And so I did. Because apparently I’ve never seen any of those movies where the dumb-ass coed gets mutilated by a serial killer. And because no one suspects that Neil Patrick Harris is going to murder you. And because he made me laugh in spite of myself. And because I’d always wanted to have a gay male best friend who could teach me about false eyelashes and blow jobs. More of the last one, really.
Surprisingly, Victor hardly tried to mutilate me at all, and he actually did have all the books he’d claimed to have at the bookstore. He also had the largest selection of vests I’d ever seen a man possess (three). He was only a few months older than I was, but he acted much older and more sophisticated than anyone my age, and we quickly became friends. He was one of the most ardent Republicans I’d ever met, but he consistently surprised me by not sticking to any of the stereotypes I tried to fit him into. He was a strange combination of Star Wars–quoting geek, tattooed kung fu teacher, and preppy computer hacker.
He was also the first person I ever met who had the Internet in his room (Special note to those same people born after 1990: I know. Shut up), and I immediately used it to look at pictures of dead people, because I thought it would be weird to download porn in front of him. He seemed oddly fascinated with me, in the same way that watching car accident victims is fascinating. I assumed he’d eventually realize I was not the kind of girl his conservative parents would want him around, but he was stubborn and refused to be thrown by anything I lobbed at him.
We both attended the same small college in the nearby town of San Angelo, and I spent long lunches in his dorm room where we talked about life and dreams and childhood, and nothing happened at all because I’m not that kind of girl. Until he kissed me. And then he convinced me that he wasn’t gay at all, and was very concerned to learn that I equated gay people with vests. “Not in a bad way,” I pointed out. “I just assumed that only gay men would be okay with wearing acid-washed vests.” (Years later, gay friends would point out that that sentence alone proves just how little I knew about gay men at the time, and that I had obviously confused “acid-washed vests” with “assless chaps.” Then I point out that I’ve never confused the two, because one is much more drafty than the other. Then we all laugh and order another round and toast to how great it is to have fun, gay male friends. Hint: It’s awesome. Go find some right now. Gay people are just like you and me, except better. Except for the ones who are boring, or are assholes. Avoid them.)
A few weeks after meeting Victor he told me, “I’ve decided I’m going to be a deejay,” and I replied, “Well, of course you are. And I’ve decided to be a cowgirl-ballerina,” but then the next day he was hired as a deejay at the biggest rock station in four counties. It was unsettling. Mainly because it was the same confident tone he’d used when he casually said, “I’m going to marry you one day.” I snorted and rolled my eyes, because there was no way that was going to happen.
Victor was wealthy, and ambitious, and a member of the Young Republicans, and the exact opposite of the type of guy I went for. And also he was still wearing a vest. So I laughed at his little joke, but he didn’t laugh back, and in the back of my head I was a little worried that he was right. In spite of the fact that we had almost nothing in common, I found myself completely in love with him, and he casually asked me to marry him almost every day. And I laughingly said no to him every day, because he was very dangerous. Not physically dangerous, of course. Although one time he did punch me in the nose. I mean, technically it wasn’t his fault, because he was just doing his kung fu forms and I was standing in his dorm room, thinking about how boring kung fu is, and then I saw something on the floor and I’m all, “Potato chip!” and I bent down at the exact same moment Victor swung around into a form, and he punched me right in the fucking nose. Then I felt bad, because he was so visibly upset at accidentally almost knocking me out, and also because in the chaos one of us had stepped on the potato chip.