January 28, eight years ago

 

Etta was a great roommate.  She did do some things that irritated me.  First, she was always cold, so we would battle over the apartment temperature.  Second, she insisted on running the blender early on the mornings I could sleep late.  Third, and really, the only fight we had, was the toilet paper situation.  Girls, apparently, use a lot of it, and we were always running out.  Plus, she would do that trick where she wouldn’t use all of it, but only leave a little bit on the roll to keep from having to change it.  We fought about it constantly.

Other than that, I loved living with her.  We would watch TV almost every night together on the couch, after both of us had our shower.  Sometimes we’d eat ice cream; sometimes we’d talk about our day.  She had her side of the couch, and I had mine.   We worked. 

This week, Houston was having weather issues.  It was cold, multiple nights below freezing.  It had also been raining all day, and the roads were icing.  Pipes burst.  Tree limbs snapped.  Electrical lines came loose from the weight of the ice.  Houston pretty much shut down tonight, a Friday night, and probably would remain shut down tomorrow.

We sat on the couch, as our usual non-Friday evening entailed.  She made us hot chocolate. 

“Why don’t you ever bring any girls home with you?” she asked, while we watched one of the DVDs I bought her for Christmas.  The question kinda threw me.  I must have looked thrown, because she clarified.  “I know you get woman, Nathaniel, on your nights out with the guys.  Girls talk.  I just wonder why you don’t bring them here.”

Girls talk.  Great.  If girls talk so much, she’d know I haven’t been with a girl since before she moved in, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her.

“I don’t want girls to know where I live, Eddie.” 

“Why?”

“Because I’m not looking for a relationship.  I don’t have time for a full-on girlfriend.”  I shrugged my shoulders.  “I like my space.  Girls have a tendency to…”

“Get needy and clingy.  Yeah, got it.”  She sounded a little pissed.  “So you just bang ‘em and move on?”

“It’s not like that.”  It really kinda was.  “I just find girls who want the same thing I do.  I am honest to them.  I never lead them on.  They agree.  I can usually spot the girls who are looking for more.  I avoid them.”

“So you’re a man-whore-slash player,” she spat. 

Okay, that pissed me off.  “No.  I don’t go out every night searching for someone.  In fact, it’s rare.  I’ve only slept with maybe six or seven girls my entire life.  I really don’t keep count.”  It was really ten, but whatever.

“Oh, only.”  She rolled her eyes, but I ignored her and kept going.

“And I don’t play them.  A player smooth-talks and lies to get what they want, then doesn’t call.”  She looked away at that comment.  “The girls I choose know up front what I’m looking for.”

“And you still don’t call.”

“They don’t give me their numbers, either, Etta,” I snapped.  “Jeez, you’re making me sound like a dick.”

“Well, most guys are.”

I stood up.  “Great.  Now I’m a dick, too.  Look, before you piss me off any more, I’m going to bed.”  I walked around the couch and headed to my room  “G’nite, Etta.  Oh, and fuck off.”

I had a hard time going to sleep.  I kept tossing and turning.  Her “man-whore-slash-player” comment really bothered me.  Plus, I was having a hard time staying warm.

I heard my door open and close, and Etta stood next to my bed.  “Nathaniel?  You awake?”

I contemplated not answering, but I decided to NOT be a dick.  “Yes.  I’m still a little pissed, too.  So if you came in to piss me off more…”

“Shut up, Nathaniel.  The power is out.”  I sat up in bed and tried to focus on her in the dark.  She was wrapped in a blanket shivering.  “I’m cold,” she stuttered. 

“C’mon,” I held my blankets open for her to climb in.  She hesitated.  “Take your blanket and your sweatshirt off and come in with me.”  She shook her head.  “You’ll get warmer faster if we share body heat, Eddie.  It’s a proven fact.  C’mon.  I’m getting cold.”

She removed her blanket and her sweatshirt quickly and climbed in next to me.  She was a friggin ice cube, and she burrowed her back into my chest.  I wrapped myself around her and then threw the blankets over us.  Perfection and Dreamsicles.  In.  My.  Bed. 

I rubbed over her arms, feeling bare skin.  I rubbed up to her shoulder, which was bare as well.

“Etta, what are you wearing?”

“A cami and sleep pants.” 

Thank.  God.  If she was naked, I would have exploded.  But just to be sure, I felt down to her waist.  Yes, she was dressed.  I wrapped my arms around her arms and pulled her closer to me. 

“Better?” I asked. 

“Mmmm, yes.  Thank you.”  Etta’s voice all husky with sleep?  Sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.  “You’re a good friend.”

Scratchy record sound.  Friend?  That word’s the ultimate mood killer.  Of course, the mood needed to be killed.  I’m positive she felt my mood poking her butt, which my hips coiled perfectly around.  The whole fit was absolutely perfect.  She was perfect.  I was so comfortable, well, except for my hard on.  It was still the longest night of my life.  Etta was wrapped in my arms and not a damn thing I could do but lay there.  I eventually fell asleep, and although it was short, it was the best night of sleep I’d ever had.

