When I graduated from college last May, I was very lucky. I found a job. It's not the world's best job—manager trainee in a chain of coffee shops—but what can you expect when you've majored in Sociology, which has to be one of the most worthless majors? Most of the other girls in my graduating class had no job at all, which was probably related to the fact that they put no real effort into looking. I worked my butt off, pounding the pavement (actually, the Internet) hours each day, and I succeeded.
The job means lots of early mornings, some weekend work, and not a lot of pay, but there's room for advancement and a paycheck. And, best of all, the job is in Boston and I get all the coffee and donuts I want-- which isn't a lot.
That was only half of my luck. The other half was that my friend Megan was looking for a roommate just outside of Boston. She was my very, very best friend in high school and I love her dearly. We've seen each other as often as possible since high school, mostly during school breaks, and are still close, though not like it was when we were younger.
Megan is a nurse and had graduated in January, one semester before I did. She had rented a two bedroom, one bath apartment but hadn't found the right kind of roommate so she'd been carrying the whole rent herself. She's not hurting for money –- nurses make a lot more than baristas -- but the rent was still expensive. When I found my job, we were both thrilled that we'd be able to live together and she even offered me free rent for a month or two until I had a little saved up.
The apartment is hardly a palace, but it's ok. It's part of a complex of three-story brick buildings, centered around a small pool. The buildings are a little old and the maintenance isn't great, but the neighborhood is safe and there are no drug dealers or other unsavory characters around. Best of all, I can walk to the Green Line trolley which will take me into Boston for my job, so I don't need a car. Megan has a car. She takes the trolley when she is working day shift (7-3:30), but when she's working evenings till midnight, it's safer to drive. She works crazy unpredictable rotating shifts, but on those days when we're both working mornings, we take the trolley together.
Megan and I are a lot alike, but also different in many ways. I'm no shrinking violet and she's no hell raiser, but she was always the more outgoing and self-confident one. At a party, she'd be the one arriving with the case of illicit beer. She was the one who came to a sleepover with a copy of Playgirl hidden in her duffel bag. She was the one who'd walk right up to a cute boy and start chatting and flirting. I was always a little more restrained.
We actually look a bit alike also. Some people have asked if we're sisters, but I don't think we look that similar. We're both brunettes and are about the same height, and we wear mostly the same size clothes, which is nice because we can borrow from each other. Megan thinks that I'm prettier than her and I deny it, but privately I think that's a little bit true. Neither one of us would be confused with a Playboy model, but we both definitely fall into the category of "pretty girl."
I moved into the apartment on a Sunday afternoon in May, right after school was out. Jimmy was there to help me carry my boxes and few pieces of small furniture. Jimmy is Megan's boyfriend, a real sweetheart. He's not big but he looks a bit like a lumberjack with a furry beard, and he dresses the part in jeans and flannel shirts. Megan and Jimmy have been together for over two years and they're perfect for each other. Megan can get a little stressed and tense but Jimmy's companionship quiets her down immediately. Jimmy is so calm and laid back that nobody can be stressed around him. He's a man of few words – very few words—but he's funny and friendly and I love being around him.
But Jimmy has one problem and it's a big one. He lives and works south of Providence, which is almost 2 hours away in traffic. So Megan only gets to see him on weekends. He drives up Friday evening, or maybe Saturday morning if he had to work late Friday, and goes back home Sunday afternoon. That's a shame.
That Sunday in May, Jimmy stayed later than normal so that he could help me move in. Then he left and it was just Megan and I. We looked at each other, tears came into our eyes, and we fell into each other's arms, crying together. We both remember how close we'd been in high school and how much we missed being together every day.
Megan and I hug a lot. Megan is the touchy-huggy type, which I normally am not. She puts her hand on your arm while you're talking. If she thinks your hair looks nice, she'll stroke it with her fingers. If your shirt is a little misaligned or your makeup is a little smudged, she'll fix it for you. And sometimes, for no reason, she'll just wrap her arms around you and give you a big hug and a kiss. I love it. I don't do that with other girls, but with Megan, I reciprocate.
That evening was our first time alone together in months, and we had some unpacking to do. Megan helped me organize my clothes, but she was helping a little too much. I came into my bedroom carrying a box of books and saw that she had laid out four of my tops and was trying them on, one by one. She laughingly told me she was making a mental note of which ones she wanted to borrow some future day.
