Clearly, I Didn't Think This Through : The Story of One Tall Girl's Impulsive, Ill-conceived, and Borderline Irresponsible Life Decisions (9781101612255) Page 5

  So, when Ricky invited me over for a party at his dorm, I didn’t hesitate. I expected it to be a low-key, Friday night hang. What I didn’t expect was meeting Wyatt, an awkward, pudgy aspiring filmmaker. He was Ricky’s upstairs neighbor, the Kramer to Ricky’s Seinfeld. When Wyatt walked in Ricky’s bedroom just as the party started to get fun, I grabbed Ricky’s arm and begged him to introduce me. Amused, he said sure.

  “Wyatt! Hey, man. Have you met Anna?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have. Hey, there. My name’s Wyatt.”

  “My name’s Anna,” I said, flustered.

  “I’m gonna go grab a beer in the kitchen. Want one?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t drink.”

  “Cool. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere!”

  He came back with his beer a few minutes later and sat down next to me on Ricky’s couch. We flirted all night. I learned that Wyatt was a sophomore, like me, and that he hailed from Seattle. Right off the bat, the filmmaker thing impressed me. He also wore black-framed glasses, which he’d nervously push up his nose. As the party began to wind down, I looked at my watch.

  “It’s getting pretty late,” I said. “I think I should probably get going.”

  “Quick question: Have you ever heard John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme?”

  “Nope. I don’t really listen to jazz. I’m more of a rock ’n’ roll kind of girl.”

  “Oh, man, you are missing out! There’s no way I’m letting you leave here without listening to some Coltrane. Let’s go back to my room upstairs and I’ll play you some of his best stuff.”

  I eagerly accepted his invitation. Seeing as we only had to trek up a flight of stairs, we were at his place in no time.

  “My roommates aren’t home, so we can be as loud as we want,” he said as he unlocked his front door. Once we pushed our way inside, I got a good look at the place. The walls were totally bare except for a Jaws poster in the hallway that was affixed with purple pushpins, its corners peeling back. “I’m gonna grab a can of Coke. You want one?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  “Cool. My room is the first one on the left. Make yourself at home.”

  I flicked the bedroom light on, and it cast an eerily blue glow over everything. His room was very small, so small that I hit the bed with the door. One tiny window was cracked open, and it faced a red brick wall. A huge poster from some French film I’d never heard of was taped to the wall near his bed. A small picture of his family was framed on his desk.

  I walked over to his closet and sniffed a shirt. It didn’t smell like anything. Maybe he was a robot? I considered it briefly, and then dismissed the notion.

  I perused the spines on his bookshelf, and each book was radder than the next. Aside from having my AP English syllabus on display, he also had an impressive collection of pop culture standards: High Fidelity, Please Kill Me, and the complete works of e. e. cummings, my favorite poet. He had a collection of recent fiction and film theory works clustered on one side of the shelf along with thick tomes about the Civil War jammed next to a few graphic novels and comic books, too. As Wayne Campbell from Wayne’s World would say, “Schwiiiing.” Judging by these books, Wyatt was clearly my soul mate.

  Please, please, please let him kiss me, I prayed to whatever god is in charge of college hookups.

  He came in holding two Coke cans, handing me one.

  “This is great. I really like your room, Wyatt.”

  “Thanks. Wait. Let me fix this.” He turned on his desk lamp and turned off the overhead light. The softer lighting was welcome. “Ah! That’s better.” He set his Coke down on his desk and leafed through some records from a crate on the floor before settling on one. I sat on the edge of his bed while he placed a record on the turntable.

  “This is John Coltrane.” He put the needle on the record. The notes filled up his room.

  “I can see why you like it so much. It’s jazzy.” I had no idea what I was talking about. I’d never listened to jazz music before, but I didn’t want him to think that I was uncultured. “That saxophone is amazing.” He came over and sat next to me. Without saying a word, he leaned in and kissed me. My heart was beating so fast, I’m surprised it didn’t explode out of my chest and splatter all over the floor like a dropped plate of spaghetti. Then he kissed me again, this time longer and with tongue.

