Monday, May 24, 2010

Diego and Nury's Wedding - The End

So I wore the pink taffeta with the crinolines and the low heeled pink pumps. I made it down the aisle and stood during a wedding ceremony where not a single word was uttered in a language that I could understand and then we all drove back to our house and had a pool party. Mostly I remember the food. I remember eating a lot of yellow rice with chicken and green peas in it. I remember wanting to like the raspberry jam and buttercream filled wedding cake much more than I did. We'd ordered it from a real french bakery and it was beautiful, but it didn't taste good. I remember everyone changing into bathing suits and jumping in the pool and the salsa music. Then Diego got out his guitar and sang Nury a song about giving her his corazon forever and everyone cried in Spanish.

I wouldn't change out of my dress and into my bathing suit. I didn't want to take my corsage off or mess up my hair or my eye makeup because this was the night that I was, in my mind at least, becoming a woman and I wanted it to be special, so that meant wearing a fancy dress and having flowers.

Some girls do it on their wedding nights. I was going to do it on A wedding night. Many more girls I suspect, lose their virginity on prom night, all arustle in stiff, uncomfortable dresses. I would never have a prom night, so looking back, this night was the best I'd get. It really was special, if a little clinical.  At the time, it was not as romantic as I've made it in retrospect. Here is how the dialogue went:

Me: Ok, let's just do it and get it over with.

Him: I want you to like it.

Me: Oh, I'll have plenty of time to like it later. Just do it. OWWWWWWWWW!

Him: No, I'm not doing it if it hurts you.


Me: Shut up and just do it.


Me: OWWWWWWWWWWWWW!


Him: Nope, not doing it. I don't think it's supposed to hurt.


Me: Of course it is. I read about it in all of my grandmother's romance novels. It hurts for like a second and then it feels great and then there's like swooning and sighing and explosions of some sort.


Him: Are you sure?


Me: Well that's exactly how it happens in every single one of her books.


Him: We should just make out because I'm getting kind of nervous.


Me: Cut it out. Come on. I just want to get it over with.


Him: I think we need music. Look, I brought my Peter Tosh tape.


Me: So we're going to listen to "Legalize It?"


Him: Yeah.


Me: Ok fine. Would you please just do it already? I'm moving in like 3 weeks and we don't have a lot of time.


One minute later.....


Me: OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWOWWWWWWWWWW!!! This is NOT how it happens in the books AT ALL!!!!


Him: Oh my God, there's blood everywhere. I've hurt you. I'm so sorry, but you said you wanted to do it! I didn't mean to. Oh my God am I going to have to go to jail now?


Me: OWWW! Jail? For what?


Him: I don't know, hurting you. You're 15.


Me: You're 16. OWW. It hurts when I move. Oh crap. That IS a lot of blood. Oh, oh oh. What do we do? There is blood all over the sheets. My mom's going to find out.


Him: You can tell her one of my piercings ripped out and it bled everywhere.


Me: And then at the exact same time, I got a freak nosebleed out of nowhere.


Him: Yeah.


Me: Is it ok if we never do it again?


Him: Yeah.


Me: I wonder if there's any chicken and yellow rice left.


I felt so cheated. On one hand, this was all my doing. I hadn't been coerced in the slightest. My boyfriend loved and respected me (we're still friends 21 year later) and most of the girls I knew weren't so lucky to have someone as nice as I did for their first time. At the same time, I expected a little better. It was awful. Why did people do it at all? How could anyone find anything pleasurable in THAT?


Then there was all the blood.  I spent most of the night with a bottle of Simple Green and a kitchen sponge trying to scrub it out of the sheets and I have to give the Simple Green some credit. It did the trick enough that the bogus piercing ripping story was at least slightly more credible.  But the blood wouldn't stop. The next morning when I got up, it still hurt and it was still bleeding profusely. Peeing felt like someone was putting a blowtorch between my legs and my whole side and stomach hurt so badly that I felt like I had been torn in half vertically.


That was it, I thought. Nothing could just go smoothly for me like it had with all my friends. Nope. Of course not. Of course I would be the one who would try to indulge in some adult intimacy only to suffer internal (and external bleeding) and some kind of traumatic injury. Naturally, I thought. I was probably going to die from this and then I'd end up as some awful cautionary tale spun by abstinence promoters. I could hear it already - Once there was this girl and she was in a relationship and thought she was in love, but she insisted on fornicating and she ended up dead from it after only one time. Yup, I was going to die tragically at fifteen years old. On my death certificate it would list the cause of death as a hymen hemorrhage or something equally as humiliating. I envisioned myself dead in my casket and in my mind I saw myself laid out in that god awful pink dress, only it was soaked in blood like something out of a horror movie.


It took me less than three minutes the next morning to work myself into a frothing panic attack over what I'd done. In addition to being dead, I also convinced myself that, although we'd used plenty of protection, that I was also pregnant. With twins. That's what happened to my grandmother after all. She'd done it once in the back of a car in high school and ended up pregnant with twins.  That'd be just my luck too. Dead and with twins and wearing that stupid dress.


