The movie was long, which meant I had a lot of time to think. I thought about my mom, and how happy she would’ve been to know that I was watching a serious documentary like this, getting educated about the world, which to her was the whole point of being in college. And I thought about Becca, who wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in that theater, because why should she pretend to care about stuff that happened to people she didn’t know in places she’d never heard of? I understood why she felt that way—part of me even agreed with her—though I knew it was selfish, and not the kind of thing you were allowed to say out loud, especially not at the Women’s International Documentary Film Festival.
Amber was quiet after the movie ended. We left the lecture hall and headed outside. It was a chilly night with a light drizzle coming down, but I think she was as grateful as I was for the fresh air. We were still holding hands, and I wondered if I should try to kiss her. But then I looked at her puffy eyes and stunned expression and realized that it probably wasn’t such a good idea.
“What did you think?” she asked.
“About the movie?”
That made her laugh just a little.
“Yeah,” she said. “About the movie.”
If I’d been totally honest, I would have told her that the movie had made me realize just how lucky I was. To be a guy. To be an American. To have a healthy body and enough money that I never had to wonder where my next meal was coming from, and to know that I would never have to sacrifice my own happiness and freedom for anyone else’s. To wake up every morning knowing that something fun could happen. The movie made me want to get down on all fours and kiss the ground. But I knew that was the wrong way to go.
“It fucking broke my heart,” I told her.
*
Amber had been looking forward to the party all week. A lot of her friends from the Feminist Alliance were going to be there, and everybody was excited. It was one of those rare situations where you could have fun and make an important point at the same time, at least that’s what they were all telling themselves. But now, after the movie she’d just seen, the party suddenly seemed ridiculous, a bunch of privileged college kids pretending that they were making a political statement, fighting the patriarchy by getting drunk and taking their clothes off.
“You okay?” Brendan asked, laying his hand gently on her shoulder. They were standing out on the quad, getting rained on.
“Just sad,” she said, touched by his concern. He’d sat through the grueling film without a single complaint, and had held her hand through the worst of it. “The world’s so fucked up.”
“Tell me about it.”
Amber didn’t regret watching the movie. You couldn’t turn away from the truth just because it ripped your guts out. You had to look cruelty and injustice in the eye, to acknowledge the humanity of people less fortunate than you, and accept your obligation to help improve their lives. It was the least you could do.
But it was so little. It was almost nothing.
Some part of her just wanted to say Fuck it—drop out of school, say goodbye to softball and Women’s Studies and Autism Awareness and Slut Walk and her hilarious roommate, Willa—say goodbye to America—and get a job with some NGO that built schools for girls in Afghanistan, or fought human trafficking in Thailand, or provided free surgery for African women with obstetrical fistula. Do something useful, instead of wasting her time reading books and watching movies and liking meaningless shit on Facebook. It would be hard on her mother, though, and she’d really miss Benjy, who would only understand that she was far away, not why she’d gone. Her generous motives would be lost on him.
“You want to get a drink or something?” Brendan asked.
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. It was Cat again. She’d texted three times during the movie.
Where rrrrrr uuuuu???? You better get that big fat booty over here so I can spank it bitch!!!!
Amber smiled in spite of herself. Cat was the only person in the world who could talk to her like that and get away with it. And besides, it was ten thirty on a rainy Saturday night, and she had to accept the fact that, right now, there was nothing she could do to help anyone but herself lead a better and happier life.
“I know where we could get a drink,” she told him.
*
The party Amber took me to wasn’t a full-blown naked party. It was an underwear party, sponsored by the Feminist Alliance, so of course it had an uplifting name, which in this case was EVERY BODY IS BEAUTIFUL!—a statement that is totally not true.
When we arrived, a feminist at the door handed us nametag lanyards. Instead of your name, you were supposed to write down something about your body that you didn’t like. The idea was that you were supposed to celebrate your flaws and not be ashamed of them. Just get it out in the open, so people could tell you you were beautiful anyway.
Amber didn’t hesitate. She uncapped the Sharpie and wrote DISTURBINGLY LARGE SHOULDERS on the card as easily as if she were signing her name. Then she handed the marker to me. I was stumped for a second, because I’d been working out and felt pretty good about my body. All I could think to write was CALVES COULD BE BIGGER, even though they were perfectly fine, too. Amber laughed when she saw what I’d written.
“That’s it?” she said. “Your calves could be bigger?”
I shrugged. The only other thing I could have gone with was SMELLY FEET, because I did have an occasional problem in that direction, though I didn’t really think it qualified as a physical flaw.
“Mine’s not that different from yours,” I pointed out.
I could tell she didn’t agree, but she nodded anyway and pulled her dress over her head in this totally matter-of-fact way, which gave me an instant half-boner. I had to turn away and stare at a chubby dude in tightey whities until it was safe to start undressing. Weirdly, the chubby dude had listed his flaw as TWITCHY EYELID, which seemed a little beside the point. When I was done, we put our shoes and clothes into a trash bag and shoved it behind a couch.
“You think it’s okay there?” I asked. “I don’t want to walk home in my underwear.”
Instead of answering, Amber grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the crowd. She was wearing regular cotton panties, black with a white border, and a V-neck black top that looked like a sports bra but was lacier in the front. Her body was just like I’d imagined it, strong and sleek, no hourglass but a nice round ass I was happy to follow wherever it led.
*