The Temporary Virginity of the American Player

17. I Have a Catharsis.

I wasn’t able to fall asleep that night. I know, it sounds like a line out of some bad movie, but I just couldn’t do it. My mind was going a million miles an hour the whole night; I don’t think I stopped thinking about the situation once. I hated thinking about it. Thinking about it made me sad and angry and made me want to go collapse on the sofa and cry, gorge myself on Ben & Jerry’s, and watch a whole entire marathon of Spongebob.

Joe had gotten so angry, he just left. I wasn’t sure where he went…maybe he went to go hang out with spandex girl at the gym, or maybe see that local band playing at one of the bars on campus. I didn’t blame him for not sticking around, but at the same time I really didn’t want to be at the apartment by myself. I wasn’t about to go out and find Johnny; I had a feeling I knew where he was and I most certainly didn’t want to go back there for a second encounter. I didn’t want to go find Joe. I figured I had two options: stay in the apartment staring at the ceiling or go drown my sorrows in a cappuccino. However, that would require coming face-to-face with Lena, and the last thing I wanted was for the truth to slip out about what Johnny was doing.

Naturally, I picked leaving. I wasn’t in the mood to wallow in lost causes such as Johnny Biel. Besides, it wasn’t like I’d have to tell Lena what was going on. I could delay that confrontation for a little while at least. I’d just go over there, grab a cappuccino, maybe sit down and talk for a while, and then leave again. By the time I left, my head should be clear. It was the best plan I had, so I went for it, firing up the Pontiac and chugging my way down to the café. As usual, there was Lena. Did the girl ever not work?

I could see her through the big plated glass window at the front of the café, scrubbing down a table with a rag and a big bucket of soapy water. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and her apron was stained with what looked like Windex or Pine Sol; the icon of the working girl. I studied the back of her for a few minutes, debating whether or not to turn the car around and go back to the safe apartment or face the Mistress of Coffee. Option two sounded a little more entertaining.

I sucked in a breath and exited my Pontiac, taking my time in entering through the front door of the La Vida. Lena turned around and looked at me, and what I saw almost made me cringe.

Guys, have you ever seen a girl cry? It’s the worst thing in the world. I mean, I don’t know what it is about girls, but when they cry it makes me want to cry. Guys don’t usually intentionally make girls cry unless they have serious problems. When I saw Lena crying, I wanted to die.

She dabbed at her eyes furiously, sniffling despite herself, and immediately turned away from me back to scrubbing the table she was working on. “What, uh…what do you want, Nick?”

“What’s going on,” I asked.

Please don’t be Johnny, please don’t be Johnny, please don’t be Johnny, please don’t be Johnny.

“Oh, this,” she asked, wiping her eyes. “It’s nothing…just some personal crap. Want a cappuccino?”

“Don’t change the subject,” I said quietly, easing myself down into a chair. “What happened?”

She stopped scrubbing and wiped her eyes again. “It’s nothing, Nick. Really. What do you want? I have to get these tables done.”

“Just thought I’d come over and talk.”

“Do I look like I want to talk,” she asked with a short laugh. “Nick, just…not today, OK? Seriously. I just need some space right now.”

“Too bad, you’re not getting it,” I said, standing up. “What’s going on? Did Johnny do something…did I do something?”