Chapter 11

XI

Venial Sin

As always, for Labor Day Weekend, my parents and I drove down to my grandmother’s timeshare in Virginia. Usually, once a year during the summer, we’d go down there and spend a few days visiting her and swimming. It was sort of my family’s house, meaning that my grandmother and my parents and sister, as well as my father’s entire family, all shared the place year-round. One time we went down there for Christmas, but we couldn’t go in the water because it was too damn cold. It was cool, though, to look out the window and see the waves crashing ashore as we sat around the fireplace.

But that summer we went down to the shore as usual, right before school began. I begged my parents to let me stay home, but they said I was too young. Unlike previous summers, they’d decided to stay in a hotel room to avoid causing my grandmother too much trouble.

We left New York early Friday morning and drove straight down. We arrived in Virginia at about two p.m. I sat in the back seat of the car, staring at a book, Romeo and Juliet, which Maria had given me before I left. She said it was her favorite Shakespeare play. I know the basic story—a young couple’s in love and they kill themselves at the end—so I thought it would be easy to read. But all that old English was pretty tough to digest. It was so difficult, in fact, that I stopped reading it at about the seventh page. Instead, I just listened to my CD player.

I’d brought The Long and Winding Road with me, and I’d planned on listening to it on the balcony of our hotel room. I figured it would be a boring vacation, and I’d probably be sitting there sucking down butts the whole week. The previous summer my family and I had gone to Virginia, too. That summer I didn’t have a girlfriend or anything. I met a few girls down the shore, but I didn’t hook up with anyone. It was sort of pathetic, actually. Because once I got home, I realized that I probably could of hooked up if I really wanted to. The problem was that I didn’t have the confidence to do it.

Before we even got out of the car, I spotted seven or eight girls around my age, giggling and walking from the clubhouse to the pool. They were gorgeous; but, then again, all thin girls look sexy in bikinis. They weren’t like the girls in New York. Most of the girls in the city that I knew had black or brown hair, but all the beach babies were blondes or redheads.

The first few night in Virginia was pretty dull. But on Sunday, two days before we left, Tracey made friends with some kids from Missouri. One of them was a girl named Lee Anne, a blonde bombshell from St. Louis. I usually didn’t care for that type, but for some reason I was attracted to Lee Anne.

Until I met Lee Anne, I never understood the term “jailbait.” I didn’t get how older men could lust after teenage girls. She was only fifteen, but Lee Anne could have easily passed for twenty-one or older. She must have been at least my height, with straight golden hair and a bronzed body. With tits like cantaloupes, and long slender legs, there was nothing adolescent about her. Like a Baywatch babe, she trotted along the beach in a red bikini, sun tan oil dripped off her arms and thighs, smelling like coconuts. She wore a pair of blue mirrory sunglasses that blinded me when I looked at them. They gave Lee Anne a mysterious air. I felt challenged to hook up with her.

But behind those sunglasses Lee Anne was a ditz, a stupid hick who probably had never read a book in her life. I was bored with her personality five minutes after meeting her. But she was someone to hang out with, to pass the time with, to smoke with as the summer days dwindled away. We splashed each other in the ocean all day Sunday and Monday, and went for walks on the beach as the sun set. Whenever a sea plane passed overhead, I’d tell her about it, and about my love of planes and jets. She didn’t seem to give a shit, but at least she didn’t interrupt.

Late Monday night, the night before we drove back to Queens, Lee Anne and I were talking and smoking in a stairwell. She clasped her cigarette unlike anyone else I knew, between her thumb and forefinger, daintily, almost as if she was trying to avoid burning herself. She took long drags, and didn’t open her mouth all of the way to release the smoke, but instead blew it out of the corner of her mouth in a thick stream. I was disgusted by it, and yet I ached to rip her top off and suckle her white breasts.

After ten silent minutes, she casually dropped her cigarette on the cold concrete floor of the stairwell, stomping it out with the heel of her sandals. Again: stupid, but sexy.

