Thomas’s buddies—were standing next to me in a row, putting on their own makeup. How much mascara did they really need? They applied it so carefully at the beginning of the night; sloppier, boozier, as time went on. Their eyes were sooty clumps by the end, smeared beneath as if they had slept in their makeup. We did everything together the whole night, me and these girls. They would not let me out of their sight. Everyone had to laugh at all the same jokes. Everyone had to comfort Margaret when she started crying about her cousin who accidentally died during the tractor pull last fall. Everyone had to wait in the bathroom when Paula started puking up peppermint schnapps. The room had smelled like Christmas. They were sort of my friends at the time, but I guess not really at all. I did not have many friends then. I had Thomas. I had my mother. I had Jenny. I did not have any friends these days actually, when I really thought about it. Just a lot of secrets instead.
“Let them have their dreams,” I said. We clinked our drinks. We were at a bar by then. I had lost three hundred dollars on the slots. I was not lucky, not at all. I had been tempted to lose every last cent of that $178,000 but I knew it was better to keep it safe for now. So Valka was buying everything, and I did not stop her. She was a good friend. We both got wistful, thinking about prom. We could not get out of it.
“I had dreams,” said Valka.
“Me too,” I said. “I was going to be married forever.”
“I almost got married,” said Valka. “To Peter Dingle.” She looked down at her drink miserably.
It was not going to take much prodding. There was a tiny part of me that still wanted her to hold back. I knew whatever I was going to hear had been said a million times before. It was a real story that had happened to her. I knew she would not lie to me. But it was going to be something she had practiced. And then I thought: maybe she will need to tell it a million times more just to get over it. And secrets were what girlfriends shared with each other. This is how we would become friends. Someday I was going to tell her my whole story. Maybe just some of it. Either way, I would need her to listen.
“What happened with Peter Dingle?” I said.
“Peter Dingle is a fine person,” she said. “I should say that. First. It’s not his fault he’s a man .”
Oh Lord, I thought. I did not know if I could take a night of man-hating. I liked men just fine.
“Here’s what happened,” she said. She pointed to her breasts. “It all went downhill from here.”
I looked at them. I wondered if they were the best that money could buy. They seemed very impressive: they were at the perfect point in her chest.
“My doctor kept finding lumps in my breasts,” she said. “Like every few months there was another lump. All over, both breasts, on the outside, deep inside, all different shapes and sizes. And I was having biopsies every time, and mammograms and sonograms. Everything they could do to a tit they were doing to mine. Needles, wires, the works. And my grandmother had breast cancer, both of them actually. One died young, one’s still alive. I had to do these tests to see if I was going to get it. I had the gene. This bad gene. Because I’m Jewish. I have the bad Jew gene.”
“This is horrible,” I said. “This is a horrible story.” I did not want to hear any more secrets. “I’m sorry.”
“So the doctor said, ‘Chop ’em off and start over,’ so that’s what I did.” She put her hands to the sides of her breasts. “And they’re so much better now! Than the way they were. I kind of hated them before actually. They were flat and droopy. They looked like silver dollar pancakes. These look great in anything.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said. I got all hazy for a second. I thought about Thomas touching mine while he looked over my shoulder. I remembered a porn movie playing behind me on the TV set. Imitation and real, all
“Let them have their dreams,” I said. We clinked our drinks. We were at a bar by then. I had lost three hundred dollars on the slots. I was not lucky, not at all. I had been tempted to lose every last cent of that $178,000 but I knew it was better to keep it safe for now. So Valka was buying everything, and I did not stop her. She was a good friend. We both got wistful, thinking about prom. We could not get out of it.
“I had dreams,” said Valka.
“Me too,” I said. “I was going to be married forever.”
“I almost got married,” said Valka. “To Peter Dingle.” She looked down at her drink miserably.
It was not going to take much prodding. There was a tiny part of me that still wanted her to hold back. I knew whatever I was going to hear had been said a million times before. It was a real story that had happened to her. I knew she would not lie to me. But it was going to be something she had practiced. And then I thought: maybe she will need to tell it a million times more just to get over it. And secrets were what girlfriends shared with each other. This is how we would become friends. Someday I was going to tell her my whole story. Maybe just some of it. Either way, I would need her to listen.
“What happened with Peter Dingle?” I said.
“Peter Dingle is a fine person,” she said. “I should say that. First. It’s not his fault he’s a man .”
Oh Lord, I thought. I did not know if I could take a night of man-hating. I liked men just fine.
“Here’s what happened,” she said. She pointed to her breasts. “It all went downhill from here.”
I looked at them. I wondered if they were the best that money could buy. They seemed very impressive: they were at the perfect point in her chest.
“My doctor kept finding lumps in my breasts,” she said. “Like every few months there was another lump. All over, both breasts, on the outside, deep inside, all different shapes and sizes. And I was having biopsies every time, and mammograms and sonograms. Everything they could do to a tit they were doing to mine. Needles, wires, the works. And my grandmother had breast cancer, both of them actually. One died young, one’s still alive. I had to do these tests to see if I was going to get it. I had the gene. This bad gene. Because I’m Jewish. I have the bad Jew gene.”
“This is horrible,” I said. “This is a horrible story.” I did not want to hear any more secrets. “I’m sorry.”
“So the doctor said, ‘Chop ’em off and start over,’ so that’s what I did.” She put her hands to the sides of her breasts. “And they’re so much better now! Than the way they were. I kind of hated them before actually. They were flat and droopy. They looked like silver dollar pancakes. These look great in anything.”
“They’re beautiful,” I said. I got all hazy for a second. I thought about Thomas touching mine while he looked over my shoulder. I remembered a porn movie playing behind me on the TV set. Imitation and real, all
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