  “I think you should turn off the light, don’t you?” I whispered.

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.” He got up and did just that. It took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. We kissed for a bit more. It seemed like hours, but it was probably, like, five minutes.

  “You can stay over if you want,” he said, between kisses.

  I didn’t even hesitate. “Sure. Yeah. Okay.” I kicked off my sneakers and he kicked off his, too. I pulled off my camouflage cargo pants. He pulled off his brown corduroy pants. Once under the covers, things started to heat up a bit. I let my fingers touch his boxer shorts. He touched my bra strap.

  “This is so crazy that I came back to your place. I definitely wasn’t planning on meeting anyone tonight,” I said, still in disbelief that this all was happening.

  “I know, me too. It’s so cool how you’re into music. I really dig that about you.”

  “Yeah? Well, I really like how you want to be a filmmaker,” I gushed.

  “Would you ever want to go to a film festival with me?”

  “Like, a date?”

  “Sure! Why not?”

  “Yeah. I’d love to. And I’ll take you to some punk shows downtown.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “I’d love that, too.” We kissed about these plans. My mind did somersaults, trying to figure out what I’d even wear to a film festival. This might precipitate a shopping trip.

  “Anna, you’re so perfect.” He stroked my hair a bit.

  “You’re perfect, too.” I curled into his chest and lightly scratched his arm with my fingernail.

  “I have an idea. You’re gonna think I’m crazy. But, whatever. Fuck it. I’m just gonna go with this. Anna”—he turned to face me—“will you be my girlfriend?”

  “Are you serious, Wyatt?”

  “I’m totally being serious right now.”

  “Yes!”

  “Really?”

  “Yes! Yes, yes, yes. I’d be happy to.” I beamed. We both beamed! We kissed for a while longer before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

  The next morning, I headed back to my dorm room. It was my first walk of shame and it wasn’t so much a walk as a full-on sprint because I couldn’t wait to get home and tell everyone I’d ever met that I now had a boyfriend. I rang my parents up first.

  “Mom, I’m in love.” I went down his stats like I was reading them off a baseball card. “His name is Wyatt and he’s my new boyfriend. Real quick: He’s from Seattle and he’s a film major at Columbia. He likes jazz music and gosh, Coke, I guess? The soda pop not the drug.”

  “What’s his last name? Is he Jewish?”

  “I don’t know his last name yet but I don’t think he’s Jewish. Are there Jewish people in Seattle? I think he mentioned something about being home for Christmas, so I don’t think he is. Look, I gotta go. I have, like, ten more calls I have to make.”

  I called my high school friends in Chicago and relayed the news. If I’d had room for it in my modest bank account, I probably would’ve hired a skywriter to tell the entire city: “I have a boyfriend! Suck on that, NYC!”

  I tried to take a nap, but I couldn’t sleep because I was too excited about Wyatt. He was all I could think about. I met up with Ricky back at his place that night to give him the breakdown.

  “Ricky, I have something to tell you.” I was too ecstatic to keep still. If I had been a puppy, I would’ve been wagging my tail.

  “Yeah? What’s up?”

  “You’re not going to believe what happened last night.”

  “Did you get mugged?”

  “No. Well, I gues
s you could say that my heart got mugged.”

  “That sounds painful.”

  “It’s not painful. It’s wonderful. Ricky”—I took a long pause for maximum drama—“I’m in a relationship with Wyatt.”

  “No!” he laughed.

  “Yes!”

  “Get out of here!”

  “We’re, like, in love. I swear to God, we’re soul mates.”

  Ricky was skeptical.

  “Was he drunk? He must’ve been drunk. I know Wyatt. He’s not the kind of guy to do that.”

  “He wasn’t drunk, Ricky. We talked about it this morning, before I left, if you catch my drift.” I winked because I’m not subtle.

  “I’m telling you that he was drunk. He didn’t mean it, Anna. He had, like, six beers last night.”