“Hey, look,” I said, “it’s us.” I was referring to our reflection in the chrome of the fire extinguisher behind the closed stairwell door, right next to her. That was about the most stimulating piece of conversation I’d had with her until that point. She disregarded my observation and gazed wearily at the fluorescent light above.

“You’re kind of cute,” she said, looking in my direction but not at me, with a twangy accent that she probably didn’t even realize she had.

“Well, thank you. You aren’t so bad yourself.”

Suddenly, I had the feeling that I could fuck her right then and there if I chose. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to even kiss her, though. I don’t know, it was sort of weird. I wanted to fuck her, but at the same time, I didn’t want to say another goddamn word to her. And even though I smoked too, just the thought of tasting her menthol cigarettes on my tongue nauseated me.

But Lee Anne was so hot, unlike any girl I’d ever hooked up with in New York. Her hair was the color of a lemon. She had hairless arms and milky white teeth. There were so many stylish thready holes on her shorts that they revealed more than they hid. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw pink panties through one of the openings. Rock hard, I extended my arm, toward that hair, I decided, I’m gonna find out if she’s a real blonde.

I was just about to kiss her when she asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

I didn’t answer immediately. I thought about it for a moment. I loved Maria. I really did. But at the same time, I was jealous of all those boys she kissed. She was a year younger than I was, yet she’d kissed more people than me. I detested the thought. I also hated her friend, Guido. I kept thinking about Maria cruising around in his goddamn car, laughing and joking with her friends, her tits bobbling in her tight bikini top, and Guido catching a peak of her cleavage in the rear-view mirror. I couldn’t escape these memories of a time so long ago, a summer I wasn’t part of. Her past was my present and there was no changing that.

I love her, I kept saying to myself, silently. But maybe, I thought, if I kiss Lee Anne, Maria’s past won’t hurt as much. I’ll just be replacing Maria’s past with my own present. Nothing is wrong with just kissing one more girl, a girl I knew I’ll never see again.

“No,” I said. “I don’t have one.” And, without thinking a second thought, my tongue was twirling around in her warm mouth, hers in mine. I yanked her bikini top off, and exposed her perfect breasts. They were huge—even bigger than Maria’s—and immaculate and chalky white, in contrast to her tan body.

Like a piglet fighting his siblings for his mother’s teat, I pressed my head into her bosom and sucked her breasts. Leaning over, grunting and groaning, I licked her stomach and poked her belly button ring with my tongue. Desperate to impress her, but clueless as to why, I slid my tongue up the middle of her belly, between her tits, and ended by nibbling her chin.

As quickly as we’d begun, we stopped. I figured that having sex with her in the stairwell was a silly idea. I’d already accomplished what I’d set out to accomplish. I wiped her slimy red lip gloss from my face with the back of my hand, kissed her on the cheek, and said good night. “Good night,” she said with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

“What’s wrong, Joel?”

That’s how Maria began our first phone call after I returned from Virginia. Those words still echo in my mind. I hadn’t even said anything yet, but she suspected something was up. Of course, I was determined to conceal what had happened. I hooked up with two more girls in the very next day, one in the afternoon, one in the evening. Each was a member of a different group of people hanging out there, so they didn’t know about Lee Anne.

Vicki, a French-Canadian girl visiting the beach all the way from Ottawa, was even sexier than Lee Anne. She was also tall, almost my height, but with brown hair and blonde highlights. But unlike Lee Anne, she was intelligent. I think she said she wanted to be a doctor or something, I really can’t remember.

The other girl’s name I forget. I think it was something like Linda, or Melinda. Or it could have been Cindy, I’m really not sure. She wasn’t too attractive, anyway. I’m not into fat girls so I didn’t hook up with her for long. But it was long enough to count.

