It Happened One Night

I slammed Richard's car door and stormed off. He rolled down the window.

"Bitch!" he shouted, loud enough for everyone on my block to hear.

His tires screeched as he hit the gas.

Richard was supposed to take me out on a date and have me home by 12am. I looked at the cracked screen of my cellphone. It read 2am. They were having classic movie night under the stars in Springfield Park, there were showing Now Voyager with Paul Henreid and Bette Davis. I told my mom and brother I wouldn't be out too late. I tried not to replay everything that happened in the car, but I could feel a bruise forming on my back where Richard tried to press me into the dashboard. I still tasted his blood in my mouth from when I bit down on his lip. I had said no, twice, and I meant it. He was lucky that I didn't do more than break his nose, punch him in the nuts and bite his lip.

The straps on my dress were broken.

The kitchen light was still on when I cracked open the door, but the house was quiet. Everyone was asleep. I wasn't religious, but I thanked God Mathew wasn't awake to see the state I was in. He attended the same university as Richard and probably knew exactly what dorm to find him in. Mathew had a temper as it was, always getting in trouble for something. He'd kill Richard and wind up on CNN.

The stairs creaked under my weight. I quickly ascended them. I got to my room, stripped, hoped into the shower and let the steam take me over. The streams of hot water stung the bruises forming on my back. I knew better than to go out with him anyway, my brother warned me. He said Richard had a reputation. I thought that was an ambiguous term. Reputation implied that he knew women, how to work them up and get them all hot and bother, and in the mood. Not drag them into a seedy back alley, park his car and grope them from behind his steering wheel. I was so disappointed. After flirting on the phone for weeks, I'd finally worked up the nerve to ask him out. That might've been where I went wrong, asking him out. Mom always said a woman should never ask out a man, but after taking my freshman feminism course I thought the hell with it. I now had to admit it, I was more than disappointed, but more in myself. I was forcing myself to be something I wasn't.

I never felt like any of the other girls when I was in high school, it got worse when I started college. I wasn't like them, I wasn't girly. They wore heels, I wore sneakers. They wore skinny jeans, I wore sweatpants. They played volleyball, I started a touch football team. Even more embarrassing, I wasn't experienced in a certain department that made the other girls in my dorm grab a jar of Nutella and sit on the couch in a circle, sharing stories... I'd never had sex. I was a virgin. A big, fat, tomboy with a dusty vagina. My roommate asked me if I was gay and I told her no (though I had a mega crush on Beyonce). I made a note to explore that one day, but my reasons were my own.

It's not that I'd never been asked out before, because I had, just not by anyone I wanted to go out with. I didn't date just to be going out on a date. Dad said that it's better to be single and alone, rather than frivolous. And the right guy might see me with the wrong guy and we'd never connect. Of course, maybe dad was being overprotective in a passive way but something about what he said made sense. He held the same beliefs about virginity. He pushed for me and Matt to have healthy sex lives, so he never taught us abstinence per se, he just asked that we wait until we found the right one. No matter who we chose, he asked that we felt it in our heart, that there was more behind it than raging hormones. He waited for Mom. He said he hoped I found a smart man who respected me and cared, the one. I thought Richard would be the one. I was attracted to him, he seemed smart with all of the things he talked about (nothing was more unattractive than a meathead), and he listened to me like he seemed to care. So I thought, I don't know, losing it to him not have been so bad.

Now, I didn't know if I ever wanted to loose it.

My stomach rumbled.

I slid on a pair of basketball shorts and a baggy t-shirt. I put on my comfort socks, the ones I stole from Matt. They came all the way up to my knees. They were for soccer, but every time I missed Matt, I'd wear them and they made me feel safe. I was glad he was home from college for the week. I finally had someone to go see that new action movie with. I descended the stairs before they had a chance to creak again. I made it to the kitchen and smiled proudly as I recalled the look on Richard's face when my fist made contact with his nuts. I laughed. I beamed. I had taken care of myself. Dad would've given me a high-five, after taking his shot gun from the case. I did a happy dance. I was in such reverie I missed the slither of light peaking over the refrigerator door. I bumped straight into it and banged someone into the racks. My brother's college roommate, Devin, poked his head up from the other side.

"The hell?" he said, agitated.