So I went into her room and came back carrying four of her tops, and tried each of them on too. It's kind of funny wearing each other's shirts because my boobs are bigger than hers and things that look good on me don't usually look good on her and vice versa. Also, most of my shirts are a thinner fabric which is ok because I usually wear a bra, but Megan hardly ever does except when she's at work, so her nipples were sticking out a lot in my shirts. I told her that if she ever borrowed any of those shirts, she'd have to wear a bra, but she just gave me a wicked look and smiled.
Moving in was quick because I didn't have much other than clothes and a few school books and photos and stuff. Not even a bed. Dad had given me a little money and I had bought a mattress and bed frame, but it wouldn't be delivered until Tuesday, so Megan and I would be sharing for two nights. It would be just like the sleepovers we used to have in high school!
When we had finished the unpacking, we hung out for a little and decided that, with summer coming soon, we'd celebrate my arrival by giving ourselves pedicures. Megan hunted up her pedicure kit, and we took off our sandals and sat down facing each other on Megan's bed, our legs outstretched and wrapped around each other. Megan massaged one of my feet and I took the nail scissors and examined her toenails, choosing my plan of attack. "You have such beautiful feet," I told her. "I wish I had feet like yours."
This was the start of an unspoken ritual that Megan and I had developed and perfected over the 15 years we'd been friends. One of us would compliment the other on a feature and tell how we were jealous of it, then we'd trade. Megan always felt that I was prettier than her, but that's not the whole story. There's a lot about her that I'm jealous of, including her feet and many other things.
I took held each toe and admired it. "Each toe is so perfect." I continued. I was telling the truth. My toes are a little knobby – not ugly, just knobby. My fingers are like that too. Megan's are much nicer.
I saw Megan admiring her own feet. The ritual doesn't require that the person receiving the compliment deny it. In fact, if the compliment is true, she's supposed to agree but then point out some feature of the other girl that she admires. So after a few minutes, that's what Megan did.
"I'd trade my pretty feet for your boobs." She let go of the foot she'd been massaging and rearranging, coming closer to me. She put her hands on my boobs, outside my shirt, and moved them up and down, cupping them underneath. I wasn't wearing a bra then, so they were easy to bounce. "They bounce, like real boobs are supposed to." She lifted her shirt, showing me her own, smaller boobs. "These don't bounce." She put her hands under her own boobs to demonstrate.
I lifted my shirt too, and we compared, which was something we'd done countless times before. It was true that I have nicer boobs. Mine are nearly a C-cup and nicely shaped. Hers are not really even a B-cup (though she says they are), pretty but not rounded or full. Lots of people like smaller boobs, but I agree with Megan that mine are nicer, so I didn't deny it.
Megan started to speak. I knew exactly what she was going to say because she'd said it hundreds of times, so I cut her off immediately. "Don't give me that bull about my nipples being nicer than yours. Your nipples are beautiful." Our ritual requires that if you get a compliment that you don't think is legitimate, you have to reject it. So that's what I did, even before she said it. Megan has much smaller nipples than I do, but it's just a matter of personal taste to decide which is better. I really like her small nipples, so I didn't want to hear her tell me that mine are better. She started to speak again, but I was emphatic. "Don't!" I held up my hand and she stopped.
Megan surrendered the point, and went back to sitting facing me, and we both put our tops down. I picked out the Spring Plum polish I wanted for my toes and handed her the bottle. We resumed our pedicures, talking about my new job in the coffee shop and her job in the hospital. But nobody wants to talk about that stuff when they're getting a pedicure, so we changed to a more appropriate topic, which was, of course, boys. She complained about how she only got to see Jimmy on the weekends and I complained about my old boyfriend and told the story about us breaking up last March. We both had heard the stories ump-teen times before, but we listened sympathetically like it was all new.
When the pedicure was done, it was time for bed. Since it was still not summer and not really warm yet, we put on pajamas. We brushed our teeth together into the bathroom, taking turns spitting into the sink and each pretending to be grossed out by the other's spit, like we always did. We combed each other's hair.
We climbed into bed together and pulled up the covers. Megan came over to my side and we kissed. "Welcome home," she said, then she went back to her own side and we held hands. I moved my leg over so it was resting against hers and we went to sleep.
