Torn's Questions

Torn gave me these questions. He prefaced it with:

Okay five questions. But I already know everything about you.

Oh really?


1. Tell us the sweetest memory you have with mom.

There's many. When she threw me a surprise birthday party for my 30th birthday at my least favorite restuarant so I wouldn't suspect anything. When she cried when I didn't make the Madrigals (the elite singing group of my choir) my senior year in high school. How she still thinks every man around is checking me out. The care packages she would send to me when I was in Japan; taping shows she hated because she knew I liked them (even though she'd have to miss her own shows to do it, since she never figured out how to tape one and watch another at the same time). All the times we went to Las Vegas with my sister; all of us having a good time together.

Oh, and the time she told me where babies come from. I really didn't care, except I was being teased by the other fourth graders. She was in her bathroom, doing her hair, and I was sitting in the doorway, in my pink bikini, because I was going to go swimming at my Grammy's place. I was aghast. I was never going to do it ever, and she'd only done it three times, right? Just to have kids right? I mean, I had a brother and a father, I knew what a penis was; that's what they PEE out of! No one is ever going to stick that thing in me. No way. I remember she just laughed and said that I might change my mind one day. I did.

2. What is your favorite dessert?

...ur... uh... just one? I don't think I can do that. I really love sliced strawberries and Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream. Crumbleberry Pie with Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream. Homemade cherry pie with Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream. Most any dessert-y thing with Breyer's Natural Vanilla ice cream.

3. What is your worst moment with Charlie?

Definitely this time. It's part of a bigger moment though, because Poopala-fiesta happened again two days later. It was horrid.

4. Who did you lose your virginity to?

I totally thought I'd written about this before. Nope. It's a story I've told many times. It's the reason why I'm going to teach my little niece that just because she's a girl, doesn't mean she always has to be nice.

His name was Tony and he was horrible to me. He was the first person to lie to me just because he could.

We had gone out a few times at the beginning of my freshman year in college. Tony was older; was my manager at Jack-in-the-Box (I worked graveyard shifts to pay for school at first) and went to UCSB as well. I actually had had a crush on his roommate, but Tony was the one who noticed me. I had a feeling he was a bit smarmy, but after I got back one night after being out with him, my dad met me in the dining room. Dad said I could continue to go out with Tony, or I could live at home, but I couldn't do both.

Dad's a racist and Tony was black.

So, I did what any 18-year-old would do; kept dating Tony just to prove my independence from my father.

Big mistake.

Tony wanted to "lay with me" as he so delicately put it, and I thought it was time I finally slept with someone, so I made an appointment at the school med-center to get birth control. Tony had informed me that he didn't like condoms. Oh a charmer, that one.

So, that November, on a Sunday, my grandmother died. That Monday, my father was laid off from his job. And then, on Thursday, I failed my second mid-term in Comparative Literature, which meant I was going to flunk the course. I went to Tony's apartment to be consoled. At first, he was very sweet, telling me things were going to get better. We stood up, and we were hugging. He kissed me. Then, still holding me, he started walking toward his bedroom. I stopped at the door. Put my hands on the edge of the doorway, asked him where were we going.

"It's just more comfortable in here."

On the bed, clothes started coming off... I was down to my underwear when I said "Stop." He didn't. I said we needed to wait, that I wasn't on the pill yet, that I wasn't ready, that I wasn't comfortable...

He threw my clothes at me and said "Fine. Get out."

I couldn't handle his being angry at me. I was a good girl. I didn't make people mad. I was polite. Said "excuse me" when someone else bumped their cart into mine at the grocery store.

He knew it. Instead of telling him to go to hell, instead of storming out of there, I instead stayed. Told him I didn't want him mad at me, but I didn't want to get pregnant.

"I can't get you pregnant."
"Huh? What do you mean?" I knew he was lying... he had to be, right?
"I mean I can't get you pregnant."
"Are you saying you're impotant?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Someone who knows told me."

(Okay, at this point, if you are still reading, you are probably slapping your head and yelling at 18-year-old rebekah, but she can't hear you. I wish she could, but she wasn't even listening to herself. Remember, it had been a very bad week.)

"Oh right. Like who? A doctor?"
"Yeah, a doctor."

In my muddled mind, I let a little part of me believe him, and sat back down on the bed.

It didn't last long, and it hurt like hell. Unpleasant doesn't begin to describe it. All that kept going through my mind (besides the lyrics to Asia's Only Time Will Tell, which was playing on the stereo, and the words of which were rather prophetic), was that all the books and movies and so on, totally had left out the part about sex HURTING so damn much. I was actually wimpering.

He finally stopped, we got dressed, and since it had gotten late, he drove me home (I usually rode my bike the five miles back and forth from school).

In the car? On the way back? He casually said to me,

"By the way, I don't shoot any blanks."

I stared at him.

"I'm a real man."

Yeah, I bet his mother's really proud of him.


5. If you had to choose another job, what would it be? Would you ever want to be principal?

I would want to be a writer. You know, a real writer, not just moaning on the blog. I'd love to be able to write the book that makes someone else wish he or she had written it first. Imagine being able to inspire others the way Anne Lammott or Dorothy Parker have inspired me.

And no. No. Way. In. Hell. I would never, ever want to be a principal. The joy of my job comes from being with the students every day, and using my creativity when I make a lesson plan, and all the learning I do myself. Not the bureaucracy and politics and bullshit of education. Yeah, a principal makes three times as much as I do, but no thanks.