"What are you doing here?" I said, belligerently.

Matt didn't mention he was bringing someone home with him, certainly not Devin.

"Some apology."

He rubbed his head.

"Who said I was giving one?"

So, this is where I say I can't stand Matt's obnoxiously hot douchebag roommate who has mooched around our house every holiday since his freshman year. The first time Matt came home for Fall Break with Devin, I thought Devin was the absolute hottest man alive. I didn't normally pay much attention to Matt's other friends, because they were all the same, all like Matt. This one was different. Devin was smart. Mom liked him the second he passed through our front door. I guess he kind of reminded everyone of dad. He had the same sense of humor as dad, that same boyish grin, they were both tall and Devin even came from the same hometown. What struck me the most about him was how comfortable he seemed to get with our family and how fairly quickly we seemed to get comfortable with him. That was just like dad too, making friends with everyone, even if they couldn't stand him. If dad were still alive, he would've probably loved Devin too.

The year Breaking Bad had just premiered Devin came home with Matt. From the first episode I knew who the show alluded to. He was my favorite poet. Mom couldn't figure out why Walter White's name sounded so familiar to her. At the same time Devin and I both said, "Walt Whitman".

At that moment, I could have sworn I felt a spark.

It might've been cute, if he didn't look so humiliated. A few minutes later I had gotten up to use the bathroom at the end of the hall and overheard Devin in the kitchen asking Matt if I was on Weight Watchers. My brother caught my eye as I walked by them, cheeks flushed. I wondered why it was that the hottest boys were the most douchiest. Ever since that moment, I hated Devin's guts but he became like a best friend to Matt and, by default, like a brother to me. A brother who I wanted to skate out onto a frozen lake and push onto thin ice like in The Good Son. Mom thought Devin was an angel, sent to Matt and our family to bring us together. It was no secret that Matt didn't want to go to college, especially since he had taken the loans and was supposed to start at the end of the summer when dad died. Matt would call home, crying a lot, which I know can grate on even the best roommate's nerves but Devin didn't seem to mind. He wasn't like Devin's other friends, he was comfortable with people expressing their feelings. Mom would call Devin sometimes just to ask him about Matt and she'd wind up on the phone for hours. Still, I harbored anger towards Devin. I'd never forget the sting of his words. Yet, Devin was family.

The way I was feeling after my date with Richard, Devin was lucky I didn't smash the refrigerator door against his head on purpose, but he'd probably ask what was wrong and he was so damn disarming, I'd end up telling him. I shook my head to myself, deciding it wasn't the time. Mom had made fried chicken for dinner. Matt took out the bowl and put it on the kitchen island. He didn't bother to bring down a plate, he ate straight from the bowl. I threw shade out of the corner of my eye. It was unfair how some people could look hot even will doing the most fattiest of things, like standing shirtless in front of a bowl of greasy poultry, nibbling on two drumsticks at once. His body was superhuman. As he swallowed the chicken I could see it slowly make its way down his throat. It traveled past his broad shoulders and caused each tight muscle in his abdomen to clench as it went down. Watching him eat was like watching the Discovery Channel. His perfect, white teeth barred down on the fleshy fried chicken and pulled the meat from the bone with grace. I grabbed a paper towel and reached for the bowl, but he cradled it in his hands like a quarterback. He blocked me.

"Not enough to go around," he said with a mouth full of chicken, but that was a lie.

There were two whole pieces left.

"This isn't your house," I snapped.

He smiled.

"Didn't you have enough to eat while you were out with Richard?"

I grabbed a Coke out of the pantry and smacked him upside the head as I walked out. He cussed under his breath. I wanted to sit in the living room and watch television on the large flat screen, but it was late and I didn't want to wake everyone up. I walked in the opposite direction, flipping Devin the bird as I passed the kitchen again. I hadn't sat in Dad's study since the day of his funeral. I felt a sudden pang of guilt. Abandoning the study felt like I was abandoning Dad. The study was more "our" place together rather than "his". I loved mom, but I had to admit she wasn't my favorite of the two. Every kid had their favorite parent. Mine was dad and Matt's was mom. Dad even said it once, that I was his favorite. Though his room was dark and hadn't been sat in for a while, it still held his warmth. Tonight, after what happened to Richard, I missed my father. I went to Dad's large DVD collection of classic cinema. He was the one who got me into watching black and white movies. It started with his westerns, so he could assert his masculinity, but a majority of his movies were romance and melodramas. His favorite actress was Bette Davis. He said she wasn't traditionally beautiful, but there was something about her that captured a room. He said I was like Bette Davis. Our favorite movie was Now Voyager. I ran my finger along the dusty shelf until I came to the title. Dad let me arrange his DVDs by a dewey decimal system, because I wanted to be a librarian in middle school. I had all titles set up on index cards and I made everyone have their own library card. He bought me a stamp and inkpad and leather-bound stenopad. My librarian kit sat in a dark corner of the room.

