Aubrey's Birthday

[garote]

I woke up around 10:00am, and sat at my desk answering email for way too long. Tossed in a load of laundry. Did some math homework for about an hour, which roasted my brain, so I took a short nap. Upon waking I pulled on clothing and actually put my shoes on -- a major step towards getting out of the house. I stuffed some medication into the cat's mouth, hopped in the van, and drove to Santa Cruz.

Stopped for gas and bought some junk food while I waited for the car to fill up. Soda, ice cream, chocolate milk. Headed up towards UCSC. As I approached the main entrance I saw two students waving their thumbs by the side of the road, so I picked them up. They unloaded with me when I parked at Merrill.

I strolled to the Baobob lounge annex, a multi-purpose room with a few chairs and couches inside, and a section of open carpet. This was the designated spot for Rocky Horror practice. Ken was there, acting as director for everyone. He was also playing the role of Brad.

I observed that Beth was playing Janet, and Phaedra was playing as Columbia, wearing a decent approximation of the character's outfit: A glittery tube top, black garters, heels, a cane, and a top-hat. She'd borrowed the ensemble from someone else, and the tube top kept threatening to slide down every couple of minutes. Eventually Lisa dug out some safety pins and tightened it up.

Lisa was playing the part of the professor. She sat backwards on a chair, pretending it was a desk, and mouthed her lines with a very studios expression. It gave me a fine excuse to stare at her face, which was just as appealingly intense as always. There was something about her eyes that conveyed a kind of ferociousness. I wasn't sure how it worked. Dominic was skulking around playing the butler with a good measure of bug-eyed enthusiasm, wearing an ill-fitting sport jacket over his regular clothes. Mike was sitting on a couch, wearing boots and a sleeveless leather vest with decorative studs on it, so I assumed he was playing the Meatloaf role and would be called upon soon.

Next to him was a a guy I recognized from my math class but couldn't immediately name. Kenny I think? He had a laptop in front of him. Attached to it with a big strip of velcro was a ricochet modem, a fist-sized metal box that could pick up internet access. The laptop screen was showing a webpage with the script to the entire Rocky Horror Show movie, interleaved with thousands of lines of heckling -- phrases the audience could shout at the stage to participate. He was playing the role of official heckler, so people at the rehearsal could get used to some of the most popular lines and respond to them. Most of the time he just shouted lines from memory, internalized from seeing countless performances.

After a while Jen showed up, working through her role as Frank-n-Furter. She knew every line and didn't need much practice, except when Ken tinkered with stage direction. Jeremy appeared, took his shirt off, and played the part of Furter's creation. Ken stripped down to his underwear at the proper point in the movie. Strangers would sometimes drift to a stop outside the many windows, gaping at the performance, and when Ken spotted them he would dash up and stick his face a few inches from the glass, point his finger, and yell "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU STARIN' AT?" Then the rest of us would make rude faces and hand gestures until the rubberneckers went away.

We got through most of the movie, and repeated several key scenes. I pushed the biker around on his harley - a chair - and learned to do the time-warp dance, plus a little bit of line-dancing for Phaedra's tap routine. After an hour or so, Ken decided to change gears.

"Okay, guys. There's always a pre-show special. I've got an idea for this one. Check these out..."

He walked around to each of us, passing out copies of a document: A couple of pages of hand-picked lines from the script to the Wizard of Oz, arranged in backwards order.

"I figure we can put these together into something short. Might need a few props. I was picturing it like ... Well, it's essentially one extended butt-fucking joke."

I looked over the pages, and got the idea immediately. The lines were stuff like: "I hope your tail holds out!" "I hope my strength holds out!" "There's no use denyin', I'm just a dandy-lion!" "They really beat the stuffing out of you!" "I'm coming, auntie Em!" etc. We worked the idea for about half an hour and came up with some rough blocking, then people began to disperse for dinner and homework.

While Jeremy and I caught up, we walked over to my van so I could fetch my totally melted ice cream. I offered him some and he made a face like Dracula recoiling from sunlight. Our next stop was his dorm room. He sprawled across his bed to make a few phone calls, and I wandered out to the lounge just outside his door and sat on the couch with Beth and Ken to watch Joe-Bob Briggs talk about his current edition of the Saturday night movie: The Goonies. Joe-Bob skipped around, talking about Sloth, that awkward kissing scene, the organ made out of bones, and the pirate ship. Ken informed me the next Rocky practice was Wednesday in the CE Merrill lounge.

