My Johnny

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My Johnny

Postby Betsayda » Sun Oct 09, 2005 5:03 pm

Comments and feedback appreciated

"My Johnny"

My Johnny, he was a catch. A real looker and sweet as they come. An ambitious guy too, but not in an egotistical sort of way. He just wanted to make something of himself, and had the confidence to do it. He wasn’t real outgoing, though. No. He was the type wore glasses, curly hair that he couldn’t help, and a shy, sexy smile.

I saw him watching me listen to Spanish guitar in the coffee shop on a day when I was feeling real sophisticated and my hair was doing nice and smooth and wavy-like. We did the whole eye-chasing game. You stare and stare and then look away right before getting caught, so that you barely brush eyes. Just barely touch. After the show he came up to me and we had more coffee. And played dominos. And wound up making out in his navy blue POS Volvo under the streetlight outside my apartment. The boy could kiss.

We started getting real regular with things. Walks and lunches and more coffee shop shows. And kissing. Lots of kissing. He had these delicate hands, soft and slender, and he’d cup my face to kiss me. He’d run his fingers through my hair and kiss me with too red lips. He was never forward or gropey like most guys. Johnny always kissed me real careful, like he thought I might vanish. With this hunger, too.

After a while, as is inevitable for us women, I began to think about the Big L. And crazy enough, Johnny did too. Things were a little complicated though, cause I was still in school and Johnny was job-hunting, holding a temp job at the library till something better came along. I was afraid of something better, but he said the library was starting to really grow on him, even if it didn’t pay the bills. I tried to help with that. He wouldn’t take money, not that I had any. But I’d come over and make spaghetti or mashed potatoes and meatloaf. At least I’d make sure the boy didn’t get any skinnier than he already was. One night we watched a movie after dinner and I started falling asleep. He got a blanket and we slept together on the couch. Just slept, no funny business or nothing. That’s when I thought for the first time that I could be with him forever. He whispered “This is perfect” into my sleepy ear.

But things got a little more complicated.

On another coffee shop night, with more making out in front of my apartment, I invite him up. Because I’m ready, and I want him. He takes a breath and smiles a quick smile and mutters quickly something about getting up early and that he’d better just drop me off. I’m a little hurt, but no big deal. I suppose he’s nervous. Or maybe he had an interview or something in the morning. So I go to bed alone. The next night, Wednesday, I make lasagna at his place. We’re laughing and licking tomato sauce from our fingers and shaking parmesan onto a quick salad. But afterwards he offers to drive me home just a little too early. Or maybe I’m just being silly and paranoid. Girls are like that sometimes.

But I don’t hear from him for a week. Finally Johnny calls, apologizes, says he’s been busy and stressed and just hasn’t been feeling social. I stay quiet and he knows I’m upset. I say I know he’s made no commitment to me, but he should at least show some consideration. He curses, says he feels like a bastard, and will I please forgive him? He wants to take me out tonight. We don’t go out, usually, cause we don’t have the money. But I say sure, and let him make things up. And he does, with flowers and sweet words and a fancy meal. We split a piece of raspberry cheesecake for dessert and it melts in my mouth. I want him bad.

In the car as usual we’re locking lips and it’s getting serious. His hands are all over me and he’s moaning and I like it. I whisper, “Come upstairs.” He says he can’t, but keeps kissing me. I say, “Please?” He says not tonight. “Please?” I say again. “Jamie,” he says, and he’s got a look on his face like I’ve never seen, like he’s scared. “What?” I say. After a pause he finally answers, “Nothing. Just not tonight, okay?” “Okay,” I agree and go upstairs alone. I just don’t get it. Guys are supposed to be more into that kind of stuff than girls. And he certainly seems into it, until I offer to let him go all the way. I don’t know what’s going on. I know he cares about me. I’m pretty damn sure he’s not seeing anybody else, not cause he’s told me that, but just cause I don’t see where he’d have time. But he seems scared. Then it hits me. Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe it’s just his first time and he’s scared out of his wits. I smile to myself and feel a little better, a little less rejected. I’ll just talk to him about it. Tell him he doesn’t need to be scared. I should probably say nervous though instead of scared. Guys don’t like being called scared.

