A Song for Julia

get me wrong. I spend plenty of time with girls. But not for conversation. I’m usually not that interested in the talking part.
    As she slipped around to my side of the table and took my hand in hers to show me how to hold the chopsticks, I noticed that in the middle of all the bracelets and bangles she wore on her right arm, she had an old faded friendship bracelet. It looked out of place. I met her eyes for just a second. Then I had to look away. It was wicked intense, and maybe a trick of the light in there made it seem as if her eyes had turned green, the pupils huge, dilated. Her eyes were framed by long eyelashes, but no mascara or other makeup that I could see. I caught my breath for a second. I don’t fall for girls. I don’t have time for the head games, the handholding, or the silly crap that comes with it. But maybe because I was away from home, and for once had nowhere I needed to be, I just enjoyed it. My eyes dropped to her thighs, wrapped in a flowered green skirt that just touched my torn up dungarees. Her legs were effing perfect, and I had to look back to my hands before I just dropped everything.
    She laughed when my rice fell through the chopsticks.
    “Seriously?” I said. “Where did you learn this?”
    “China. It’s an acquired skill,” she replied.
    “You cook Chinese food, too?”
    She scrunched her face up and grinned. “I don’t cook anything.”
    She returned to her side of the table just as the waitress reappeared, and we sat and ate. I liked having her sit next to me. And that’s the thing: I love girls. I love having them sit in my lap, I love touching them everywhere, I love taking their clothes off and licking the backs of their necks, and anywhere else. But when they get up and leave? Never bothered me. What the hell was wrong with me now, that having her get up and move to the other side of the table made me feel different?
    “What time is your train in the morning?” I asked.
    “Ten o’clock.”
    “What do you say we go to a club, then?”
    For just a second, her face tightened, almost in anger. Then her features smoothed out. It was a deliberate, practiced action. She was forcing herself not to react. I didn’t understand this girl at all.
    Her voice quiet, she said, “Okay. I’d like that.”

    Not what I expected (Julia)

    It was funny, I thought, as we paid the bill and left the restaurant. Crank was … different. Easy to be around, and he made me laugh. But I was never going to see him after tonight, and that made me kind of sad. For a brief second, I thought of seeing him when we got back to Boston, but seriously? Bad idea. My life didn’t have room for someone like Crank. And from what he’d said, his didn’t have room either. This was all a little off-key, out of place, almost as if it was someone else out to dinner with him, and I was playing a role. I almost never go out with guys. And I never let my emotions get ahead of my brain.
    But tonight, as we tried to wave down a cab to head toward Georgetown, I was feeling a little out of control. The way his shirt gathered around his arms, the easy strength in them, the easy grin … I was attracted to him in a way I hadn’t been with anyone in a long time.
    I’ve never liked feeling out of control. Not like that. I’d gone there once, head over heels in love, and it did so much damage to my life I didn’t think I’d ever recover. No way I’d ever go there again. Whatever else happened, I was in control of my life. No one else. Certainly not some formless emotion and lust that can take away who you even are. I was fourteen when it happened, almost eight years ago, and the consequences and damage were beyond anything I could have conceived. What I learned was this: letting myself be at the mercy of hormones and brain chemicals and emotions can be deadly.
    A cab pulled up, and we got in. I thought of tossing away caution and telling him I wanted to go home with him. One night wouldn’t be so dangerous. One night could be okay. One night could be free and fun and not go anywhere.
    The cab driver took a hard right turn, accelerating to get through the light before it changed, and in the process I was pushed across the back seat toward Crank. He put his arm around me, an automatic reaction I’m sure, but I stayed there.
    “You all right?” he asked.
    “Fine!” I said. “Where are we going, anyway?”
    “No idea. Aren’t there a bunch of clubs in Georgetown?”
    “I think so. I didn’t get