So, by the time I’d returned to New York on Tuesday evening, Maria and I had both kissed the same number of people, and that was all that mattered. It was only a little white lie. A venial sin. She didn’t need to know—not about the first three, at least. In fact, I promised myself that if I ever cheated on her again, then maybe I would tell her. Evening the score would make me feel a lot better in the long run, I thought, especially when I became jealous of her past. Whenever an image of Guido popped into my head, or I thought about any of the guys she’d hooked up with, I would just think of Lee Anne or Vicki, and forget all about being jealous. I thought it was a pretty good plan.

In my mind, I was doing what I had to do. I remember thinking: I’ve actually matured. It’s not like I have a back-up anymore. See, before I met Maria, whenever I dated a girl, I’d always have a back-up. Basically, I’d talk on the phone with a girl that I knew liked me while I was dating somebody else. That way, in case my girlfriend ever broke up with me, I could just call up the other girl and ask her out. I can’t even remember actually using a back-up. But I always had one, anyway.

I’m trying to think of the words to describe how I felt about cheating on Maria. I really didn’t feel depressed. I didn’t’ cry myself to sleep at night. Instead, I felt frightened—frightened of myself, I think. I kept wondering what else I was capable of doing to her. It was so easy to hook up with Lee Anne, Vicki, and the other girl that I was afraid that someday I’d break my promise to myself, and cheat on her again, and then have to tell her. But I knew I had my reasons for cheating on her, and I eventually forgot all about it.

When I arrived home from Virginia it was pitch black outside. I ran up the stairs, fumbling with my suitcase, trying to avoid the hunter. I hadn’t seen the hunter for a while before that night. Of course, my shadow must of been there all along; but I probably didn’t notice it. That’s all. Nevertheless, the hunter reappeared that night. I guess that for the few months prior I’d just forgotten about him.

For a moment—and I know this sounds ridiculous—I almost thought he’d caught up with me. When I reached the top step, I suddenly felt as if I was being pulled back, like I was going to topple down the staircase. It was pretty scary. But, I figured, it was just the weight of my suitcase pulling me back.

The first thing I did when I got to my room and calmed down was call Maria. As the phone rang, I glanced over at the World War II V-J Day poster on my wall. The aircraft is depicted was sleek and dark; it was the type, I thought, that I’d like to fly someday. Was it a North American T-6? A Supermarine Spitfire IX? I made mental note to ask my father what model plane it was, and to find out more about it. But before I had the chance to do so, I heard Maria’s inquisitive voice.

“What’s wrong, Joel?” Maria repeated. I was still a bit shaken from almost falling down the stairs, and I suppose she sensed it in my voice.

“Nothing, baby,” I said.

“Okay, but you sound a bit nervous.”

“It’s nothing, really. I just really missed you. Did you miss me? You didn’t say that you missed me.”

“Of course I missed you, Joel. I was bored here without you.”

“Did you flirt with any guys while I was gone?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“What I mean is, did any guys flirt with you? I’m just curious. You didn’t cheat on me did you?”

“No! Jesus, Joel! What’s your problem?”

“Are you sure?” I asked. She seemed a little defensive, so I became suspicious. “You didn’t talk to any boys while I was gone?”

“No!” She was getting a little pissed off. I kept wondering if she was hiding something. “You were gone for almost a week and this is all you have to say when you call?”

Ignoring her logic, I pressed on. “So,” I said, “you just sat at home all week, doing nothing?”

“I did the laundry,” she said. “Is that okay with you, sir?”

“You don’t have to be so sarcastic.”

“Well you don’t have to be so nosy and suspicious!”

“Please apologize for being sarcastic,” I said.

She hesitated for a few moments. She said, “Fine. I’m sorry. Happy?”

“Yes,” I said. “Me too. I just missed you a lot, that’s all. Did you miss me? You didn’t say you missed me.”

“Yes I did, Joel. I said it five minutes ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. Next time say it louder.”

Maria quickly changed the subject, and began to ask me about Virginia. I told her it was nice, and that I had a good time. There really wasn’t much to say.

“Why don’t you ask me if I flirted with any girls?” I asked her.

“What?”