Phaedra stopped in, wearing fresh clothes and carrying a bag. "I'm off to work, guys. Figured I'd come by for hugs first."

We chatted and saw her off. She promised she'd have another gathering soon. Then Jeremy emerged from his room, announcing that it was time for a party at Aubrey's apartment, so we got up and began marching over there. Along the way he explained that it was a birthday party for Aubrey, and he wanted us to be extra nice to her, because she was recovering from a horrible week that included a breakup with her boyfriend - who'd been lying to her about several things - and some trouble with the proctors, on top of a huge pile of coursework.

Aubrey's place was another posh two-room layout like Jen and Eszter's, but cluttered with way more furniture. I got some introductions and shook hands. Aubrey herself was medium-height with a solid build and a short brown haircut. She seemed a bit subdued - which was understandable given the circumstances - and after chatting with her for a while, I saw an earnest, empathetic side to her that probably made her relationships very complicated. It didn't strike me as a negative - not necessarily at least - but something about it made me guess that she was prone to mixing her personal life up with sexual politics and I would not want to date her, at least right now. This did not stop me from stealing glances at her impressive breasts, though, and after a while I folded my own behavior into things and realized that Aubrey was probably catching men ogling her all the time and was pretty well fed up with it.

There was something in that idea that I couldn't quite grasp, and as I navigated around the party chatting with people, I wrestled with it in my head.

I didn't have much romantic experience with women. I'd had a girlfriend for a few months, years earlier, and gone on a handful of dates, and that was it. What little I did know was mostly from watching women socialize from afar. From what I understood, they got lots of attention from men - some way more than others - and the way they dealt with it fell on a spectrum. Some women seemed to appreciate male attention, or at least acted as if they did, and as they accepted it they found ways to redirect it to their advantage. They took sexual attention and re-cast it in order to express themselves, get things they wanted, or navigate socially by shifting the attention to others.

And then, there were women who reacted negatively. Not just by retreating or by looking uncomfortable, but with aggressive words and angry expressions, to drive the man away and convince him that his behavior was wrong. As far as I could tell, they knew that the attention was at least partially motivated by sexual interest, and that tainted it like poison in a well. It proved that the man was seeing them as a sex object - and therefore less than human - and intent on oppressing or controlling them for sexual purposes - and therefore he should be shunned.

I was not experienced enough to understand exactly how they divided the men who saw them as sex objects from the men who saw them as human. I knew they didn't like men who invaded their personal space, which made perfect sense to me. I knew that they didn't react well to men staring at their body parts, or staring at them in general, and I could sort of understand that. I knew they didn't like pick-up-lines or out-of-context flirting, but there seemed to be weird exceptions based on who the man was or what he looked like. I also suspected there was some internal factor that I could never predict, like the woman's self-confidence in a given situation, or how she felt wearing a particular outfit.

But one thing I knew for sure - from my own direct experience - was that no matter how many men they aggressively drove away, there would always be more, bringing more attention and interest. The supply was infinite. So, the women who got angry at sexual interest were doomed to get angry over and over again for as long as they lived.

That made me think there was some kind of progression. Like, women who got angry at sexual attention would eventually get tired of being angry, and they would enter a phase where they tolerated it, and then they would enter a phase where they started to make use of it and see the benefits of it. Then probably in late adulthood they would see it begin to fade away, and then they might miss it.

I wanted to believe in a progression like that, because it made a good counter-argument to another attitude that was rolling around in my mind -- an attitude that I think I shared with a lot of young people around me. We believed - even if just on a subconscious level - that if we tried hard enough to treat the men and women around us exactly the same - with the same social signals and gestures, the same expectations, and the same participation in the same activities - then the sexual dynamics between genders would smooth out and mostly disappear from society. We believed that the very idea of treating men and women differently, in any circumstance, would evaporate forever, and everything would be way easier, and a lot more fair. It just made sense. The change would spread outward from us in a wave and circle the world.

But, that wave was getting broken up into a chaotic mess by a huge underwater reef, made of romantic and sexual desire. All the messages were getting mixed. Men were grappling with their desire to make romantic or sexual advances, and women were working at cross-purposes -- some trying to exterminate those advances, some learning to manipulate them or even enjoy them.