  “Goddamn it, Ricky! He wasn’t drunk! He had all of his faculties. Just be happy for me. Be happy for us.”

  “Okay. How’s this: I’m so happy for you. Wow! This is excellent news.”

  “I don’t care if that was sarcastic, I will pretend that it was sincere.” As I relayed to Ricky all about the film festivals I would now attend as Wyatt’s girlfriend, Wyatt popped his head in, totally catching me by surprise.

  “Oh, hey, you guys. I was just heading out to meet some friends. Ricky, I wanted to say what a great time I had last night at your party.”

  “Yeah, man. Thanks for coming.”

  Wyatt turned his attention to me, sitting on the couch. “Oh, hey, Anna.” He pushed his glasses up his nose.

  “Wyatt! Hey.” He looked just as adorable as I remembered. His brown hair was kind of messy. I couldn’t wait to run my fingers through it again.

  “Actually, Anna, do you have a minute? Can we talk for a second?”

  “Of course. Excuse me, Ricky.” I raised my eyebrows at him to really hammer it home that Wyatt and I were a real couple so in his face! I followed Wyatt into the hallway, smiling. When we were alone, I leaned in for a kiss but was surprised to see him hesitate.

  “Ah, my boyfriend’s all shy now, is he?”

  “Anna, this isn’t easy.” He took a deep breath. “I have something for you.”

  “Oh yeah?” I giggled. “Am I going to like it?”

  “Uh, probably not?” He reached into his pocket and handed me a small letter sealed in a white envelope. It had my name written on the front in red pen. His penmanship was neat. That made me love him even more.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just read it.”

  The letter was handwritten on his personal stationery, like an official communication from a high-ranking official. He watched as I read it out loud:

  Dear Anna,

  Thank you for last night. I had a great time getting to know you. When I asked you if you would be my girlfriend, I totally meant it. For that second, it seemed like the most natural thing in the cosmos to be together as a couple.

  Now, I feel uncomfortable being yours or anyone’s boyfriend.

  I’m just not ready for that kind of commitment right now.

  I hope you understand that I can’t be your boyfriend, but I can be your friend. And, I plan on being your friend. So punk shows and indie film festivals, here we come. Please get back to me with your feelings and/or thoughts. I just want what is best for both of us. Thank you for understanding.

  Take care,

  Wyatt Ackerman

  212-555-1234

  493 Carmen Hall

  1000 Amsterdam Ave.

  NY, NY 10027

  Wyatt78@columbia.edu

  “Is this a joke?”

  He shook his head no.

  “Why did you even ask me to be your girlfriend in the first place if you’re not ready to have one?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I got carried away last night.”

  “Wyatt, we don’t need to be in a relationship,” I reassured him. “Do you just want to hang out and go on a few dates and see how it goes?” That seemed like a reasonable request. I was actually proud of myself for keeping an even keel about this.

  He frowned. “No. I think it would be best if we just went our separate ways.”

  “All right. I mean, I can’t force you to date me.” For a split second, I did think about forcing him, but I don’t think that I could legally do that. So much for my keel being even. I could feel it starting to sink.

  “No, no. I’m just not ready to be with anyone right now. You understand, right?” I didn’t say anything. “So, we’re good here?”

  “I guess, yeah,” I reluctantly agreed.

  “All right. I’m gonna head out then. Thanks for being so cool about everything.”

  “Yeah, no problem.” I was stunned.

  “Take care!” And with that, he turned around and walked out of the building.

  I went back to Ricky’s room and collapsed on his bed.

  “What’d your new boyfriend have to say?”

  I buried my head in his pillow. “He dumped me.”

  “What? I can’t hear you with your face in a pillow.”

  I flopped over onto my back. “Ricky! He dumped me. I have just been dumped. Look at this.” I tossed the letter at him and it twirled down to his feet. He read it out loud just as I had done six minutes before. I pulled the pillow over my ears so I wouldn’t have to hear it again. When he got to the end, after he read the e-mail address out loud, he laughed his head off.