The sun woke me up, but before I opened my eyes, I reached out for her, only to feel an empty bed.  Her smell lingered, though.  Hopefully it would stay until tonight.

I walked out to the kitchen to find her eating a bowl of cereal.  The power was still not on.

“We need to drink the milk since the fridge is off,” she said.

“Just put it outside.  I’ll be fine.”  I smiled.  I started rooting around for something to eat.  Finding nothing, I grabbed a bowl and the box of cereal on the counter.  I sat down next to her, poured my bowl, and began eating.

“Nathaniel… um… I’m sorry about last night… what I said.”  She watched me closely for a reaction. 

I stiffened, dropped my elbows on the counter, stared at my bowl.  “Whatever, Etta.  I’m fine.”

“No.  It was wrong of me to call you any of that or make you feel like I was judging you.  And just for the record, I didn’t agree that you are a dick.  I said most guys were.”  She put her hand on my arm.  “You are not most guys.” 

I dropped my spoon in my bowl and turned toward her.  “Care to tell me where all that came from?”

She stopped her spoon midway to her mouth.  “Where all what came from?”

“That man-whore-slash-player-dick stuff.”

“Dick was your word, not mine.”

I smiled.  “Well…”

She continued to eat her cereal.  I ate mine but watched her intently. 

“Ugh.  Fine.”  She took her bowl to the sink and poured out the milk, washing it down.  She walked to the other side of the bar, placed her hands on the counter, and sighed.  “In high school, I had this crush on a boy.  Cute, popular.  Football player.  He finally noticed me and started flirting with me.  He was a senior and I was a sophomore.  He broke up with his cheerleader girlfriend for me.  I really liked him.  He was sweet and charming and thoughtful.  He never asked me out on a date though.  And at school, he really didn’t talk to me, which was okay.  I was in all honors classes, and it would have looked bad for me to be seen with a, quote, dumb jock.”  I rolled my eyes.  “Hey, I had a rep to protect, too.  I was number four in my class, Nathaniel.  That’s a lot of nerd pressure.”

“I bet.”  I was number twelve in my class, but now was not the time to tell her that.

“Anyway, he really never pressured me, either.  That’s what the funny thing is.  I gave that stupid boy my virginity willingly, which hurt like a mother, by the way, and I was just as stupid because I believed him when he told me he loved me.  He did.  He said he loved me, and I believed him.”  She laughed bitterly.  “But I didn’t hear from him after that.  Ever.  Found out he never left his girlfriend, which how she didn’t find out, I’ll never understand since I heard other girls talking and he did the same thing to them, apparently trying to rack up as many virgins as he could.  So, that’s the point when I decided to keep my focus solely on my education.” 

“Good plan,” I said, hiding the sarcasm I felt.

“But I realized that I’m a little bit of a hypocrite.  Last night, I castigated you…”

“Castigated?” I covered my crotch. 

“Not the same as castrated.  It’s an SAT word, look it up.”  I didn’t change my position, so she rolled her eyes.  “I criticized you for what you do when I did the exact same thing, three times now.  I’ve been with three guys just for sex.”  That hurt.  “Four total, only two less than you.”  Well, six less, but who’s counting?  “So it is wrong of me to say anything to you about your extracurricular activities.” She smiled and elbowed me in the side.  “Forgive me, man whore?”

I stood and kissed her forehead quickly.  “Forgiven, slut.”

“Hey, I’m not a…”  she grinned.  “Oh right, joke.  Sorry.”

I rinsed my bowl out in the sink and put both my bowl and hers in the dishwasher, yet another minor irritation; she never put her dishes in the dishwasher.

“So, girls talk, huh?” 

She rolled her eyes.   “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”  She moved to the couch, covered herself with a blanket and grabbed a textbook off the coffee table.

I sat down on my side of the couch and covered myself with the other end of the blanket.  “Well?  Are you gonna tell me?”

She closed her book.  “There’s a girl in my Anatomy class who said she’s been with you, that’s all.”

“And…”

“And she didn’t give me details, Nathaniel.  I’m pretty sure she was trying to make me jealous, actually.  She heard me tell someone that I lived with you, and she sweetly stopped me on my way out of class.  She waited until most of the people had left to tell me that you two had been together recently.  Said she would want to know if her boyfriend was cheating on her.”  She opened her book again.  “Her attitude changed quickly, and she became really rude, rather venomous really.  Said that was why she didn’t date since most men were cheaters.  I assured her that we were not romantically involved and that you were, in fact, not most men.”  She narrowed her eyes at me.  “Now, if that’s all, I’d like to catch up on…”

“Thanks.  For sticking up for me.”  I grabbed my own textbook.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

She didn’t look up.  “I know.”

I now had more insight into Etta Fontella Sullivan.  I had to work hard to further prove to her that I’m definitely not most men.