Friday night I’m at his place, a movie playing in the background of our making out. Johnny says, “I think I love you and it scares me to death.” I say, “Don’t let it,” and slide my hands under his shirt. “You’re so hot,” he mutters. I unbutton his pants. “Don’t!” he gasps and he looks real terrified this time. “What’s wrong, Johnny?” I ask. “Don’t be scared,” I say, “It’s not a big deal.” He tells me, “You don’t understand.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
“It’s not what you expect,” he tells me.
I frown. “What?”
“It’s just…”
Then I almost laugh. “Do you think it’s not big enough or something? God, Johnny, I don’t care.”
He shakes his head and looks like he might cry. He looks real fragile all of a sudden. “No,” he says. “God, I should have told you this before.”
Now it’s my turn to be scared. “What do you mean? Is something wrong?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t know how to tell you other than to just tell you.” He takes a deep breath.
“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad,” I say, starting to panic inside. There’s something he hasn’t told me and I love him and he loves me and it’s all perfect and damn it, I don’t want anything to ruin this.
“I don’t have one,” he says finally.
“One what?”
“You know.”
I’m confused. “No, what do you mean?”
“I don’t have one. A…you know…”
Finally it hits me what he’s talking about. “What do you mean you don’t have one? You have to have one.” I feel myself getting angry. What the hell is he telling me? “Are you screwing with me or something?”
“No!” He really starts to cry this time. “I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have even gotten involved with you, but I couldn’t help myself. I kept thinking maybe you’d understand, maybe things would be alright. I’ll do whatever you want, I swear. I’ll make it good for you.”
“Jesus, Johnny! I don’t know what you’re saying. Stop it! Stop it!” I’m not crying, I’m just pissed. “I don’t believe you! Stop saying that!” I swing my arm and knock a stack of books off the end table. I throw a couch cushion across the room. He’s crying and saying he’s sorry and I’m screaming “I don’t believe you.” I don’t know why he’s doing this to me. Then he unzips his pants. I fall into stunned silence. Finally I say, not knowing what else to say, “You’re a girl.”
Then it’s his turn to get angry. “I’m not!” he screams. “I’m not. Just because I don’t have a dick doesn’t mean I’m a girl.” He’s cursing a lot. She’s cursing a lot? “I feel like a guy. I’ve always been treated like a guy. Hell, I’m attracted to girls!”
“So you’re a lesbian,” I say flatly.
“Jesus, do I look like a girl?”
I didn’t know what to say to that. If he’d asked me on any other day, of course I would have said no. But now I started noticing his more feminine features. His skinny body, delicate hands and face, red lips.
“Do I?” he demanded, “Do I have tits? Do I walk or talk like a girl? Do I dress like a girl?”
I shrug, hurt and angry, “You could be a crossdresser.”
“Goddammit.” He kicks over the coffee table. “I don’t know why the hell I thought you’d understand.”
Then I start to cry, but Johnny doesn’t even look up. “I think you should go,” he says.
And I do.


I was shocked. Stunned. It took me a full two minutes to get my keys into the car door, I was shaking so bad. I drove home in a daze, amazingly enough without hitting anyone or running off the road. At home I'm suddenly starving, so I reheat some mac and cheese and collapse on the couch. And see Johnny's picture on the coffee table. Suddenly I have a mouthful of creamy cheese and noodles that I can't swallow. So I go to the toilet and throw up instead. And then lie down in bed and cry. It's not late, but I don't plan on getting up.

Sometime during the night the phone rings. I let the answering machine get it and hear Johnny's voice, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. What can I do? I love you. Please forgive me."

A week passes during which I try not to think. I don't want to know what my brain would come up with. I don't want to know if I did the wrong thing or if I'm a lesbian or if I still love him. Him? I don't know. I don't want to think about it.

But I miss him.



He left two messages over the week, one begging me to call him and the other telling me he'd leave me alone. I wanted to be left alone. How could I call him back? I wouldn't know what to say. I mean, what are you supposed to do in that situation? Do you keep loving the person? Do you start hating them? Do you pretend they never existed? I don't know what most people would do in this situation. But then I guess most people are never faced with this sort of thing. Me, I chose option number three. I pretended none of it ever happened. I threw away his pictures and pictures of us together. I threw away a book that he left at my place. And the wilted flowers that he'd bought me. I suppose I continued to eat, sleep, and go to school. And work. But I wasn't really paying attention to any of it. It's hard to think of something other than the huge weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you. It's hard to believe that term papers and calculus equations mean anything.

