When I was 12, my older sister got pregnant two weeks before she left for college. To say that my father was devastated when he heard the news would be the understatement of the century. Not that he was uncaring or didn't understand, you see, my mother delivered Bethany on her 18th birthday and my father promptly went to work. He used to lecture Bethany about the importance of establishing herself in life before she took the plunge into marriage and motherhood. Although his lectures didn't fall on deaf ears, Bethany took the 'it will never happen to me' attitude. Now, six years later, she and her husband are both working full time jobs and still taking classes part time. My mother picks Trevor up from Tasker elementary every weekday and my father chases him around the house or reads children's books with his grandson tucked securely under his arm. None of his new found happiness changed his lectures to me.
The day I turned 15 and a half, Dad took me to get my driver's permit. As if I wasn't nervous enough, he chose that day to begin our 'birds and bees' talk. I listened, but not intently. I was thinking about parallel parking. On our way home, Dad turned to me and said, "Angie, I'm awful proud of you and I hope you'll think about what I said earlier." All I could say was something to the effect of thanks Dad, I will. Our talks continued after that day. Dad would emphasize my potential and I would think about Bethany. He never once used her as an example, but I did.
Through the remainder of High School, I received many awkwardly written notes from boys in my class, admiring stares from underclassmen, and sometimes, lewd suggestions from upperclassmen. Some were flattering but all were brushed aside. I was determined to make my father proud. It seems though that the trouble with being a teenager is that at the time, you're a teenager.
We had many dances throughout the year at my school and I attended all of them. Dancing to me was a way to get close to the boys I liked without getting too close. It wasn't that I was being overtly provocative or anything, it's just that swaying to a slow song with someone I liked had an effect on me. It seemed, unfortunately, to have a greater effect on the boys with which I was dancing. Some would excuse themselves and slink off of the dance floor while others were bold enough to whisper their intentions in my ear. I would never dance with someone I didn't like and would never be rude to someone I did, so I let them all down gently. I used my 'I'm saving myself for marriage' line until I began receiving proposals, then I switched to 'Not until I'm through with college.' Sometimes, when I was feeling particularly facetious, I'd use the 'the doctor says not until I've taken the full course of antibiotics' line. The boys knew I was kidding with that last one, but it always worked.
There's a particular loneliness about being 18 and not having a boyfriend. It's worse when you've been asked or at least received hints from nearly every boy in your school. I hadn't even started, yet I couldn't wait to be finished with college. My friend Jenny was in the same boat. She was certainly attractive and had received the same lectures as me. She probably would've had the same attitude as my sister if it hadn't been for me. We would talk for hours about boys and who liked whom but I would always steer the conversation back to sensibility. She would discuss her frustrations and I'd discuss mine. It was becoming increasingly clear that we were both curious about sex and the occasional eavesdropping of sexual conversations at school were only throwing fuel on the fire.
The fire was exactly where it began. It was my turn to spend the night at Jenny's and her parents had gone to Aspen for the weekend. They'd left us enough money to supply us with pizzas and movies for their entire stay. My folks knew I'd be gone for the entire weekend and I'm sure they didn't mind the privacy they hadn't frequently enjoyed since they themselves were in their teens. Jenny and I began by attempting to plan what we'd be doing for two days. We came up with several scenarios but decided in the end that it'd be better to just wing it. Jenny suggested Monopoly, but with just two, we got bored quickly. We kept laughing about some of the girls at school and referred to them as the 'Community Chest'. Then, I suggested we haul in some firewood and get some natural heat. Jenny quickly agreed.
Neither one of us knew what we were doing. Looking back, I suppose I'm talking about more than the fire. We loaded the fireplace with logs and expected it to burst in flames with the first match. Well, it didn't. After teasing each other about never having been girl scouts, Jenny had an idea. It seems so obvious to me now but trust me, neither of us had ever done this before. Jenny, remembering seeing her father light this thing a thousand times before, gathered some newspaper and some twigs from a box labeled kindling. With a touch of a match, the flames roared to life. Soon the raging fire had died down into the warm glow and gentle pops of a fire with which we were familiar. Neither of us had ever done this before.
