September 13th, 2005
The room ripples with laughter. Everyone I know is present. The room is filled with friends from school, familiar faces from childhood. There's music, games, and food, a party of some sort. What are we celebrating again? I can't remember... I try to relax and join the fun, but no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to connect with anyone. Why is everyone so happy?
I know this place. I know these wood-paneled walls, this retro bar that serves as storage and collects dust. I've been here before, in the basement of a high school friend. Suddenly, I'm fourteen again, which must mean...
"What's wrong with your arm?"
My friend Gene takes the stool next to me, gesturing to my arm. He stares at the map of angry, red lines on the inside of my left arm. I glance down and realize that I've forgotten to wear a shirt with long sleeves. I'll just deny it's there.
"It's nothing," I reassure him in what I hope is a nonchalant way. Gene doesn't believe me and grabs my wrist. His eyes widen with horror as he realizes my injuries are self-inflicted.
"Why?" he exclaims, pleading. "Why have you done this to yourself?"
I try to snatch my arm away, but his grip is tight.
"You wouldn't understand," I retort. "Unlike me, you have nothing to hide."
How do I tell him that I deserve this punishment? How do I tell him I'm not good enough? How do I begin to explain that, though the physical pain of the blade is intense, the relief is instantaneous? That, though the cuts leave ugly scars, I prefer them to the emotional wounds that no one else can see...
"Leave me be," I tell him, wrenching my arm away. "I'm not worth it."
"Bullshit," he snaps, but his face begins to blur. The music fades, and one by one the people around us begin to disappear.
"Gene?" I ask to the darkness. "Is anyone there?"
I jolt awake with panic. Not this again.
My cheeks are wet with tears I didn't realize I was crying. I blink them away, trying to wake up. Drawing deep breaths, I use cues from my room to ground me back to reality. Sabrina's alarm clock. My guitar against the wall. The weight of my blanket over my body.
A dream. It was just a dream. Most of the scars have long faded, and I am no longer that person... but I'm haunted, nonetheless.
Instinctively, I lift my left arm and run my fingers over the now-smoothed skin. Only one particularly stubborn scar remains, a slightly darkened spot serving as a reminder of a narrowly avoided path from my past. I shudder as I feel a phantom itch in my arm, beckoning me to taste a relief that I now know is both temporary and deceptive. I rarely experience phantom itches anymore so why now, after all these years?
I drop my head back into my pillow and close my eyes.
Back then, Ba was under constant stress to outperform his colleagues and he worried incessantly about how he'd fund our college bills while sending money back home to Nai-nai in Taiwan. His temper became explosive and his standards for our academic performance leapt to new highs. Ma and Lex and I dealt with it in our own ways. Ma was codependent, appeasing Ba however and whenever she could. Lex silently bore the blows and screams, but he was so softhearted that the tears would spill anyway. I never intended to make cutting a habit -- but it became my outlet when the pressure was too much.
There's a cost to being in control, and at the time the sting of the blade felt like a small price for me to pay.
Eventually, the scars became harder and harder to hide. By the time my ge-ge Gene discovered my secret, I was too tired of hiding to lie to him about it. If there are angels among us that walk the earth, Gene was mine. I would not have healed if he did not give me his friendship that year.
I listen for the rise and fall of Sabrina's breaths as she sleeps in the bunk above mine and breathe until my heartbeat slows back to normal. These memories are heavy and painful, and they have an uncanny ability to visit me when I least expect it. So, why now? Is it because I'm stressed?
My first chemistry exam is right around the corner, and my recent performance in class hasn't been stellar. Even though Ranjit offered to study with me, I'm scared it won't be enough. I need to push myself even harder if I want to get a good grade. I should wake up earlier to review my notes... perhaps then, I'll get the extra edge I need.
I exhale, finally settled. I slide out from the covers and drop my feet to the floor. Now that I'm up, I might as well start my new plan today.
---
After a hectic morning of rushing from class to class, I make my way wearily back to the dorm. My stomach gurgles with hunger as I pass the chiming bell above Cardinal Hall, ringing the lunch hour loudly across campus. I quicken my pace through the lower Lawn, passing fat, puffy hydrangeas, and decorated shrubs as I approach east campus.