And like everyone else, I didn't really know what I was doing. So I made it up as I went. Sometimes I did my best to act as though people didn't exist from the neck down. Sometimes I made it obvious that I was looking, and that I liked what I saw. Sometimes that attention was welcomed and taken as a compliment, and seemed to boost the confidence of the woman receiving it. Sometimes it made her scowl and turn away. And dammit, the difference between those outcomes didn't seem to be a matter of ideals of gender equality, but a matter of details: Approach, timing, mood. And some sort of calculus about who was more generally attractive - her or me - or at least, who thought they were.

Even the stuff that should have been simple, like location, was loaded with exceptions. At work? No, except sometimes yes. In the cafeteria? Yes, except sometimes no. In class? No, except sometimes yes. At a party? Yes, except sometimes no. Like here, in Aubrey's case, where she's just broken up with her boyfriend and would probably kick me in the face if I flirted with her. And I knew that, but I still kept glancing at her breasts when she wasn't looking, because they really were impressive, and god dammit what the hell was wrong with me?

Lisa walked up and wished Aubrey a happy birthday, and they began chatting, picking up where I left off. They sat down at the little kitchen table while I continued to lean on the wall.

"Thanks for having a party," Lisa said. "I needed this. It's probably the last social thing I can do for a while, 'cause I've got three papers to write."

"Ugh," Aubrey said, "I'm supposed to be studying but I'm way too tense."

I walked over and began giving her an unsolicited shoulder massage. She went "aaaah," and slumped forward, bonking her head comically on the tabletop. I moved down from her shoulders to her back. Back massages were such a common currency on campus that this didn't really register as flirting, which made it acceptable, but I knew that there was definitely a line and I was right up on it. After this I should probably move away and mingle.

Someone drifted by and handed Lisa a beer. "Alright, now the party's starting!" she said, cracked it open, and immediately chugged half of it down.

"Wow," I said, a little concerned. "Do you always go that fast?"

"Oh no," she said. "But if I'm going to have beer instead of liquor, there's not much point in tasting it, yeah? This is my one for the night. I'll get buzzed and that will be it."

Lisa and Aubrey chatted a bit more, and I finished up my massage and patted her paternally on the back. Ken and Jeremy came over and added to the conversation. Lisa jumped up, challenging some point Jeremy was making, and a group wrestling match suddenly began. Ken pushed Jeremy over the side of the couch, sprawling him on the cushions, while I tickled him. He let out a string of impressive hoots.

Emily walked over and shushed us, because there were people downstairs just waiting for an excuse to call in a noise complaint and get the party shut down. It was the first time I'd interacted with Emily in any way. A short woman with very Irish features and dark, wavy hair down past her shoulder blades. I liked her but she was a very reserved person, and I didn't have the confidence to approach her alone. Jeremy and the rest of us disentangled from the couch, swearing we would finish the match later.

Aubrey walked up to me carrying a bottle.

"Hey you," she said. "You don't drink, and you own a car, right?"

"Yep, that's me."

"Could you do me a big favor? Jeremy brought this bottle of Creme de Menthe, but he was supposed to get Creme de Cacao. Could you give him a ride to Z's liquors so he can exchange it?"

"Sure," I said. "Yo, J-Man! We out!"

"Wahoo!" he said.

"I'm all over this," said Lisa. "Let's go!"

Jeremy walked into the crowd and brought forward a girl I didn't know. Kat maybe? We all dashed out the door and down to the parking lot. Jeremy and his girl canoodled on the floor in the back of the van, and Lisa and I chatted excitedly in the front, talking about friends and parties and how both are different on a college campus. The conversation was more fun than the party had been.

When we got back, Emily was standing in the parking lot.

"Wait, guys," she said. "Don't come back to the party. It's been busted up by a proctor! They're probably going to write up everyone there."

Turns out we were lucky for going on an errand.

Emily joined our group and we walked back to the Merrill dorms. Aubrey and several other people were standing around near the stairs below her apartment. We chatted and decided to move the party to Jeremy's room. It would be very cramped, but perhaps we could spread out into the lounge nearby.

I sat on Jeremy's bed, up against the wall. Eight people crammed into the room. After about five minutes it was obvious that we needed more space. Aubrey suggested they check out the dance happening over in the Crown complex, and everyone split except Ken, Chris, Lisa, and me. Suddenly it was a lot quieter.

We sat around talking. Ken got up and put on the Austin Powers soundtrack, which was pretty good low-key party music. Chris fell over and rested her head on my leg, so I reached over and gave her a backscratch.

