Holding Hands

Chapter 2

"What?!" Laila asked incredulously, throwing her hands up into the air. She nearly fell off the edge of the bed with her exaggerated antics. "What does that even mean?" I'm sure Laila knew what that meant.

"It means," I scrunched my face up with disgust. I couldn't say the words. Maybe if I just sped through it, Laila would let it go. "The tee tee and the wee wee ..."

Nope. She had no intentions of letting anything go.

"Stop yourself," Laila ordered. "I'm going to need you to never say tee tee and wee wee ever again in life. Ever." She shook her head in amusement. "We are 18 for God's sake!"

18 was just a number to me. What was so different between 17 and 18? I still live with my parents. I still eat their food. I pay no bills and I have no plans for that to change.

See? No difference.

"I know, but I just can't bring myself to say... it." I couldn't think the words either.

"Repeat after me," Laila requested. "Penis. Penis. Penis. And vagina. They're just words." How could those "just words" roll off her tongue so easily?

"Eww!" I squirmed. "They're gross words." I don't think I have ever said those words. And here I go again, not even able to say it in my own head.

"Words can't be gross. They're just sounds." Laila chided. "Look, if you get married to Hakeem, you're going to have to, you know..."

"Do it," I finished the sentence before Laila could, emphasizing the word "it". I didn't want to hear her say the "s" word.

"Not it. Sex," Laila continued. So much for my sensitive ears. "Sex. Why can't you say these words? There's nothing wrong with using proper terminology. My mom taught me to use anatomically correct words for our privates ever since I could talk. Penis. Vagina. Apple. Boat. Use your words." What was I? A 3-year old having a tantrum? Yes.

"But what if I don't want to?" I whined. 18 year olds could be stubborn too.

"You big baby. Look, if you don't want to use the right words, you'll just look silly." Laila clucked her tongue at me.

"That's not what I'm talking about." The color was rising in my cheeks again. I wanted to talk about this. To someone. I needed to, but I couldn't imagine talking to my mother. That was just too weird. I put on my brave face and plowed ahead. It did occur to me that Laila couldn't know any more about the "s" word than I did. One of my dad's favorite phrases came to mind. The blind leading the blind. "What if I don't want to do it? Like ever? 

"Oh? Laila paused momentarily. "Well what do you think you're going to be doing when you get married? Holding hands?" She smirked. I was too embarrassed to get mad at her flippant remark. And of course she already knew that I hadn't even done that much.

"Well, yeah. I mean I have never held hands with a guy, so that's a lot right there."

"How is that a lot? You're kidding me, right? Laila shook her head. I was definitely not kidding about holding hands. That would be a huge milestone.

"All I know is that it's gonna hurt. A lot." I felt my shoulders slump in dismay as the brave face I'd tried to put on melted away. My own body was snitching on me. Thanks a lot face.

"Well there is a rip and a tear. And yes, there will be blood. That's what my mom said." Even Laila seemed a bit freaked out by what she was saying.