Up ahead, near the Cooper Student Center, a group of students cluster around a table with a bright display. Several in the group distribute hot pink flyers and water bottles. A large yellow sign that reads, "PRAYER NIGHT THURSDAYS, CONDOR 9PM" hangs from the table in giant block letters.
Interesting. My empty stomach complains again and I sidestep the group, wanting to avoid the crowd.
"Hi there! Are you interested in coming to our prayer group this week?"
A pretty girl with curly, auburn hair smiles brightly at me. She peers at me while holding a stack of pink flyers in her arms.
"Um..."
I trail off, unsure of how I want to respond.
"Here's a flyer in case you decide to come," the girl says kindly. "We're there every week, and everyone is welcome. We put on some music, and people are invited to receive prayer. And if you're anything like me, then sometimes it just really helps to give God your burdens. Anyway, I hope to see you there!"
She passes me a hot pink flyer, which I take it out of politeness. She waltzes off to greet another pedestrian before I can thank her, so I slowly resume my route.
I glance down at the small notice in my hand. I haven't been to a church service since coming to college, not that I've spent much time looking. And it has been a while since I've participated in anything related to faith. Ma would be disappointed, but she's not here to tell me what to do. In any case, I must stay focused on my studies. The last thing I need right now is to be overcommitted.
I fold the pink flyer into a small square and shove it in my back pocket. A dull sense of guilt lingers in my mind, but I ignore it.
---
I hunker down at my desk over the next several nights, working on the problem set from the Hahn from Hell. While I grapple with rate constants, equilibriums, and endothermic reactions, Sabrina is out playing volleyball pickup games and trying yoga classes or staying out late with friends. I leave the door open just so I don't feel so alone.
However, Sabrina decides to stay in on Thursday night. She and I sit back-to-back at our desks, attempting to work. Even with the portable fan running on the highest setting, the air in the room remains muggy and thick, making it difficult to concentrate.
"Why is it so damn hot?!" Sabrina grouses, grumpy now that she finally has homework.
I'm too hot to respond. Even for the end of September, this humidity is excessive. I pinch the front of my white t-shirt and fan myself slowly. My gray sweatpants are scrunched up to my knees, not that it makes any difference. I press my bare feet against the cool tile of the dorm floor for some relief and stare at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen. At this rate, it'll take hours to finish my lab report.
A presence fills the frame of our door. It's Tim, our resident advisor.
"Good evening, ladies. There's a dorm event downstairs if you need a break," he discloses.
"What's the event?" Sabrina grunts crossly.
"I don't know. Doralis is in charge. It's National Hispanic Heritage Month, and knowing Doralis, it's probably something along those lines," he responds, stifling a yawn. "Should be fun."
"Je suis occupé," Sabrina sniffs, unconvinced. She turns her attention to her computer screen, grumpy and disinterested.
I give Tim an apologetic look. Even though his pitch for the event was quite terrible, I know he's trying to do his job as a resident advisor.
"No thanks," I smile politely. "We've got a lot of homework tonight."
Tim shrugs. "Suit yourselves. Come down if you change your minds."
As Tim leaves, I instantly regret my decision to stay put. What if there's food downstairs? It wouldn't be a bad idea to socialize with some new people from our building. But old habits die hard, and I can't seem to leave my homework just yet. With a sigh, I drag my eyes back to the screen and attempt to finish my sentence for what feels like the hundredth time.
The box fan whirrs loudly as silence falls in the room again.
A few minutes later, Zac saunters into our room.
His hair has grown since he buzzed it four weeks ago, and he's wearing his old high school track t-shirt and gym shorts. His eyes travel from my face to the pile of books scattered across my desk. Without warning, he lunges forward.
In one swift movement, he pulls my chair from my desk, swiveling me around to face him. His hands shoot out before I can blink and he lifts me out of my chair, slinging me over his shoulder like I'm a child. My arms dangle towards the floor as my world flips upside down.
"What are you doing!?" I shriek, heart pounding.