“You know, I was down there on the beach and all the girls wore bikinis. Weren’t you worried or something?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because I trust you, that’s why!”

“Well, still, it would be nice, you know, to sometimes think that you’re a little jealous.”

“Well, you should be happy that I trust you,” she insisted.

“All right. I guess I am. But still...” And with that I trailed off. It wasn’t the best of conversations. But, then again, we hadn’t seen each other or spoken for a week, so it was a little awkward. As usual, we ended the conversation pleasantly, each with an “I love you,” and said goodbye.

After getting off the phone, I played The Long and Winding Road.

Many times I’ve been alone, it went, and many times I’ve cried. Many words you’ve never known, but many ways I’ve tried. But still they lead me back, to the long and winding road… I must have listened to it ten or twelve times as I heard rain begin to fall outside, and stared intuitively at the poster on my wall.

***

On Columbus Day weekend, Maria went to her uncle’s house Upstate. I was still so in love with her. I thought about her all the time, just like I do now, only back then I was so happy. I remember having a strong desire to write Maria a poem. Actually, it was a song.

What should I write about? I kept asking myself. It was tough to write a song, no matter what it was about. I wanted this song to be special. I wanted it to illustrate my feelings for her. Most of all, I wanted to make her cry tears of joy and love. That was my plan. As I sat down at my desk with my pen and pad, I envisioned Maria, upon hearing the song, weeping like a little girl, embracing me as she’d never embraced anyone before. She’ll love it, I thought. And I knew that after hearing it she would love me more than ever before.

I remember that just as I sat down to write it, I received the Air Force Academy information packet. I read the brochures and discovered that I could probably get into the Academy if I really wanted to go. And I did want to go—badly.

As a matter of fact, I was positive that I could get in. All I needed was a recommendation from someone in the armed services that knew me well, but also wasn’t related to me. It was too bad, because I was sure you, dad, would’ve written me a great letter. Unfortunately, you weren’t allowed to write the letter.

I was so excited that I forgot about the poem and ran downstairs and told my mother and father all about applying. Dad, you were enthusiastic about it. You really thought I could follow in your footsteps, and that was sort of like every father’s dream—to watch his son make better of himself. I remember mommy’s advice: “You’d better keep those grades up in your last year of high school. And don’t mess up with that girl.” It was just like you to express so little confidence in me like that.

I should’ve listened to you, mom.

But I was really pissed off at you that day, like I always was. I tried not to let it bother me. I remember imagining myself flying way up in the clouds, soaring in an F-15 Eagle over the Rocky Mountains. The F-15 is only 63 feet long and 42 feet wide, but it can fight like hell. It’s WEFT: high-mounted wings; two rear-mounted engines; a long, pointed fuselage; and two tail fins. Genuine American artwork.

My cadet uniform would command respect from all the goddamn losers in my high school if they saw me. Even you couldn’t ruin the thrill of wearing that uniform, and getting my wings. I kept thinking about how you would visit me in Colorado, and I’d take you up in a jet and I’d fly over the Grand Canyon.

With you guys, I’d be flying in the sky, but with Maria it would be heaven. I was already in heaven with her on the ground; it would be awesome to be in the sky, away from everyone, with Maria by my side. I wasn’t even sure if the Air Force would allow that sort of stuff, but I thought about it anyway.

I called Paul and told him all about it. He was pretty excited for me.

After I told him about the Air Force, I mentioned what had happened in Virginia. I always told Paul about that sort of stuff, and usually he was pretty happy for me.

“Paulie baby, how are ya?”

“Not bad. What’s up, dude?”

“Paul, my good buddy, you’ll never guess what happened in Virginia beach!”

“How many girls did you kiss, L’Enfant?”

“Hey, how’d you know?” I asked. “Did I already tell you this story?”

“No,” he said. “But a leopard doesn’t change his spots.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind, L’Enfant. Just tell me what happened.”

