Rock All Night

93




The first thing I asked her – after she’d downed all four shots – was how long she’d known she was gay.

“Forever,” she said, and belched.

“What’s your earliest memory, though?”

She stared off into the distance and actually gave it some thought. “There’s actually two things I remember. One was Mr. Hopkins.”

“Mr. Hopkins?”

“Yeah. He was this old a*shole I had to live with when I was little.”

I frowned, but thought better than to ask about it now. After all, she was actually talking, and she hadn’t even propositioned me yet.

“Anyway, he said, ‘Riley, one day you’re gonna grow up and get married and have kids of your own.’ I was, like, four or something, and I didn’t know shit about sex… but I saw all the men and women who were married on TV, and I just knew that was never gonna happen for me.

“So I was like, ‘Nunh-unh.’

“And he was like, ‘Oh yes you are.’

“And I was like, ‘Nunh-unh.’

“And he got really mad and was like, ‘Yes you ARE.’

“And I was like, ‘NUNH-UNH.’”

Maybe it was the shot of amaretto, but I was totally charmed by the thought of four-year-old Riley (who still had a multi-colored mohawk in my daydream) standing her ground against the patriarchy.

Then she finished the story.

“And when I wouldn’t agree with him, he beat the shit out of me.”

I stared at her, my mouth agape.

Riley frowned. “What?”

“He… spanked you?”

She looked at me like I was an idiot. “No, he beat the shit out of me.”

“With… his hand?”

“No, his belt.”

It took me almost ten seconds before I could finally speak.

“But… you were four. And you didn’t DO anything.”

She shrugged again. “I told you he was an a*shole.”

“Who was this guy?”

For the first time, she looked visibly uncomfortable. “He was my foster mom’s dad. So, like, my foster grandfather. Or something.”

“…oh…”

“They weren’t all bad,” she said hurriedly. “My foster families, I mean. Some of them were pretty good. He was just a real dick, that’s all.”

SOME of them?

She gave a curt laugh. “I didn’t give a shit, though. I just gritted my teeth and took it. F*cker never made me cry, not once,” she said proudly.

The next round of shots came a few seconds later. I bolted my amaretto as quickly as I could, steeling my courage.

“What… what about the other one?”

“The other one what?” Riley asked as she tossed back the Jim Beam.

“The other memory. About how you knew you were gay.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah.” She grinned. “I was in kindergarten, and I had to ride the bus. And there was this little girl in my class who rode the bus, too. Mandy Parker. She was, like, the prettiest girl in school. Blonde hair, always wore these really pretty dresses. And this boy – I think he was in first grade – he kissed her on the bus ride. And I got really, really jealous.”

“Of Mandy kissing somebody?”

“No, of the dude – cuz he got to kiss Mandy.”

I laughed out loud.

Much better story than Mr. Hopkins.

And then, unfortunately, she finished it again.

“So I punched the kid in the mouth when we got off the bus, and then I kissed Mandy, which she didn’t like so much. That was the first time I ever got suspended.”

I stood there staring at her.

“What?” she asked belligerently.

“You got suspended in kindergarten?”

She beamed with pride. “Yeah.”

“…do any of your stories have a happy ending?”

She seemed a little bit thrown by my question. “…that’s not a happy ending?”

I flagged down the tattooed waitress. “I’m going to need another shot,” I told her.

“I’m not even finished with my second round yet,” Riley pointed out.

“Do you have a lot more stories like the ones you just told me?”

“I guess – why?”

I looked at the waitress. “I’m gonna need a lot more shots.”