I brushed my dusty finger on my shorts and took down the DVD. It wasn't a flat screen, but the movie was just as radiant on dad's outdated tube. I grabbed the quilt mom and I made dad for one Father's day and plopped down onto the couch. I stretched my legs out on the thick cushions and pushed the start button on the remote. The movie sprang to life. It was at the scene when the doctor discovered the cigarettes in Bette Davis' dollhouse, when the door to dad's study creaked. I glanced over my shoulder and frowned.

"What are you watching?" asked Devin.

I didn't say anything. He took that as an invitation to join me. I made absolutely no effort to move my legs so that he could sit. With one arm he lifted my legs high in the air. He sat down and let my legs go. One fell over the edge of the couch, the other landed on his lap. He apparently didn't care. I hissed at him, but he just fanned me away.

He still had that stupid bowl of fried chicken in his hand.

My foot was close enough to his balls, where if I made one swift movement he'd be seeing stars, but I thought that particularly cruel.

"Now Voyager," he said, stuffing his mouth, "I love this movie."

What did he know about Now Voyager?

He paid me no mind. As he watched, the film reflected off his dark eyes. I couldn't get Matt to sit through one minute of a black and white film before his ADD kicked in. It became evident that no matter how hard I glared at Devin, he wasn't going to pay me any mind, so I left him alone. I slid my other foot back under the quilt. Devin grabbed the end and pulled it over his bare chest. Now I had to share my covers. I grumbled and pouted before turning my attention back to Bette Davis.

Something poked my arm.

It was the bowl. There was one piece of fried chicken left and he was giving it to me. I accepted it, eying him as I took a nibble. He stared straight ahead like a zombie, enraptured by Bette Davis.

He definitely wasn't much of a movie talker. I, on the other hand, couldn't stop biting my nails at the embarrassing moments. I used to make dad pause the movie when things got too intense. Sometimes, I ran out of the room. It drove him crazy, but I just couldn't bear the anxiety. Scenes like the one where he found the tag on her dress and discovered her clothes weren't really hers, the part where she was the only single girl at the party and not knowing how to talk to guys, it was too much to see. I felt like me and Bette Davis were kindred in that moment. I knew that humiliation. I didn't go out on dates either, Bette, I didn't know how to talk to boys myself. That was, if you didn't count my botched night with Richard. The movie was gaining some speed. It got to the scene where they missed their ship and had to get a hotel room. My mouth was dry from the chicken. I reached for the soda can and took a sip. When I looked over, Devin was staring at me. He hadn't said anything for the entire movie, why was he staring at me?

I frowned.

"What's wrong?" I said.

"You mind if I have some?" he asked, more sheepishly than usual. I fixed my mouth to say no, but he had offered me the chicken. I stared at the can. I had already taken a sip from it but I handed it to him, expecting him to tilt his head back to pour some into his mouth. He put it right up to his lips and took a long sip, his Adam's Apple balanced along his throat as the he drank thirstily. His eyes shifted towards me as he drank.

I suddenly realized I'd been staring.

"Drink it all, why don't you," I huffed. He arched an eyebrow at me, let out a loud burp and handed me the can. "You're so disgusting."

He gave me that smug Cheshire cat grin, the one that brought out his dimples. I turned the can over in my hand and tried to drink from it casually, but for some reason it didn't feel casual. I could've sworn I saw him glance at me out of the side of his eye again. He shifted his weight and my other foot slipped under his thigh. When I felt his hand wrap around my ankle as he pulled my leg up from under his and placed it onto his lap, my skin tingled. He didn't say anything, he didn't look at me. He just adjusted his self.

