
“Ok, ok. But will let go of my hands first?”
“Are you going to say what you have to say if I do?”
I nodded.
She let my hands go.
“All right, now spill it.”
“Ok.”
I sighed.
“I’ve never kissed anyone before.”
She gave me a look of feigned contempt.
“Really? That’s all?”
“… yeah, I guess so.”
“And what’s so bad about that?”
“It’s just… I see everybody else at my school making out or kissing with each other… I see people out in town kissing… I saw you and Lydia kissing…”
“But how does that affect you?”
“Uh…”
“Does it make you any less of a person?”
“No, I guess-”
“Does it mean you don’t get to enjoy all the same things everybody else does?”
“No, bu-”
“Then why does it bother you so much?”
“I just… I feel lonely sometimes. I mean, even the mean, fat, ugly guys in the marching band have girlfriends… but I don’t.”
And then, my body deciding to show off what a manly man I was, I began to sniffle and sob.
As the first tear or two slipped down my cheeks, I heard her say, “Aw… come here.”
She opened up her arms and pulled me into a hug. And even though I was well aware she was not interested in men in any way, and I knew it was the type of hug friends share with one another… damn, it felt good. And her hand rubbing small circles in my back was just icing on the cake. She muttered reassuring, kind things in my ear about how I was a wonderful person, how lucky the girls would be that I would date, and how all of my classmates were a bunch of over-eager whores who let their hormones control them and that the majority of them would end up married with children and stuck working some dead-end job for the rest of their life before they were 25.
Following a few minutes of that, she let me go.
“Better?”
I nodded, letting out a small sniffle.
“Good. Now, dry your face off.”
I reached over, grabbed a shirt off the floor, and wiped the tears away.
“Better?”
“Better. I don’t like to kiss people who’ve been crying.”
I know I had to look shocked as hell, judging from her chuckle.
“I’m sorry, could you say that again?”
“Well… you said you had a problem. I’m your friend, so… I’m going to help you with that problem.”
“But… but… my problem is kissing.”
“I know.”
“And… you said you were going to help me with it.”
“That’s right.”
“Which means… you’re…”
She finished: “Give you your first kiss.”
“But, but… you don’t like boys!”
“Not like that, no. But, I also don’t like seeing my friends unhappy, so, hey, why not? Besides, it’s kissing; not like I’m we’re gonna get all ‘hot and heavy,’ or anything.”
“Huh… well, I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Felix?”
“Yeah?”
“There is a hot woman, in your bedroom, more than willing to kiss you. Would you like for her to do so, or would you like to walk around feeling all sad and bad for yourself?”
“Uh, the first thing please.”
“Good answer! Now, just sit still… and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Ok.”
“And close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“I dunno why, it’s just… it’s weird to have your eyes open when your kissing someone.”
“It is?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I dunno, I guess nobody really wants to look at one another while they’re smooshing their faces together. Look, do you want to kiss or not?”
“I do.”
“Then shut your eyes.”
“Right!”
I closed my eyes…





Then I woke up.