So I told him all about Lee Anne and Vicki and the other girl. He was stiff that day, as if he didn’t care as much as he usually did. I figured he was sort of jealous, maybe, because I knew that I wanted to go into the Air Force, and he really wasn’t sure about where he was going to college. But he listened to my Virginia story, and I was happy telling it. Five minutes into the conversation, as I was describing Lee Anne’s breasts, I realized that I hadn’t told him about the Air Force application yet.

But he interrupted the thought. “Did you tell Maria yet about your little smoking habit?” I’d mentioned that Lee Anne and I first went to the stairwell to have a cigarette.

“No, I didn’t. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Did you tell Maria about Lee Anne, and the two other girls?”

“Dude, what’s your problem? Chill out, man. You remind me of my mother, for Chrissakes!”

“All right, L’Enfant,” he said. “Forget it. I’m only joking.” But he didn’t say he was sorry or anything; he just changed the subject.

“Do you want to go play baseball today?” Paul and I played ball in a park near my house every time the weather was good. It was pretty cool, because I beat him in just more than half of the games we played, and I knew he hated that.

“Sure, dude. Play ball!” And I yelled it out just like an umpire does at the beginning of a ball game.

So we hung up and I met him at the park. He beat me five to one—he hit one grand slam and another solo shot. I got a bases-loaded triple, but I only got one run because I missed the bag on the way around first. It didn’t matter; I was so happy about the Air Force thing that I couldn’t care less about baseball.

I couldn’t wait to tell Maria about what the Air Force had sent me in the mail, and about how I wanted to take her up in a jet over the Rockies. She’d given me her aunt and uncle’s phone number, just in case I wanted to call her. I’d told her that I’d probably be busy with work that week, and that it would be hard to get in touch with her. But I only said that so she’d be all the more surprised when I finally called.

***

I remember the phone ringing, thinking, Maria’s gonna be home soon and I still haven’t written her song. For some reason, I had a severe case of writer’s block. I was immersed in thoughts of my future in the Air Force, lost in the clouds that I would someday fly through at Mach 1. Seeking inspiration, I gave Maria a call. There was something peculiar about her voice that day, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on what it was. She seemed hesitant and quiet.

“What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet?” I inquired, anxiously.

“I’m holding my little cousin in my arms. He’s only seven months old, and he just fell asleep.”

“Are you sure that’s all? Are you hiding something from me?”

“No,” she said, exasperated, muffling her little yell.

“Who have you been hanging out with all week?”

“Well, mostly my cousins,” she whispered. “That’s really it.”

“Are you sure you’ve been a good little girl? I hate it when you’re so terse and quiet.”

“I told you, my cousin—“

I cut her off. I was too excited about flying to bother pressing the issue. My heart was pounding.

“You’ll never guess what happened?” I said.

“What?”

“I got some information in the mail from the Air Force, and I think I’m qualified for the Academy.”

“Really? That’s great! I’m so proud of you.” That’s what I liked about Maria—she was proud of me even though I really hadn’t done anything yet. She was a lot different than some people reading this letter, or anyone else for that matter.

“I’m going to take you flying,” I said, whispering, even though the baby was in her arms and not mine, “just like I told you a few weeks ago at the beach.” I was so happy just saying that. “The only thing is that I have to get a recommendation from a military person or something, and I don’t know who to ask.”

Maria was quiet for a moment. I felt so nervous. “Joel,” she finally said, “I think I know someone who was in the Air Force. But he doesn’t know you that well.”

I was busting at the thought. “Who?” I asked.

“My father.”

Maria had never told me that her father was in the Air Force. She wasn’t very proud of anything that he did. He’d let her down so often, I’m sure she was afraid to mention anything positive about the guy at all.

“But I barely know your father!” I’d only met him once or twice. Just hello and goodbye.

“I know, but it’s funny you should mention this, Joel, because this week I’ve been thinking about introducing you to him formally, maybe over a nice dinner. I don’t know when it’ll happen, but it’ll happen.”