  “Did he have to invoke the cosmos? Really?” I whined.

  “Wow. Personally, I liked how he included all of his contact information at the end. You know, in case you wanna send him a cookie bouquet or a singing telegram or something.”

  “The thing that bothers me is, why was he carrying the letter around like that? How did he even know that I was here? Was he hoping to bump into me? Was he breaking up with a bunch of girls named Anna, so he made sure to always have one of those letters on his person? That’s so weird, right?”

  “Totally,” Ricky agreed.

  “We didn’t even date for twenty-four hours! He really felt the need to break up with me?”

  “Look on the bright side: You were right about dating him! I was wrong. Doesn’t that make you feel better? You love being right about things.”

  I got up and grabbed my purse. “I gotta go.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “I don’t want to be so close to the scene of the crime. There are too many painful memories here.” I looked around his room. “We met in this bedroom. He asked me to go back to his place when we sat on that couch. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Aww, chin up, buttercup.”

  “I was just dumped, Ricky.” I started to cry a little bit. A tear streamed down my cheek. I wiped it away.

  Ricky stood up, came over, and hugged me. “I don’t think this actually counts as a dumping. You dated for less than a full day.”

  “It feels real.” I looked at him with huge, wet eyes.

  “What’s the lesson here?”

  I wiped away another tear, then shrugged. “What are you, Danny Tanner giving me a lesson at the end of a Full House episode?”

  “Just answer the question!”

  “I don’t know, Ricky. Tell me. What’s the lesson?”

  “Never trust a white guy who wants to play you jazz records. No good can come from that.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. I’m mourning a loss here.”

  “I’m serious! Nothing good can come from a jazz hound. That should’ve been your first clue.”

  “But I thought saying that you listen to jazz is a shorthand way to say that you are cultured, like that you eat sushi with chopsticks, or you own several Criterion Collection movies on DVD or listen to NPR. People who listen to jazz own tea kettles, Ricky! They wear turtlenecks when seasonally appropriate and they have bookshelves filled with actual books. I thought those were the kinds of guys I wanted to date.”

  “So I guess this means that you’re in the market for a rebound? Yes?” Now he was the one wiggling his eyebrows up and
down.

  “It took me over a year to find one guy I liked. It’ll probably take a dozen more until I find another guy. Fuck everything. I’m going to be alone forever.”

  “Oh, come on. Now you’re just being dramatic.”

  “We were going to go to film festivals together!” I whimpered. “I had my heart set on it. I even picked out the outfit in my head. Or, at least, I realized I’d have to go shopping for a good outfit.”

  “I’ll go to film festivals with you. Would that make you feel better?”

  “A little bit. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “All right, I have some phone calls to make.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I gotta tell my parents that I’m single again.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be bummed at the news.”

  “I also have to call my friends and break it to them. This is going to take a while. I have an entire phone tree to work through. Bye, Ricky. Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “You’ll be okay.”

  “Thanks, buddy.”

  As I headed out onto the street, Ricky opened his window and yelled, “Remember: Never trust a jazz hound! Write it down if you have to. Only you have the power to prevent falling for a jazz hound.”

  Lesson learned.

  CHAPTER 5

  It’s All in the Details

  After the Wyatt debacle, I didn’t even so much as kiss a guy again for almost two years. Two years, people! I had resigned myself to the fact that no guy would ever want to date me for the rest of my life. I was convinced of it. As the daughter of a scientist, I looked at the facts, which only supported my hypothesis that I was destined to a life of solitude. My cluelessness about where to meet guys along with my cluelessness about what to do with one if I did bring him back to my lair pretty much pointed in one direction: spinsterhood. Part of me felt like I should embrace my fate, take up knitting classes, and learn to love the exclusive company of cats.

  But another part of me was still hopeful that I could figure this puzzle out. I wasn’t ready to enter the convent just yet. The main problem was that I wasn’t meeting any guys in my classes at school. And I wasn’t attracted to any of my guy friends, so they didn’t count as viable romantic prospects.