Page 6 of On My Side
she’s right, it’s 4am in la and you woke me up with your incessant yapping.
Leo
listen i didn’t mean to start a whole thing. I just need you to know i’m home for the summer and if she sighs and stares wistfully out the window saying, “ren is such a good boy” whenever i tell her i’m busy and can’t do something for her, i’m going to lose it.
Izzy
and if he’s in jail, our twinny connection is going to fritz and i’ll lose it, too.
Ren
sorry. i’ll talk to her about not comparing us.
Leo
no don’t do THAT.
Leo
then she’ll know i’m a snitch.
Alex
what’s he supposed to do?
Leo
stop being goddamn PERFECT.
Read by Ren
I open the door to Port of Call, the local bar, and am immediately enveloped in the smell of sweat, booze, and deep-fried something. In other words, a perfect recipe for celebrating the last day of school.
When I graduated high school, my dad took me to Ireland, and he ordered me a Guinness. He called it my first “Irish Legal Drink,” and I gagged at my first sip while he laughed at me. On my twenty-first birthday, he took me to Port of Call and bought me another pint of Guinness, smirking as he handed it to me. I know he expected me to choke my way through it, and it was the most satisfying thing to watch the smile slide off his face when I drank it effortlessly.
I think about that every time I come into Port Alcohol—as it's known among the locals—how my dad somehow thought I hadn’t been drinking in college.
Teachers are scattered in clusters at tables throughout the bar, but I grab a barstool and order a Guinness like I always do. The end of the school year is bittersweet, filled with contrasting emotions of relief and sadness. I love my job, even though it isn’t what I always wanted to do.
When I started college, I planned to major in piano performance, but halfway through my first semester, a classmate mentioned they were double majoring in music education and performance. On a whim, I decided to as well, since I’d enjoyed teaching piano lessons during the summer. Learning about music education was illuminating, and I wanted to create the same magic it felt like my own teachers did when I was a kid.
Now I get to bring students joy through music and be a safe person for them. Of course, it’s not always magical or fulfilling. There are the days a student throws up while playing a recorder, or one mentions something about their home life that prompts mandated reporting.
There’s also the occasional mom who thinks her flirting is subtle. It never is.
It’s always overt and obvious and makes me uncomfortable. Comments like, “the things I’d do if I had you for a night,” makeit clear they want quick and casual, but I found out the hard way that sex without love isn’t something I can do. I’m demisexual, and I need an emotional connection to be attracted to someone, and a deep, meaningful relationship is necessary for me to enjoy sex with a partner.
My last sexual relationship was last year with Taylor, a former fourth grade teacher at the school. While I thought it was more than that, it was casual for her, because we never clarified our expectations. When we realized we wanted different things, it ended. My heart was broken, and I was a mess. I refuse to get into that kind of relationship again because I know it’ll hurt me. Besides, it’s not like I’m lonely or need a relationship. I have my family, my cat, my friends, and my best friend since middle school, Will, who moved home recently.
“Renny!” I glance up in time to see my friend, Jocelynn, wrapping me in a hug. She’s the classmate who convinced me to double major, and we’ve been friends ever since. Ever since we both ended up in the Port Haven school system, we always meet for celebratory drinks after the last day of school.
“Jossy!” I say teasingly, hugging her back. “It’s been too damn long.” In addition to being the high school band director, Jocelynn actually uses her performance degree by moonlighting as a concert pianist. If she’s not at school, she’s playing a show, even more so during the summer. I saw her play at Carnegie Hall last year, and I’m not too proud to admit I sobbed watching her performance.
“Waytoo long,” she agrees, stepping away and looking me up and down. “Did you get taller? Do you have a girlfriend yet?”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, Nonna. No, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
She grins and hops onto a barstool. “Did you hear who’s pregnant?”
