Part Eight: Claire
There are quite a few memories in my head that remain to be vivid. You know, the kind of memories that when I’m asked about, I can confidently tell point-by-point and detail-by-detail. Kind of like storytelling, although I admit, they’d be a little biased since they’re my memories after all.
These are memories that stand out. The kind that I’m sure would flashback to me on my dying moment, if such a thing does really happen. Like the day my eldest brother – the one who always smiled, the one I idolized above all – died in the huge, clean hospital after he OD’d on valium when I was nine. Or that time – I was twelve then – we took my other brother to the airport after he decided to study overseas for college and Mom was crying and Dad was just smiling and Ricky gave me the biggest hug. And of course there’s that time I lost my virginity to Vince inside my own girly room when I was fourteen and both Mom and Dad were out for the week attending this convention or something.
Also, there’s that moment. That one very ordinary, very average moment when I woke up and realized I had actually fallen in love, only to tell Perrie, years after, that I’ve never been in love. Not a complete fat lie because it's true; I've never actually been in love with the ones I dated.
Anyway, these are memories, both good and bad, that I would never trade for anything else. These are memories that make me who I am right now. Memories that signify the person that I am, as well as the people that have made me out to be me. My family, my friends, my exes. Even my first boyfriend Vince who turned out to be a possessive douche bag.
I remember clearly the day Perrie came out to me because that moment has been stored in my head as one of those few memories.
We were laying side-by-side on her bed that afternoon, after finishing our chemistry homework, talking about your usual high school stuff. You know, like teachers and clubs and all that. Perrie and the school paper because she was an editor for the school paper back then. Me and the volleyball team because I played for the team before.
But when I started talking about the cute guys and how I was thinking about breaking up with Daniel – my current boyfriend at the time – because all we ever talked about was his soccer and his friends and his barely passing grades and I was starting to get sick of him, that was also when I noticed Perrie being quiet. Unusually quiet, that is, because Perrie isn’t necessarily the talkative type but when the two of us talk, she always has something to say.
So of course, I stopped blabbing and I turned to look at her. But when she couldn’t even look at me, and then placed her arm to shield her eyes, I knew something was wrong.
So I asked her.
At first, she wouldn’t speak. So I nudged her and poked her and when I pulled her arm away from her face, she still refused to open her eyes and look at me, but said instead, “You’re going to hate me.”
That was when I really started getting worried, because there were dozens of things that Perrie could’ve done – really, really bad things like do drugs or get herself pregnant – and though I knew I won’t hate her, I also knew that she might hate herself.
So, albeit a little warily, I asked her again.
And this time, she looked back at me.
“Claire, do you know that girl who works at the video store?”
“The one with the bad dye job?” I asked, and she smiled but after a while lost that same smile and I felt disappointed.
She was quiet again for a while, with me still looking at her as she stared at the ceiling which I knew was just plain white so it couldn’t have been that interesting.
But when finally, she spoke again and I heard her say the words, I became aware of the fact that I think I stopped breathing for a split second there, or my heart stopped beating, or something in me just stopped.
Because what she said was, “We’ve kinda been going out.”
“You mean, like…” I started saying without realizing I started saying anything at all.
“Dating,” she affirmed, closing her eyes and then breathing out this heavy sigh. “I don’t love her or anything like that,” and I’m pretty sure I sighed myself, “but I like kissing her and um, you know, making out and all that,” and Perrie was blushing and I couldn’t help but smile at that sight.
“Claire, I’m pretty sure I’m gay,” she finally said and then she looked at me with this look on her face that was part fear, part hope, and I gave her a half-smile, ruffled her hair the way I always do, and laid my head on her stomach.
“So what if you’re gay? You’re still Perrie,” was all I said because I knew it was what she wanted to hear from me, even though inside, I wanted to say so much more, ask so much more, to understand, to get past everything her declaration stirred in me. In me and between us both.
And now, sitting here on the driver’s seat of my car, with the engine finally turned off, with Lizzie passed out on the backseat, and Perrie beside me, I’m reminded again of that same Perrie when we were both still sixteen. The Perrie that was unusually quiet. The Perrie that thought I would hate her for being a lesbian.
“Something’s up,” I say, looking at the deserted street in front of us through the windshield.
“What?”
“There’s something you’re not saying, Perrie,” this time, I look at her and she’s the one looking ahead. “Spill.”
Perrie’s biting her lower lip which just goes to show she’s about to cave in. I know she’s just about dying to tell me whatever is on her mind because there’s no one else she might tell it to.
“You’re awesome; do you know that, Claire? I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t come,” Perrie says, now looking at me with a smile that’s just so her.
“Keep talking and I might just be convinced to help you babysit a hungover Lizzie on a Saturday.”
She laughs quietly, softly, “You know you don’t have to do that.”
I poke her shoulder, “Fine. You just won yourself a babysitting partner.”
And then she sighs.
Awesome.
“C’mon, Perrie. Spill it.”
“She kissed me.”
And again, there’s that memory. But this time, it’s not just about Perrie coming out to me back then, but my own silent reaction to what she said.
You know that ‘stopping’ thing?
Yup. It came back.
“She kissed me, Claire.”
“And you kissed her back?” I ask, wanting to know. Because even if I tried to deny it, I had an idea this would happen sooner or later. Lizzie’s not the best when it comes to self-control and she was being too fucking obvious. And Perrie…well, she’ll always be Perrie, that’s for sure.
“No!” Perrie exclaims, but just like that, she furrows her brows in contemplation, “But I don’t know if I would have. I’m not sure that I would not kiss her back if she didn’t start throwing up,” and she bites her lip again, “That was gross, by the way. Reminds me why I never drink. Alcoholic stuff, I mean. ‘Coz, you know, I do drink water and soda and…yeah.”
“Yeah,” I nod, both annoyed and amused.
“So, um.”
“Are you attracted to Lizzie?”
“She’s straight, Claire.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Perrie.”
She sighs, “No?”
“Are you answering me or asking me?”
“I don’t know,” and the look on Perrie’s face makes me feel guilty for doing the inquisition. But it has to be done, and unfortunately, I’m once again being left with the responsibility to do it.
“Perrie, just tell me directly if you like her or not, and then we’ll go from there.”
“No. Okay? No. She’s pretty and she’s a great person. But, Claire, Lizzie is straight and she was drunk and most of all, she’s our friend,” Perrie pauses to massage the bridge of her nose, and I resist the urge to pull her in for a tight embrace. “It’s not… It can’t… I’m not… Just, no.”
“Then you’ll both have to deal with what happened when Liz is finally sober and clearheaded,” I say, the most objective thing to say when I’m in the least objective mood to say it.
There’s silence for a while, until Perrie groans in frustration. “This is just weird and insane.”
“This?”
“Lizzie who was so obsessed with her ex-boyfriend. And…and me! Lizzie and me!” She shakes her head, “It’s too weird and impossible!”
I look to the back, at the girl who used liquid courage to finally take the next step with Perrie. Something Jan was too proud to do. Something…
“No, it’s not,” I tell Perrie and all she gives me back is a frown.
No, it’s not.
(TBC)