Punk Love

“Is this a tribute?” I choked on a strangled laugh. Or some other type of emotion I wasn’t sure was yet discovered. Something between amusement and longing.

His cheeks flushed. He looked ready to maim me with his newly-inked arm. “It was supposed to be, until you made fun of it.”

“No. No. It’s amazing. I just…oh, wow!” Now that I knew what it meant, I was touched. “I didn’t think…I never imagined…”

“It’s not the only thing I got for you,” he rushed to say, pulling me from the couch in his basement with a light tug. I followed him up to his room. I felt bad that I didn’t take his first present seriously. But the tattoo really didn’t look like honeycomb, and even if it did, honeycomb wasn’t the same as Honeypie, and Honeypie was…well, not the best nickname in the world. I just loved it because it was another thing that belonged uniquely to both of us. Something we shared.

“This next gift, you’re really going to like. You’ve been talking about it nonstop,” Alex said. My heart thrashed against my sternum like a caged animal. I had a feeling I knew what it was. An iPod. I’d been wanting one for months. It was going to be perfect if he got it for me, since I was planning on asking my parents for a new TV, and there were only so many electronic devices one could ask from one’s parents.

When we got to his room, he handed me something huge. Much, much bigger than an iPod. Even the prehistoric ones that were the size of Tupperware. It also had a hella weird shape. Alex smiled at me.

“Happy birthday, Honeypie.”

I tore the wrapping with shaky fingers.

In front of me was a brand new Fender guitar.

My face must’ve shown what my brain was screaming, which was, quite plainly: what the fuck?

“You’ve been talking about wanting to learn how to play the guitar ever since we met. Remember? At the store?” Alex explained. It was a very expensive present. Much more expensive than an iPod. And I knew I needed to be grateful. But to be honest, I only told Alex I wanted to play the guitar because I wanted to impress him. No part of me actually wanted to pick up the craft. Hell, even parts that weren’t me had no interest in playing.

“That’s…amazing,” I said slowly, realizing, for the first time, that I was acting like the worst girlfriend in the world. First, I was perplexed about his tattoo, and now, I looked at my brand new guitar like it wanted to sexually harass me.

“Wow, Alex, I’m so touched.” I put a hand to my collarbone, internally thinking, He better not follow up on that hobby and ask me if I’m actually learning how to play this thing, because the new O.C. season just started and I don’t have time for this.

“Yeah.” He leaned against his wall, popping an eyebrow skeptically. “It really fucking shows, sweetheart.”

“No, Alex, I mean it. I love the guitar, but I love the tattoo even more!” I perked up, running to him, burying my face in his chest in a hug. He defrosted, running his big palm, the size of a baseball glove, over my back and patting my ass.

“Okay. Good. It was important to me that you liked it.”

I took his hand and kissed the plastic wrap on his inner forearm. Where the tattoo was. “Love this.” And then feathered a few more kisses on it. “Love, love, love.”

“Thanks, doll, but you were not supposed to touch it.”

“Oh, sorry.” I laughed. “I love them. Both my presents.”

“There’s also a third,” Alex said gravely.

“A third?” I fluttered my eyelashes.

iPod? Someone? Please?

He grinned. “Yeah. A rite of passage for sixteen-year-old girls.”

“Yeah?” I straightened, getting excited.

Definitely an iPod.

“Your first orgasm.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

So I guess it was an easy date to remember. The first time I had been on the receiving end of oral sex.

Because it was on my sixteenth birthday.

And. It. Was. Everything.

There were lessons to be learned during that time period, in the gentle seam between becoming an adult and being a dumb fuck of a teenager. Some of the lessons I would put in my pocket for adulthood. Others, I would leave behind and have to re-learn at a later time.

Things at school had gotten better. The gossip mill kept on turning, of course, but not in my direction. Not because Ryan ran out of lies to spread about me, God forbid, but because it became abundantly clear that I did not care.

I did not care if people I didn’t know liked me or not.

I did not care if a wandering, bored soul truly believed I was cheating on my boyfriend and gave him STD.

I put my energy into painting, and began writing a little, and above all, spent time with the people I loved. The people I truly cared for and who cared for me.