My mom asked me why I looked so distracted. I’m pretty sure I didn’t respond.
DOSAGE: 4.5 mg. Same dosage. Will decrease next week.
MARCH 27, 2013
Yes, I feel fine. Normal headaches. Normal hallucinations. Nothing new. Well, that’s not entirely true. Something is new.
Catholic schools have a lot of celebrations and recitals that require students to sacrifice valuable class time to practice. We waste an exorbitant amount of time sitting around in church so our homeroom teacher isn’t embarrassed when we have to perform in front of the whole school. We are her responsibility. If we suck, she’s to blame.
In this case, our entire junior class was in church. I was onstage in full costume, including the ridiculous fake crown of thorns, because this was our final dress rehearsal for the Stations of the Cross. The whole thing was a gigantic pain in the ass made worse by Sister Catherine’s insistence that I stand the entire time to try to understand our Savior’s pain. Because getting a leg cramp and an itchy forehead is basically the same as being murdered in front of a crowd of people you’ve known your whole life.
When the last station was done, it was late in the afternoon already. All the nonessential soldiers and narrators had left for whatever sport was having practice that day. Maya had walked off with the other girls to change back into her uniform. I just stood there, messing with my beard, waiting to be excused, feeling grateful that it would all be over by next week.
Sister Catherine looked up at me approvingly and then handed me the key to the tiny storage room behind the church. It had been my responsibility to walk my elongated cross back there at the end of every practice, lock up, and drop the key in the main-office mail slot when I was done. I didn’t bother changing out of my costume first. It was just as deserted as always. All the props and robes were neatly labeled in boxes. Jerseys and old sporting equipment were stacked in a heap to the side.
I rested the cross on the two pegs they’d made for me and turned to walk out when I saw Maya in the doorway. She’d changed back into her uniform already and was holding a blue sheet in her hand, her Mary Magdalene costume. I remember every detail about the way she looked in that moment, but I can’t tell you what she said before she closed the door behind her and walked toward me. I remember knowing that she wanted me in the same way that I wanted her and that she wasn’t going to push me away this time. Even so, I let her come to me. I wanted it to be her idea, not because I was afraid of doing anything she didn’t want, but because I liked the way it felt to be chosen. Not just by anyone—by her.
We didn’t speak the whole time. We undressed each other and then laughed when we realized I couldn’t get my Jesus beard off without the adhesive remover, so I left it on. One of the nice things about being so much bigger than she is, is being able to pick her up like it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done, because it basically is. So I lifted her up and kissed her, holding her against my chest before gently setting her down on the folded costume I’d just taken off.
The really bizarre thing is that I wasn’t nervous even though I knew we were both virgins. I might have been nervous if it had been planned. If I’d had more time to dwell on it. But in the moment I wasn’t afraid of anything. I didn’t worry about not being able to get it up. Not being able to last. Not being sexy enough for her. Not being big enough for her. I didn’t worry about it because I knew I loved her, even though I hadn’t told her yet.
It wasn’t Hollywood sex. Nobody screamed or broke anything, but after a while I felt her body rise and I smiled in relief. Hearing her come with short, excited breaths and watching her eyes open wide was something out of a dream. Especially when she said my name.
Having an orgasm is pretty awesome, but giving Maya an orgasm was the best moment of my life.
Even afterward, neither of us had anything to say. We just couldn’t stop smiling. And it wasn’t weird even though I had my hand on her boob and she had hers on my penis. We stayed like that for a long time before Maya looked at her phone and then looked at me with regret.
“Yeah, we should go,” I said. We got dressed slowly and checked outside the door to make sure no one was there before walking to the front office to drop off the key. I was wearing my regular uniform again, but the Jesus beard was still firmly glued to my face. Every time Maya looked at me, her mouth broke into a grin.
When she dropped me off at home, we still hadn’t talked about what had just happened, but she’d held my hand while she drove. And when she kissed me, she put her hand up to my cheek and said, “See you tomorrow?”
I nodded. We’d had sex in a storage room like it was something we did every day.
It’s probably really strange that I’m telling you this. I don’t know anyone else who would share details of their first time, but honestly, it doesn’t feel that weird. Okay, it’s weird, but maybe that’s one of the nice things about not actually vocalizing these things. I’m not sure I would have ever been able to say any of this aloud to anyone. Writing it down makes it feel more remote, like I can crumple this entry up and destroy it before anyone has the chance to read it. Once words tumble out of your mouth, there’s no room for editing. It’s out there.
Maybe telling you this proves I can have a normal life.
DOSAGE: 4 mg. Decreased dosage.
APRIL 3, 2013
When my grandma was alive, she was the one who made my Easter basket. It always had Peeps, which I’ve never liked, and those big, fat supermarket jelly beans that no one likes. But she also filled it with Cadbury eggs and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. I used to eat them Easter morning before my mom woke up.
After Grandma died, we didn’t celebrate Easter anymore. It was weird enough being an only child in an Italian family, but now we’re the only Italian family in the world that doesn’t do anything for Easter.
This year, though, my mom forced us all to go to church. I think the thought of a heathen child suddenly makes her nervous. Limbo is supposed to be lined with the skulls of unbaptized babies.
Easter Sunday is one of the days people pretend they’re full-time Catholics even when they’re not. It’s the only time we’ve ever put on the big show, gotten dolled up, and acted like we actually agree with what’s going on. It was probably better when the whole thing was in Latin.
Mass seemed longer than usual, more uncomfortable, too, since it was standing room only by the time we got there with the rest of the people who only show up on holidays. Someone stood up for my mom because she’s pregnant, but Paul and I had to lean against the back wall of the church for an hour. I started getting fidgety before the homily, and I spent most of my time avoiding the stained glass. Rebecca sat off to the side of the priest where the deacon normally sits. For some reason, there was no deacon for this mass, so she had the whole bench to herself. She met my eyes and smiled.
I saw Maya there with her whole family, even her mom. Who was basically the Maya of the future. When Maya noticed me standing in the back of the church, she blushed and turned back to face the altar. I couldn’t stop grinning when she did that. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the fact that she got all red and embarrassed. It was that I had made her blush in church. She’d been reminded of what we did in the storage room, and I knew she was just thinking about it in church. On Easter Sunday. In front of God and everyone. And I had been dressed as Jesus.