first dozen or so clicks, she found herself able to look straight into the lens. She turned herself in ways that she thought might be suggestive, like kneeling with her back to the camera and looking over her shoulder. She sat cross-legged. When she told Bill it was her turn with the camera, he shyly agreed, but it wasn’t much fun. His hard-on just looked like a lumpy little sausage on the screen.
“Now we’re finished,” she said. “Now I delete. You tell anybody about this and you’re dead meat, by the way.”
“You are so fucking sexy,” said Bill.
—————
In the meantime Megan had graduated from condoms to birth control pills, which she got at the local Planned Parenthood and only after they assured her they would not tell her mother. As a result of the Pill, her acne cleared up; as a result of her acne clearing up, her grades went up and her running times went down and her sleep habits stabilized. She and Diana began fighting less and less—although to say that they were “getting along” would be an exaggeration. Megan never volunteered anything, and still gave vague, noncommittal answers when Diana probed. “Are you and Bill having intercourse?” Diana might ask, to which Megan would reply, “Mom, I know how to take care of myself,
if and when
I decide to have sex.” (It wasn’t a lie.) And Diana, who if Megan were a patient rather than a daughter would have asked the question again and again, directly, until she got a definitive answer, let the matter go. Theirs was a fragile peace.
One summer night Bill handed her a small box that he had wrapped in childish dinosaur paper. Megan, who loved dangly earrings, suppressed her excitement. But when she opened the box and lifted the cotton batting, she found two small green pills.
“Where’d you get these?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Bill. “Are you interested?”
“I don’t know,” said Megan. Up until now she’d only smoked a little pot, which merely made her hungry and thus resulted in severe sugar hangovers the next morning. She’d heard about ecstasy mostly from word of mouth: how it made you fall in love with the entire world, how it could make you so thirsty you could drown yourself.
Like anyone her age, she was curious. “Have you done this before?”
“I have.” Bill spoke very thoughtfully, as though someone had just asked him if he’d ever considered the meaning of life. “It’s a nice, friendly drug.”
“How do you feel the next day?”
“Perfect.”
Megan thought for a moment. “Okay,” she said.
And so that night they took the pills. Megan felt good, but not as good as she’d expected to feel, after all she’d heard. They listened to music in Megan’s room, went out for some food, and ended up at Bill’s house, watching old videos of Bill as a toddler. Megan thought the first five minutes were cute but soon grew bored. It was a hot night, and she went outside to his backyard for some air. Crickets chirped loudly, and white hydrangeas bloomed like soft luminescent faces at the yard’s edge. Next door, in the neighbors’ backyard, there was a swimming pool. Moonlight bounced off the surface. The house was dark.
She went back inside and found Bill fumbling with his camera. “Where are your neighbors?” she asked.
“Up in Steamboat,” he replied. “Let’s play with the camera again.”
“Oh, that is getting so cheesy,” sighed Megan. “I’ve got a better idea.” She went outside and kicked off her flip-flops and ran through the dry grass to the side of the pool. Quickly she pulled off her tank top and stepped out of her shorts. Then, after swishing her foot through the water, she slipped quietly into the pool.
“Come on,” she sang in a low voice, sculling in the middle.
But Bill, for whatever reason, couldn’t be persuaded. He went and got a blanket from his house and came back and spread it on a patch of grass near the hydrangeas and sat down and waited. After a
“Now we’re finished,” she said. “Now I delete. You tell anybody about this and you’re dead meat, by the way.”
“You are so fucking sexy,” said Bill.
—————
In the meantime Megan had graduated from condoms to birth control pills, which she got at the local Planned Parenthood and only after they assured her they would not tell her mother. As a result of the Pill, her acne cleared up; as a result of her acne clearing up, her grades went up and her running times went down and her sleep habits stabilized. She and Diana began fighting less and less—although to say that they were “getting along” would be an exaggeration. Megan never volunteered anything, and still gave vague, noncommittal answers when Diana probed. “Are you and Bill having intercourse?” Diana might ask, to which Megan would reply, “Mom, I know how to take care of myself,
if and when
I decide to have sex.” (It wasn’t a lie.) And Diana, who if Megan were a patient rather than a daughter would have asked the question again and again, directly, until she got a definitive answer, let the matter go. Theirs was a fragile peace.
One summer night Bill handed her a small box that he had wrapped in childish dinosaur paper. Megan, who loved dangly earrings, suppressed her excitement. But when she opened the box and lifted the cotton batting, she found two small green pills.
“Where’d you get these?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Bill. “Are you interested?”
“I don’t know,” said Megan. Up until now she’d only smoked a little pot, which merely made her hungry and thus resulted in severe sugar hangovers the next morning. She’d heard about ecstasy mostly from word of mouth: how it made you fall in love with the entire world, how it could make you so thirsty you could drown yourself.
Like anyone her age, she was curious. “Have you done this before?”
“I have.” Bill spoke very thoughtfully, as though someone had just asked him if he’d ever considered the meaning of life. “It’s a nice, friendly drug.”
“How do you feel the next day?”
“Perfect.”
Megan thought for a moment. “Okay,” she said.
And so that night they took the pills. Megan felt good, but not as good as she’d expected to feel, after all she’d heard. They listened to music in Megan’s room, went out for some food, and ended up at Bill’s house, watching old videos of Bill as a toddler. Megan thought the first five minutes were cute but soon grew bored. It was a hot night, and she went outside to his backyard for some air. Crickets chirped loudly, and white hydrangeas bloomed like soft luminescent faces at the yard’s edge. Next door, in the neighbors’ backyard, there was a swimming pool. Moonlight bounced off the surface. The house was dark.
She went back inside and found Bill fumbling with his camera. “Where are your neighbors?” she asked.
“Up in Steamboat,” he replied. “Let’s play with the camera again.”
“Oh, that is getting so cheesy,” sighed Megan. “I’ve got a better idea.” She went outside and kicked off her flip-flops and ran through the dry grass to the side of the pool. Quickly she pulled off her tank top and stepped out of her shorts. Then, after swishing her foot through the water, she slipped quietly into the pool.
“Come on,” she sang in a low voice, sculling in the middle.
But Bill, for whatever reason, couldn’t be persuaded. He went and got a blanket from his house and came back and spread it on a patch of grass near the hydrangeas and sat down and waited. After a
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