A New Reflection

38. Not Kissing

After destroying all possibility of moving forward with Ethan in a manner of grace and dignity, I vow not to get involved with any more friends. Instead, I stick with kissing the occasional stranger at parties from time to time.

Ethan rarely hangs out with us anymore, falling farther and farther off the deep end with his drinking struggles. Elia remains close with him and offers the supports she can, but there is nothing much she can do until he decides to get things under control. I attempt to blame myself for pushing Ethan away and causing a rift in our friend group, but both Isla and Elia assure me this is his issue and would have happened regardless.

Startled by the drama I've caused for myself and those around me, I refocus on my studies and activities. On Thursday afternoons, I shuttle over with a group of students to a local elementary school to tutor fourth graders in reading. I have registered for a bunch of elective classes and extracurriculars, including Japanese Tea Drinking, Marimba, Spanish Conversation Club and a volleyball "class."

As the weeks pass, I rediscover my rhythm academically and socially. The grungy hippies with the intricate outfits consisting largely of Patagonia gear no longer intimidate me when they ramble and pontificate in class. I attempt to contribute ideas at least once each class period.

"Should we live it up this weekend?" Elia asks as she strums a series of melancholy chords on her guitar one chilly afternoon. Isla and I are seated hip to hip, pecking at the notes on the Forest lounge piano.

At Elia's question, Isla whips around on the piano bench.

"Oh! We have to stay here this weekend. Danny said he and his roommate are organizing a small thing in their room!" There's a glint of mischief in her eyes, and she instinctively pulls at the bottom of her shirt to expose more of her cleavage.

"You realize he's not here right now?" Elia chides, unamused, as Isla displays her chest with pride. Unaffected, Isla peers down to admire her own shapely bosom ballooning out the top of her shirt.

"You guys like him, though, right?" Isla inquires, searching for affirmation.

"He's so hot," Elia deadpans. Since starting college, I have learned a lot about how sexual preference can shift along a flexible spectrum, but Elia always makes it clear that she is into women and only women. Specifically, one woman—she has been with her girlfriend in New York for over three years.

"I don't really know him that well to give an opinion," I admit, and this is true, although my intuition tells me he is a player and is already leading Isla on.

Danny is absurdly good-looking—tall with jet black hair and almost turquoise eyes, which he uses like drills when he speaks with girls. I don't much like anything about him, least of all his too-perfect physical attributes.

"What about you, Natalia?" Elia asks me. "Got your eyes on anyone? In the state of Oregon?" she adds in sarcasm. They constantly tease me over my long-distance crush on Alex. I still think about him, though I haven't heard a word since he sent me the basketball montage over winter break.

"Not really," I say, sighing for effect. "I think the exhilaration of kissing random guys at parties is starting to wear off, too." We all snicker. I would be embarrassed over the absurdity of my behavior, but I just don't care that much because none of it is serious to me. I know exactly how much to drink in order to have a good time, and I don't pass that limit; with the guys, I never take it beyond kissing.

"Yeah, it can get a bit boring and repetitive," agrees Isla.

"It's rather dissatisfying," I remark, giggling. "But it was fun for a while."