Beth, My Sister, and the Open-Door Policy That Failed Me
While I’m on the subject of my sister, I’ll go ahead and tell you about another incident that occurred involving her. This is a fun one! I had a girlfriend named Beth. She was German. She didn’t speak German, she just was one. In fact, she could have been full-blooded American and I wouldn’t have known because she didn’t have an accent or anything. She just told me she was German and I had no reason to doubt her. So for the purposes of this story, I’ll just ask you to believe she was German, and that’s that.
Beth and I got pretty close pretty quickly, and found our way into some rather embarrassing scenarios more often than I’d probably care to admit. Just by virtue of our being young and wild, I suppose. But she had a lackluster trust for me to begin with, and I can’t tell you why. I think she thought I was still seeing some other girl and couldn’t give her (Beth) my full heart. Uh, yeah. I was too young to be giving anyone my heart. I did, however, give them a different part of me, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink. Anyway, of course I was seeing other girls! That was none of her business though. I treated her like a queen, and gave her roses and all those things women love. She had no reason to doubt that I was for real. I just like to keep a spare account open on the side in case my primary account runs dry all of a sudden. Know what I mean? Anyway enough about her.
So one day we were sitting on the couch, watching a little television, I had my hands up her sweater, and was finally talking her into engaging in a more aggressive relationship. She was signing the forms, if you know what I mean. The goosebumps all up her arms were like the ink on the paper, if you catch my drift. And in walks my sister. Through the front door. Which is always unlocked.
“Uh, Lisa, how about a knock? We’re trying to have a friendly conversation here.” See, Beth and I were sitting sideways on the couch, she was leaning back against me and our feet were up on it. So it’s not like it didn’t look innocent. I kept my hands real still under her sweatshirt so as not to arouse (great word) suspicion. And she’s secretly trying to scoot them out so my sister doesn’t see what I’m doing. But there’s no way I’m letting go of those boobs. Right? Am I right guys? High fives!
My sister just comes and grabs a pack of smokes out of the carton or something and takes off. No biggie. (We kept a community carton of smokes, and anyone was welcome to a pack if they needed one.) I was able to keep Beth from leaving. Somehow. I guess she was still a little tingly. Whatever. Either way, now she’s begging me to lock the door so we don’t get interrupted again. And I told her there’s no way. My roommates are gone until tomorrow, my sister has already come by for her cereal, and now whatever else, so she won’t be back… We’re safe! Plus anyone else who might grace us will definitely knock. Even my sister, who now knows there’s some business being taken care of, if you know what I mean.
So I finally settle her back down and we get back to discussing the details of this new obligation. I couldn’t get her to take her sweatshirt off – but get this… I got her to remove her sweat pants. How? I don’t know. Maybe because she’s German. Either way, I’m now in front of her, like she was with me, but I’m not leaning back against her. I’m now basically giving her an exam, if you know what I mean. I think it’s probably less embarrassing and less degrading to a woman to be caught having straight up sex if someone walks in, than it is what we’re doing. So when the door opened and my sister walked in again, there was no chance of controlling Beth that time.
She goes tearing across the floor, hopping like a stoned rabbit, trying to put on her sweat pants, mad, humiliated and yelling at me. “Why didn’t you lock the door?” Uh, sorry. So the thing is, Beth, the German girl, and now you know that her heritage had nothing to do with the story, and never came into play – but I did because I was studying her down there, and I can now confirm seriously that yes, indeed she was German (and probably still is, for that matter) – left that day and never came back. I lost any and all chances with her because I didn’t lock the door.
I still had my boxers on as my sister reentered the living room, but quickly realized I needed to cover myself with a pillow, and then had a friendly conversation about how she’d screwed up the best thing to happen to me that day, and thanked her for not knocking. Sigh. But sisters and love and all that will never be as important as my studies. And the studies I had engaged in that day were to be some of the most important in my life. If you know what I mean.