Finally, after another week, I got the guts to call him back. “It’s me,” I say. “Hi,” he says, and waits. I have no idea what to say, and I tell him so. “Yeah,” he says, “I guess it’s a pretty fucked up situation.” “Yeah,” I agree. Then the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I want to see you.” He takes a breath, “Are you sure?” I give a short laugh. “No. But let’s do it anyway.” And we agree to meet at the coffee shop. I don’t know about him, but I hadn’t been there since the last time I saw him. I didn’t want to risk running into him unprepared. I’d had to forgo my raspberry mochas for gas station cappuccinos. But I still felt unprepared, even though I’d agreed to meet him.

When I got to the coffee shop, he was already inside. I stood watching him through the window. I felt a pang of longing. He looked exactly the way I remembered. Slender, messy curly hair getting into his eyes, glasses, jeans, sneakers. I don’t know what I’d expected. Did I expect him to come in a dress, wearing make-up? He looked like the same boy I’d loved and kissed and cooked for. And I starting thinking maybe we could work something out. Maybe it was just a medical problem. I wouldn’t dump a guy if I found out he had cancer, would I? Of course not. I’d be with him and help him get through it. Maybe this can be the same way. Maybe there’s some surgery he can get, or some way we can work around this. I start feeling the slightest bit of hope. Maybe I’d just over-reacted. Why did this have to be such a big deal? Why couldn’t I be more understanding?

I opened the door to the coffee shop, walked over to his table, and sat down. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he replied, looking at me cautiously. “How’re you?”
“I’m good. School’s been busy,” I answer. “How about you? Any new job prospects?”
He shrugged. “I guess I sort of stopped looking. Haven’t felt very motivated.” He seemed bitter, hostile. I wasn’t sure what I should do.
“Look,” I said finally, “I’m sorry. Maybe I over-reacted to this whole thing. It was just such a shock, I didn’t know what to do.”
He nodded a little, but didn’t reply.
“Isn’t there some sort of surgery you could get?” I blurted out.
He gave a sort of half-hearted chuckle. “Cosmetic only. Nothing that could give me real function or any sort of pleasure. I figured, what’s the point if it’s just for looks? Besides, it’d cost a million dollars that I don’t have.”
I nodded. Strike one. “Well maybe there’s…I dunno. Maybe we could work around it?” I willed my words to sound more confidant than I actually felt.
He reached out and grabbed my hand suddenly. I looked straight into his beautiful eyes. “Do you think so?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But I think I still love you.”
He squeezed my hand. “I still love you, too. I know this is hard.”
He was still looking at me. I had to break the spell of his eyes, so I said out of nowhere, “Let’s play dominos.” And he smiled.

We ended up playing and talking, about anything except what was really on our minds, for two hours. He walked me out to my car, and we stood there for a minute. Then he leaned over and kissed me. It was a good, solid, passionate kiss. The kind I had missed during the past couple of weeks. But it brought tears to my eyes because then I knew that things could never be the same between us. I broke away from him and choked back a sob. “Jamie?” he asked.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I just can’t do it. I wish I could, but I can’t!”
His mouth got very tight all of a sudden, and he nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
He nodded again.
“Say something! What are you thinking?” I couldn’t bear his silence pressing against me.
“I…I guess I wish you’d try harder for us. Try harder to make things feel good and normal again.”
“Johnny, I don’t think things can ever feel good and normal again.”
He sighed. “Well that sucks.” I could tell he was mad. But maybe it was better that way. It’s easier to deal with anger than sadness. I didn’t want to break his heart all over again.
“I should just go,” I said.
“Sure,” Johnny replied, “And if you ever feel like actually trying, you know my number. But maybe then it’ll be too late.” He turned around and walked off.
His words stung and brought fresh tears to my eyes. But I couldn’t really blame him. I could see things from his point of view. But I couldn’t get the image of him with his pants down out of my head, and I knew I just couldn’t deal with it. Maybe some obstacles are too big, even for love. That’s one thing that even after all this I won’t deny. I loved him. He was one of the sweetest loves I’ve ever had.
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Betsayda
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