He still hadn't moved his hand from around my ankle. His entire body was under the quilt, so I couldn't see his hand, but I could feel it searing into me. He had never really touched me before, probably because I couldn't stand him, but his large, warm hands gave me a strange tugging in my stomach that I'd never felt before. I turned my legs over a little, thinking he'd move his hand, but once I settled into place he put it right back over my ankle. He might consciously be touching me. The thought slipped through my mind before I could catch it, but I pushed it back, ashamed. This was Devin, my brother's friend, mom's adopted son, the guy who thought I was a cow. I looked down at that empty Coke can. A warm feeling spread to my cheeks anyway.

The room went dark as the scene faded to night. Paul Henreid and Bette Davis missed their boat, their cab left them stranded in the mountains, so they had to sleep together in front of a fire for warmth. Paul Henried watches Bette Davis as she sleeps and plants a soft kiss on her mouth. I'm biting my nails.

Their chemistry makes the tension almost unbearable.

Devin cleared his throat to break the awkwardness. As the movie shifted scenes from the night they spent together to the next morning, he asked, "How do you know Richard, anyway?"

The question was so random, it threw me. The mood instantly changed. It was like pouring a bowl of cheerios, taking a bite, and finding the milk had soured. Richard was the last thing I cared to think about.

"What does it matter?"

"He has a reputation, you know."

There was that word again.

"It was just a date," I said.

I left out that it was almost a crime scene.

"Some girls are so desperate," he had started to say. The memory of his Weight Watchers comment smacked me in my skull like a baseball bat. I didn't need criticism. I crossed my arms and attempted to snatch my legs away from him. He held them in place. "Wait, I wasn't talking about you," he quickly added, "I'm just saying that some of the girls that go after him are desperate. They'd have to be. Any self-respecting girl wouldn't be caught dead with a dude like Richard-"

"Do you think a girl who goes after what she wants doesn't have self-respect? Do we have to wait on the man to ask us out?" I tried to keep a balanced voice, but my confrontational side was rearing its ugly head. Matt said I was Rosa Parks and Bell Hooks wrapped in one. "Why is it that men always blame women for their corruption?"

He scoffed.

"Next, you'll tell me that a woman belongs in the kitchen?"

"Yes. She should be barefoot, too. Pregnant if possible."

"That's not funny." But his sarcastic timing was on point.

"I didn't say anything about women's rights, it's just the type of girls who go for Richard have one thing in mind."

"And what's that?"

I sat up straight and turned my full attention on him. His jaw tightened. If he said something, anything off, I'd bash him upside the head with the remote. I couldn't shake how angry I was, but Devin brought the worst out of me sometimes. I may have been overacting, just a tad. Everything with Richard had my nerves on edge.

"Maybe we should watch the movie?" he said.

"Mmhmm."

I turned back to the movie, but I knew that wasn't it. If I knew Devin, that definitely wasn't it.

"So, you expect me to say nothing? You shouldn't be with a guy like him," he said, "you deserve better." I sucked my teeth. He needed to leave the damn study. My cheeks were burning hot. Devin was burying himself deeper and he knew it. He started stumbling over his words in a way I'd never seen before. Usually, he was cool, even while pissing me off. In fact, he never backed down from a fight with me. He loved annoying me. "I'm just trying to warn you that he's not a good guy."

"God, already!" I said a little too loudly. "I know. I know he is an asshole. Ok. I was stupid."

Bette Davis and Paul Henried were on a beautiful veranda overlooking the beach. She knew that they weren't right for each other, that she shouldn't spend the night with him, but he wouldn't let her go. He said that if she ran, something primitive might take over his body. Who knew what was liable to happen? Things needed to cool down, they needed to have a cigarette on it. The music in the movie rose to a swell as Paul Henried and Bette Davis locked lips.

"Why are you always snapping my head off-"

"Just watch the film," I shouted. He shut up.

Paul Henried and Bette Davis were at the airport waiting on a plane to take her back to the ship. As they waited in the lobby, the space between them seemed to fill with bitterness. He was such an asshole for making her fall in love with him. If she had been fat, I wondered, would he still have been so quick to fall in love with her overnight. Would he recommend that she join Weight Watchers?