Zac's arm loops around the back of my legs, firm and strong. I try to ignore the swooping sensation in my stomach as I push against him in attempt to wriggle free.
Sabrina's head whips around and she gawks at us. A smile creeps slowly onto her face as her eyebrows disappear into her hairline.
"No more studying!" Zac announces, shuffling towards the doorway.
"Put me down!" I protest, feeling my face burn. Who does he think he is?
"Nope! You need to have fun!"
"How is this fun?!" I squeal, trying to figure out what to do with my hands. "You can't carry me like this, put me down!"
"I'm not letting you go!"
He tightens his grip and maneuvers us through the exit, taking care not to bump into the wall. Blood rushes to my head as I peer up at Sabrina and my room disappearing behind us.
"You can't just force me to come with you!" I object hotly, feeling embarrassed and slightly self-conscious. His hands inch dangerously close to my rear.
"You can't just always study," he counters, giving me a playful shake.
Zac carries me down the two flights of stairs straight to the dorm lounge, where Latin music blares and a large crowd of people are already gathered. There's clapping and cheering as we enter the lounge. He sets me down gently on my feet and I quickly step away from him, attempting to fix my hair and stop my face from flushing.
You jerk, I mouth crossly at him. But his full lips stretch into an easy, triumphant smile.
"Welcome, everyone! Tonight, we are going to learn how to bachataaaa!"
A curvy woman with black hair and chocolate-colored skin claps her hands and addresses everyone. I recognize her as Doralis, the hall director in charge of our dorm. Her eyes sweep across the room with excitement. "The bachata is a dance that originated in the Dominican Republic, the home of my people," she smiles. "To kick off National Hispanic Heritage Month, I am going to teach you how to dance the bachata! Now, who wants to volunteer first?"
There are a few students here that I recognize, but none from the second floor. I huff and cross my arms over my chest and stare at the walls, avoiding all eye contact.
But Doralis trains her gaze on us, zeroing in like a hungry predator. "How about the two of you?"
Oh no, I think to myself. No, no, no—
Before I can open my mouth to protest, Zac reaches for my hand and tugs me towards the center of the room. His smile is wide and he's oozing a kind of confidence that makes my heart quicken. He's totally comfortable with the situation, I realize.
The students and resident advisors howl and whistle with approval. As my face heats up, Zac's grin only broadens.
"The bachata is a sexy dance!" Samanta says suggestively, rolling her upper body. "It is very easy to learn, with only four steps. Watch!"
She adjusts the volume of the music and begins to move. My eyes round with alarm at the way she sways and snaps her hips every few steps to the right and then to the left. Her movements are sensuous and fun at the same time. She casts a smile in our direction as she dances.
"Ladies, it's all about your hips," she says smoothly, "and gentlemen, your shoulders. Make sure one of you leads, and the other follows. Get close and comfy. Now you try!"
I begin to panic as I realize what Doralis is asking us to do. My body freezes – I can't move the way she moved with Zac, of all people—
Zac pulls me close and places a hand on my waist. He begins to lead, stepping twice to the right, and then to the left, giving me no choice but to follow. His eyes twinkle as we begin to move together. My heartbeat accelerates as he closes the distance between us. He's done this before, I think reassuringly to myself. That's the only explanation why he's so good at this. How else would he know how to move this way with someone? And why is it so hot in this room?
I keep my eyes fixed on our feet, not wanting to miss a beat, or let him see how flustered I am. But Zac has no airs about how silly we look, and his smile seems to grow with every indication of my discomfort. He's thoroughly enjoying himself, that much is for certain. I sneak a quick glance and catch him watching me with amusement. Dancing the bachata in sweatpants in front of a room of strangers with a boy I've only known for a month is not how I expected to spend my evening, but then again it's not a normal evening and Zac is not just a normal boy. He makes me feel safe enough to let go, I realize. Despite my initial reservations, I smile. Sensing a drop in my resistance, Zac chooses the moment to spin me away from him.
I'm so caught off guard that I burst out laughing. I'm not sure what's more surprising – the fact I feel lighthearted and free, or the fact I haven't yet stepped on his feet. He twirls me back into his arms, his expression bright.