Lisa saw Chris and said, "I think you've got the right idea." She grabbed one of Jeremy's pillows and planted it across my lap, then fell across it. I petted her face and arms, and ran my fingers through her long, straight hair, spreading it out into a halo around her head. I noticed her eyes were a deep pure shade of brown. No wonder they made so much contrast with her pale face and hair. Slowly her eyelids closed, and she went, "hrrrrfffzzzzz," drew her knees up, and curled into a ball on my lap. I rested one hand on her head and the other across the leg of her corduroy jeans.

I was a happy camper. "Ahh, here we are," I thought. "A quiet, cozy moment to remember this weekend by."

Kat appeared at the door and informed us that the party was back on at Aubrey's but in a quieter mode this time. We all looked at each other, trying to decide what to do. Lisa sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"My backpack is still over there," she said.

We all strolled to Aubrey's as a group. Aubrey, Emily, Jeremy, and several other people were sprawled out, ready to watch a movie. It was Snow White, the version with Sigourney Weaver in it.

Lisa knew about my crush on Sigourney Weaver. "Ah hah," she said, and elbowed me in the side. "You're probably staying here!" She hunkered down to see the movie also. Ken and Chris said they were going to turn in for the night, and I hugged them at the door.

It was a good, creepy couple of hours. When the movie ended, Lisa jumped up and left for her room with her backpack over one shoulder. Jeremy left, creating an open spot on the couch, so I took his vacated post with Aubrey's legs across my lap under a blanket. We watched Aeon Flux episodes until about five in the morning, in a comfortable, hazy silence.

Finally, Emily and Aubrey got up to do some post-party cleaning. The other guests left, and I laid on the couch feeling too cozy to move, alternately watching the both of them move around and interact with each other. It was a strange thing to realize: I'd never seen two women who weren't related to each other do chores together. Not once, not anywhere, until now.

Eventually everyone left but Aubrey and I. She had about three hours to sleep before she went on a drive to visit relatives for Easter. I pulled myself up from the couch and put on my shoes and sweater in a tired haze, while making idle chat with her about relationships. She said she needed to focus more on defining what her needs were. We shared our frustration at how hard it was to find the line between one's own needs and the needs of a significant other. I was too exhausted to contribute much. Just before opening the door I shook her hand, aware of the line between flirting and friendship, and she let go and then made the choice to step forward and gave me a hug as well. I was very aware of her breasts but kept it to myself. It had to be her move, not mine, because then it wasn't a male sexual advance, and could therefore still be in the friendship category. I knew that, and went along. If I was to give my position a name, it would be, "friend zone with extra trust."

How did I even know that? I knew I hadn't read it in a book somewhere. I tried to catch that observation and examine it, but it was like trying to catch foam on a wave. I drove back to Watsonville and crashed into bed.

Comments

[vital_sol]

Great writing. Love it.
Did you wrote it now, or back in 1998?

[garote]

I wrote it once in 1998, and did a partial rewrite this year before posting it.

[zeugma92]

"I was not experienced enough to understand exactly how they divided the men who saw them as sex objects from the men who saw them as human."

Interesting remark there. I felt like in those days it basically came down to, men who saw them as sex objects were the overtly creepy men, along with the well-meaning but apparently interested men whom they didn't want to fuck. Men who saw them as human were the men they trusted had no sexual interest in them, along with the apparently interested men whom they DID want to fuck.

That at least was my impression of the culture at UCSC at the time, way back in the days when the hottest thing a 20-year-old girl could possibly do was dye her hair purple. (Sometimes I miss the 90s.) For all the laid-back reputation the place had I sure encountered a lot of people who seemed fond of arriving at harsh judgments as rapidly as possible. Obviously people grow and change and life is more nuanced than all that. But back then in that time and place, it felt like that was pretty much the score.

[garote]

I think your assessment of how it was in those days is hilariously accurate.

Since I was raised to be a Good Guy, the foundation of my reasoning was that women categorically had completely accurate instincts and completely proper and altruistic reasons for being attracted to the men they chose -- and I just had to learn them. It was because he was very mature, or noble, or kind, or a fine artist -- or conversely, because he was some diamond in the rough, from a poor or difficult background, or an exotic-seeming minority, and clearly she was a Great Woman for supporting him.

Imagine my surprise ten years later, when I entered the dating pool in my 30's, and heard women casually admitting that in their teens and twenties they just positioned themselves to be noticed by hot, powerful guys, and made the rest of it up post-hoc. Hah! My 20-year-old self would have been furious!!