“Holy shit!” I said. “That’s great! Do you think he’ll like me?”

“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “He will.”

I was shocked at the thought of having her father write me a recommendation. From the way she described him, I don’t know. He didn’t sound like a good guy. I didn’t get ahead of myself, though. I didn’t want to expect the recommendation. After all, I hadn’t really met the guy. But I have to admit, the thought of having a pilot write me the letter made me smile. I was so confident that day. Maria always seemed to make me feel that way.

“I have to go—I have to change Anthony,” she said.

“Who’s Anthony? New boyfriend?”

She paused. “It’s my little baby cousin. He’s so cute, you should see him. He looks just like you—cute as a button.”

Shivers tickled my body when she said that; she knew just how to compliment me, and I knew that she meant it, too. I wanted to jump through the phone and hug her right then and there, and sprinkle her with kisses.

“I really do have to go,” she said. “But I’ll call you when I get home in a few days.”

“Okay, baby, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Joel.” I loved hearing her say my name. She said it like I was the most important guy in the world.

***

And I was.

Thing is, despite her love for me, I still worried about Maria’s past every minute of every hour of every day. It was the weirdest thing. All weekend long while Maria was away Upstate, I envisioned her cheating on me. I’d sit in my dimly-lit hazy room, swallowing cigarette smoke, getting angry over something I knew wouldn’t happen. Even though I hooked up with those chicks in Virginia, I still wasn’t—I still don’t know the word—

—satisfied? Yes, that’s it. I remember being plagued with doubts that, despite Maria, I’d never be satisfied. Whether sitting in class or walking to the store or eating dinner or working in the deli, all I heard was this endless echo of hollowness in the pit of my stomach. I felt like a cave—solid on the outside, but dark and shallow within. I used to wonder if I was truly going crazy. I was so sad about the imaginary events swirling throughout my head.

I remember you and Tracy worrying about me. I’d get home from school, looking depressed and angry, and mom would ask “What’s your problem?” Committed to my vow of silence, I refused to respond. Dad, you were more subtle. “Is something wrong? Is there anything you want to talk about?” you’d ask each day. “Oh, no, nothing,” I’d respond. “I’m just worried about getting into the Air Force Academy.” But that really wasn’t true. I should have been worried about that. I should have been worried about college. But I wasn’t. All that worried me was Maria.

When she returned home from her trip Upstate she called me immediately. We talked for a while, but she seemed diffident. Just to give you an idea of how paranoid I was, I remember thinking: She’s always this way—as if she’s hiding something from me. But that night it was painfully obvious. I thought about attacking it from the beginning, asking her what the hell was the matter real quick. But, for some reason, my plan was to wait. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t push Maria to reveal her secret.

As she told me about her cousin, Anthony, and her uncle’s barbecue, and a bunch of other stuff, I just sat back, smoking a butt, waiting for her to blurt out the bad news. She was speaking casually, but I didn’t hear a word she said. I was just waiting, waiting, waiting. Just when I started to think that maybe I was inventing it all, when I began contemplating the possibility that maybe I was crazy, that maybe Maria wasn’t hiding a thing from me...just when I began blaming myself for my worries and not her, just when a guilt began to set in as it never had before…Maria gave me every reason in the world to never trust her again.

“Joel,” she said, “I have something to tell you.” I didn’t say a word. I had predicted this moment long ago; I had no desire to interrupt fate as it unraveled itself before my eyes.

“Joel, I got drunk while I was Upstate with my cousin. Not the baby, but with my older cousin. I got drunk with him because I was depressed. My parents have been discussing divorce lately, and I made a stupid mistake. I thought that drinking would solve the problem, but it was still there the next morning, when I woke with a hangover. I’ll never drink again. I’m really, truly sorry.” As she said the word sorry, she started to cry.