Ok, I thought, I'd give it until lunch and then if the bleeding didn't stop, I'd have to do something. Until then, I would avoid my parents, because I just knew if they saw me, they'd know and then they'd ask me and I wouldn't be able to lie. I am the worst liar on the planet. I can't keep a story straight and I stutter and turn red.


But it was a Sunday and my dad had bagels and after we ate them we had to clean up the gigantic mess from the wedding and as sore as I was, the last thing I could do was haul garbage bags out to the curb in 89 degree heat and humidity. Yeah, I was about to die. If I didn't bleed to death, my parents were going to kill me anyway. Either way, I'd be dead by sunset.


I didn't stop bleeding by lunch. I decided that I needed to tell my mother and it was nearly impossible to get her attention.


"I need to talk to you," I said.


"About what?"


"Something."


"Can't you see I'm busy? I'm not letting this mess sit here until tomorrow."


"No, it's REALLY important. I need you to take me to the hospital."


My mother, alarmed, stopped. She'd never had to take me to the hospital.


"Why? You look fine. If you needed to go to the hospital you wouldn't be walking and talking."


"I'm telling you. I need to go to the hospital. I'm having a hemorrhage."

"Excuse me?"


"I'm bleeding to death."


"From where. I don't see any blood at all. If you were truly hemorrhaging there'd be blood everywhere and there isn't so you don't need to go to the hospital. You're just trying to pull some crap because you don't want to clean this mess up."


"No, you can't see it. I'm bleeding from, um, from...from my thing. There's blood coming out of me. There."


"Are you having your period?"


"No."


"Maybe you just got it early. That happens."


"No. It's an, an, umm. It's from an injury. I harmed myself."


"What in God's name were you doing to yourself?"


And now my cause of death was officially going to change from bleeding to death to mortification.


"It wasn't me. Exactly. I wasn't doing anything to myself. Exactly."


"Well who was dammit? Would you just tell me what the hell happened to you?"


"Umm, umm, last night, well, umm, we sort of like, kind of, a little bit, umm did it."


There was silence for a very, very painfully, uncomfortably long time.


"Are you kidding me?" she finally said, "You want me to take you to the hospital for that?"


"Yes."


"You don't need to go to the hospital for that. You do not have internal injuries. It hurts. It bleeds. It takes a little while to heal. You are not going to bleed to death. Take a Tylenol if it hurts that bad. Nothing's going to happen to you. At least not from that. Now DO NOT DO IT AGAIN until it heals."


Did she just say "until it heals"?


"And you better have used protection because the last thing I need to deal with is a baby or you getting AIDS. And you better NEVER do anything without protection. Do you understand me? If you do you will ruin your life and end up like your Aunt Kiki."


That was about enough to make me want to join a convent.  I assured her that I would never touch a boy ever again in my entire life without wearing something akin to scuba gear and a full body wet suit.


"So I'm not going to die?" I asked.


"Jesus Christ you are a neurotic child. No! Now get them trash bags out to the curb."


Obviously I don't need to tell you that I didn't bleed to death, get knocked up or die of AIDS. In fact nothing happened and I was so traumatized that it took me almost a whole year before I'd get brave enough to try it again, and luckily it was with the same person, even after I'd moved to Florida.


And guess who decided to move to Florida with us? Nury and Diego!
 

8 comments:

Anonymous said...

ok... you got me giggling.... can't wait for the next part "The Florida Years" or whatever...

Melanie said...

Words cannot express how much I love your stories. Thank you.

Anonymous said...

dWow, I don't remember bleeding that much. How scary, you poor thing!

I'm glad you didn't give it up entirely. I'm sure your husband is as well. :-)

JoeinVegas said...

OH, so glad you didn't die. Then we wouldn't be able to read these stories.

Fancy Schmancy said...

I remember it hurting, but not bleeding that much. Still, it was awful and looking back I can't imagine why I kept on doing it. I think I just wanted to please my much older boyfriend.

P.S. My son is a sophomore in high school and is doing his term paper on legalizing marijuana, it totally made me think of you. His poor teacher must be rolling her eyes, but she approved the subject in advance (catholic school, no less) so she gets what's coming for her ;-)

booda baby said...

Ha! That was adorable. Too bad you wasted a good confession on the not worth confessing, though. :)

Jimijam said...

I never knew it was that bad! That's it, no sex with virgins. Ever.

Cassandra said...

Yup - the first time I tried it was the same except for the bleeding - that would have been scary. I would have been okay about talking to my Mom about it though because she had put me on birth control a year before I actually did anything.

You must be younger than me or from a more educated area. In my day AIDS was supposedly a disease of only the homosexuals and needle users. Condoms were for birth control. I consider myself highly lucky not to have contracted AIDS from all the wild oats I helped sow "back in the day".

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