Doralis clucks with approval. "Everyone on the floor now!" she exclaims, clapping her hands.
Students hop up from the dorm couches and join Zac and I in the middle of the room. Fascinated, I watch as everyone partners up, stepping and snapping their hips to the catchy music. Zac touches my hip, wanting permission to keep dancing. I respond by smiling and lifting a hand to his shoulder. This time, when he spins me again, I'm ready.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur. Zac and I dance several more times together and mingle with others from our building. Eventually, we make our way over to a side table where a huge glass bowl of cold horchata sits beside small, colorful bowls of chicharrones, plantain chips, and a variety of chocolates spread over a tablecloth emblazoned with the Dominican Republic flag. Zac and I sip cold horchata in the corner while fanning ourselves with our hands. The two of us lean against the wall and watch the dancing crowd. I smile, feeling content and happy in a way I haven't felt in a long time.
I catch him watching me. "Let's go," he says.
"Okay," I reply.
The lively music disappears behind us as we slip out of the lounge. We walk the length of our building and exit through a side door. Outside, the evening air has somewhat cooled. I follow Zac down the steps – he's led us to the back of the building facing the Swan Hall parking lot. He picks a spot on the curb and sits, motioning for me to join him.
The concrete is cool beneath my bare feet, and the crickets are singing their song. I lower myself next to him and look up at the night sky to admire the stars. After a beat, Zac speaks.
"So, I'm really attracted to you."
His eyes are soft in the moonlight. His confession is not surprising, and somewhat unexpected. I've also wondered about the unacknowledged ease and closeness between us these past few weeks. Why me? And what are we even doing? Where is this going?
He takes a breath and continues. "I don't really want anything to happen. I'm not looking to be in a relationship right now. But... I just wanted you to know."
He holds my gaze. Even under the night sky, I can tell by his eyes he's being genuine and that his guard is down. His honesty is disarming. Is that what this is? An attraction? I was also attracted to him from the start, at least physically. But our friendship is beginning to feel like something else. He already seems to know what he wants, but I don't know what I want. How are these conversations supposed to go?
"I'm... attracted to you, too," I murmur. It's the truth – he deserves to know that much.
His warm, brown eyes are open, hiding nothing. He waits for me to finish.
"And... I guess I don't want things to change, either."
"Okay," he smiles, seeming relieved.
"Okay," I echo.
Zac stands to his feet and sticks out his hand, offering to help me up from the curb. Is it supposed to feel this easy after telling someone you like them? I take his hand and the two of us walk back into the building.
We part ways at his door, making plans to get breakfast at Pelican later in the week. Even after our chat, it feels like nothing has changed. I pad slowly back to my room, suddenly remembering the lab report I still need to complete.
"Did you have a good night?" Sabrina asks slyly as I walk through the door. She holds a small shower tote in her hand.
"Yeah," I smile. "I did."
"Did... anything happen?" she presses.
I think about the way Zac spun me while we danced and the way he made me laugh tonight. I think about his hand on my waist and the handsome smile on his face. I think about the way he looked at me when he told me how he felt, and the relief in his expression when I said I didn't want things to change between us. Did I say the right thing? Besides, four weeks is not enough time to really get to know someone. He and I are just friends.
"No, not really," I say. "Nothing happened."
"Mm," she says, eyeing me curiously. "Well then. I'm gonna shower." She reaches for her towel and step through the door, shutting it behind her.
I sigh aloud after she leaves. It's been a most wonderful evening.
I'm certain nothing will change between me and Zac. Our friendship feels like it can defy the corny girl-meets-boy trope. Plus, if Zac and I can act mature and be honest with each other regarding our mutual attraction, then we can handle whatever comes our way.
"Nothing is going to change," I say aloud.
I drop into my chair and resign myself to finish my report, while the rhythmic congas of the bachata music swirl around in my head.
Author Notes:
- Nai-nai is a term for grandmother that often specifically means "father's mother"
- Ge-ge is a term for "older brother" that can be applied to biological siblings or to males who are a few years older than you