Squinting my eyes, I saw beneath my lids every loser and scumbag that walked the halls of my school, every hood that danced the night away in the gym, every girl I’d ever dated, and, to top it all off, you, mom, drinking like you used to, oblivious to the pain it caused others. Each lie ever told to me—each lie I ever told—became personified in one person: Maria. Even the word lie had a face, and two arms, and two dark little eyes. No, not arms. Tentacles. And as I extinguished my cigarette in a mug of water beside my bed, not just my body, but my entire soul, was engulfed by the lie. I didn’t know whether to cry or to throw up. Instead, I responded:

“You fucking bitch. You mother fucking bitch. Goddamn you, Maria. I’m never fucking going out with you again. I despise you. I despise everything you just said. You are a piece of shit.” And then I hung up on her, and vowed never to call her again.

***

I called her back immediately. And before she had a chance to say another word, I began the string of invectives once again. Unlike the first round of anger, I yelled. I didn’t even yell; I hollered. Cunt. Bitch. Asshole. Fuck. Slut. All of these words were part of my colorful repertoire. And she deserved each and every one. She’s just like everybody else, I thought. I knew it. She was going to destroy me.

My mouth contorted itself into a frightening upside-down U; it felt weighted down, and there would never be anything else I could do to change it. My heart stomped. I nearly choked on my tongue. Finally, after I completed my mantra of profanity, Maria spoke up for the first time in at least ten minutes or so.

“Please don’t break up with me!” she pleaded. “Please...” She broke down, wailing, like a mother at her little boy’s funeral.

“Fuck you, cunt,” I said, icily. I slammed the phone in its cradle.

I called her back.

“Why didn’t you call me back? Aren’t you sorry? What the fuck is wrong with you?” I didn’t let her answer. “How much did you drink? Did you enjoy it? Did your cousin drink, too? What’s his name, anyway? Did you get drunk? I mean, really drunk? Did you enjoy it? Are you happy with what you did? You fucked up this entire relationship—you know that, right? Why did you do it? Did you drink beer? What? Whaaaaaat!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? Answer my fucking questions, goddamn it!”

“I drank rum—rum and Coke. And a few beers.”

“How much fucking beer and rum did you have, Maria?” Mah-ree-ah. I dragged her name out, as if it were the foulest curse in the English language. It was insulting just to recite it. That name, Maria, had meant so much to me just a few moments before she called. It had meant perfection. All I had. All I believed. I’d found my religion that summer—I believed in Maria. But, like a parishioner who discovers his priest is a child molester, I felt betrayed. My religion was a sham, my creed a hoax. Just as I was about to hang up on Maria for the third time, she interrupted her crying and, between sobs, said:

“Joel, you said that you would forgive me for anything, as long as I was honest!”

“I lied. Fuck you.” And I hung up on her again.

And just as I slammed the receiver down, and heard that familiar echo of a bell sing through my room, I realized again that Maria had failed to call me back after I hung up on her previously. How sorry could she be? I dialed her number again.

“Why the fuck didn’t you call me back? You fucking bitch!”

“Please, Joel”—she was really losing it now—please, I was only kidding. I didn’t get drunk, I swear! I didn’t drink at all. I swear!” I could barely understand her, she was crying so much. “I swear on my father’s life!” The words life-life—echoed faintly in my mind. I grew silent. For a moment, I thought that it was all a bad dream. I was confused. I was disillusioned, weary, suspicious.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demanded.

“I—I was making it all up. I just wanted to see how you’d react. I—I—I’m sorry, Joel. I was thinking about us a lot this week, and I’ve decided that I really do—trust you—I...” she just trailed off.

I fired at her like a machine gun: “What the hell is your problem? Are you telling me the truth? Is this a fucking joke?”

“No—I mean, yes—I’m…I didn’t drink.” She gulped her phlegm and panted briefly. “I just wanted to know what you thought about it.”

At that point, I was shaking. Each word heaved from my gut. “Do you—do you swear on our relationship that you didn’t drink Upstate? Do you?”

Silence.

“I swear, Joel.” She sniffled.

At that moment all of my hope returned. My Jesus had resurrected.