“I’m sensing some sarcasm here.”
My response is a narrowing of my eyes.
He sighs. “Okay. Well, let’s start with this date. A guy asked you out, and you said, ‘yes’?”
“That’s usually how it works,” I answer. I don’t tell him that I was the one who actually offered the tickets; nor do I tell him the circumstances surrounding the offer. I just want to get Dr. Marsh off my back about my issues with men.
“Why did you accept, if you find him physically repulsive, as I’m getting the impression you do?” he asks, jotting something down in my file.
I stare at the college graduation photo. “Because I wanted to fulfill the assignment.”
“But that was extra credit. You didn’t have to do it.”
“I didn’t have to do any of it, really. But you know me well enough to know that if an authority figure gives me an assignment, I’ll do it. It’s hardly even fair.”
Not acknowledging that, he states, “Well, this date is a start. And it’s only a date.”
“Except I work with the guy. And he’s a leech. It’s not going to be easy to shake him.” I pick at a thread on my pants.
Dr. Marsh tries another subject. “Speaking of guys you work with—or their fantasy alter-egos—how are things going with you and Jude?”
“Which one?” I slip up and ask.
He raises his eyebrows. “You have a status report on both?”
“Never mind,” I reconsider. “Fantasy Jude and I broke up.” I’m painfully aware of how dumb that sounds.
More note-writing in my file. “Oh? What happened there?”
“He was too perfect. And he always agreed with everything I said. I got bored.” I chew on a hangnail.
“So does that mean you’re getting to know the real Jude a little better?”
“What is it with everyone’s obsession with me and Jude?” I ask hotly, shifting in my seat.
“Is everyone obsessed?”
“It feels like it! I can’t get any peace. If it’s not Lisa and Zoe, it’s Leslie. If it’s not Leslie, it’s Marvin. ‘What’s going on with you two?’ Nothing! A whole lot of it!”
“And this is upsetting to you?”
I’m not about to fall into his trap. “That people won’t leave me alone? Yes. That nothing’s going on with me and Jude? No. I just wish my life would get back to the way it was before.”
“Before what?” He leans forward.
I hadn’t planned to tell him. As a matter of fact, I had a specific plan to not tell him anything about last Saturday. But now I need a second opinion. Quickly (we’ve already eaten up several minutes of my one-hour session), I recap the events of Saturday, starting with meeting up with Jude and Marvin at work (which means I had to come clean about the “date” at the Cubs game this weekend) and ending early Sunday morning, with the pillow fight and my revelation. He listens intently, only interrupting when something’s unclear.
When I finish, he folds his hands in his lap and asks, “So… now things are strained between the two of you?”
“Ha! That’s an understatement. He wants nothing to do with me. He’s not even coming to the baseball game Sunday, like he promised. I’m stuck alone with Sweatstains McGee.”
Dr. Marsh stifles his laughter.
I ignore him and ask expectantly, “Well?”
He clears his throat. “What?”
“What do you think?”
“About what?”
“About Jude’s reaction to my confession.”
“Oh. You want my opinion?”
I nod, suddenly nervous.
“Well, I can’t tell you for sure what he’s thinking. His reaction could be interpreted two ways: he’s either turned off or he needs time to think about it.”
“I already know that. Which interpretation do you think, as a guy, is more likely?”
He shakes his head. “It’s hard to tell. I don’t know him.”
“You’re useless!” I practically explode. “And frankly, I think you’re lying. You know exactly what he’s thinking. You’re just protecting him. Because you guys all stick together.”
I stand up and pace the room. Anything to avoid looking at that damn picture on Dr. Marsh's shelf again. “You know he’s totally freaked out by the prospect of being the person I lose my virginity to. Not that I even asked him to be. I think it’s pretty presumptuous of him to think I was asking that, just because he took me to a concert and got me drunk. As if it were a foregone conclusion that I’d sleep with him! The joke’s on him, of course, because I’ve already slept with Fantasy Jude lots of times, and I’m sure he couldn’t compete with that.” I turn my back to Dr. Marsh, unable to say the next thing while looking at him. “Because that was fabulous.” I put my cool hands to my burning face.
And then I start crying. Because I know what I’ve said is pathetic. I know it’s not reality; I know it would only make Jude—or any man, for that matter—run faster and farther if he knew how out of touch with reality I can be. I’m not just a virgin; I’m a crazy, delusional virgin. Not too long ago, I would have been shut away in a home for insane spinsters.
Dr. Marsh lets me take my time as I blubber in the corner. Finally, when I’m moderately composed, he asks, “Have you ever thought of telling him some of this?”
I whirl around. “Are you kidding? That’s not even funny!”
He puts up a hand. “Now, just hear me out—”
“If you’re going to make an assignment out of this, consider it an incomplete right now,” I warn him. “I won’t do it. It’s bad enough that I got drunk and told him… that. The subject is closed.”
“What I meant is, maybe you should open up to him a little more about your life in general. Your background. Maybe then he’d understand.”
“I don’t care if he understands! I don’t have to justify anything to him. Or anyone else.”
I can tell by the look on his face that Dr. Marsh doesn’t believe a single
