I've resigned myself to the inarguable truth that I am cursed when it comes to guys named Kevin. It's easy for outsiders to say it's all in my head. But in the words of the great poet Jay-Z, "numbers don't lie, check the scoreboard." Over the course of my lifetime, I had shared experiences with six different Kevin's, all ending in disaster. Despite this terrible track record, I kept giving Kevin's a go. It was only after the seventh K-dawg that I was forced to fully believe the jinx myself. This final Kevin that broke the camels back made his entrance, and sealed my farewell to boys of this name, during my sophomore year of college. To be fair, even if he had gone by any other name, his role on my stage wouldn't have been sweet anyway. You see, this poor Kevin had inadvertently gotten caught up in the drama of me and my then-boyfriend / fellow opera major and classmate, Bob. Or as we were known to many, the two-people emotional inferno. Allow me to sum up that college soap opera ridiculousness real quick:
1) Bob and I broke up at the end of freshman year of college.
2) He visits me at my summer job and attempts to get back together.
3) I say no. He cries. I am awkward. He now hates me.
4) Fall semester starts; I realize I DO want to get back together.
5) Bob and I begin hanging out again, but now he rejects my reconciliation attempts.
6) I find out why: he's started seeing a new freshman opera major.
7) I now have a new nemesis, "RR". Let me just say this: girlfriend wore CLOGS - and not ironically.
8) I'm more determined than ever to get Bob back.
Aaand un-pause.
Bob may have been dating this South Jersey specimen, but he was also still hanging out (you know, doing it) with me. I cared, but I didn't care. When you're part of a couple that may be on-again/off-again and dysfunctional, but is still insanely in love with each other, there are these little hiccups. So, he's seeing this new chick. RR was ditzy and quirky and weird. There's an appeal and a freshness to anything that's new and different; I get that. But he loved me, and I was confident that the strength of our attraction (and the skill in my BJ department) was way stronger than... whatever it was that he had going on with her. But, then I did some espionage to accomplish some sabotage. I befriended her friends, to get the inside info. To my dismay, what I uncovered was that RR was planning on losing her virginity to Bob. According to her pals, she had been saving herself for someone she knew she loved, and confessed to them that person was Bob. I was no longer complacent. I was irritated as shit. The thought that he could have genuine feelings for her was giving me an aneurysm. Okay, a) it had only been like a month, b) are you fucking kidding me?, and c) ...how??? I'M SO CONFUSED ABOUT EVERYTHING THAT'S HAPPENING. I still wanted him back, yes. Now doubly so, to satisfy my need to win, and to shut this RR fool down. Unfortunately, he was taking his sweet time deciding who and what he wanted. I told him if he wasn't ready to choose, he at least needed to come clean to RR in regards to that whole "he's still sleeping with me" thing. But he wasn't getting that done, either.
So instead of getting mad or pressuring him, I decided that if he was going to have his cake and eat it too, I sure as hell wasn't going to wait around or pass up on mine. My cake came in the form of a delicious and talented creative writing major named Kevin. He was a former child star who acted in "All My Children" and other various TV gigs. Aside from kind of bad teeth, he was definitely hot, and a total sweetheart. I had never been drawn to his physical type before; blond, blue-eyed,dimpled chin, tall, athletic. Jesus, nothing about that description sounds appealing, right? I don’t know how I gave up on the Jew-fro’ed, husky boys I usually lost my shit over. So when I wasn't sleeping with Bob or giving RR dirty looks, I was hanging out with Kevin. Truth be told, I didn't deserve the affection or attention of a great guy like him. I was, in a way (i.e., pretty much completely), using him until Bob got rid of his other soprano on the side. Kevin didn't exactly know the details of Operation: Vanquish South Jersey Weirdo; reason being, I never told him. But things like this always come back and bite me in the ass, and this time would prove no different.
The infamous Friday night of this story was, coincidentally, the same Friday night of Bob’s birthday weekend. He went home every year to celebrate with his family. Unlike the previous year, when we were happily in love, this year he left a very bad taste in my mouth (and not because he skipped out on pineapple.) This year, yes, we again indulged in some good-bye sex (atop a baby grand piano in a practice room no less.) But then, less than an hour after he had his penis all up in my lady parts, he was seen passionately making out with RR in public. I was furious, to say the least. I knew they had a thing going on, weird and incomprehensible as it was. But for him to go into open view with the PDA, in front of friends and colleagues, sent the message that he had made his choice- and it wasn't me. My only consolation was that he hadn’t brushed his teeth before kissing her since burying his face in my twat less than an hour before. No, wait, I taste fucking amazing; that girl doesn't deserve to taste my vagina's deliciousness. Anyway, the point of all this was that Bob and I had been seriously discussing getting back together. But their very public grope fest, well, it was the final nail to the coffin of any hopes of relationship resurrection. I mean seriously, eff that; I had other options, seemingly better options damn it, and was worth more than being the girl on the side...with a boy who used to be my boyfriend. Not to mention the mind-baffling fact that my replacement was a freakshow who thought she was the long-lost triplet to the Olsen twins (and who also thought that a frizzy perm + clogs + sweatpants = high fashion.) So I mentally bid adieu to everything Bob, and decided the time had come to move on. I was surprised at the relief I felt. I hadn't realized how the running around in secret, the lies, the scheming, the ulcer that had formed by simply seeing him and RR together, had been getting to me. So I was thankful to have something, hurtful as it was, to force me to get my life together and them out of it. It couldn’t have been more perfect timing that Bob had gone back home the day I made this decision. What better way to kick off a fresh start than with his presence absent from my life?
Later that night, I was in my apartment. I had just finished getting dressed to head out, when my cellphone rang. I picked up and heard Kevin's voice on the other end. He sounded drunk, but I knew that was impossible- the kid was the most straight-edged person alive. Never drank, never smoked, nothing. He said he was at some party and wanted me to come join him, but I told him I already had plans with some friends. "No," he said, “Wait at your place- I'll be right there!" As I tried to discourage him, my words fell on a dial tone because he had hung up before I could utter even a single word in reply. Not five minutes later, I heard a huge BAM BAM BAM on my front door. Oh god. When I opened it, there was Kevin- utterly smashed and leaning up against my door frame because apparently he was too drunk to stand unsupported. He was also out of breath, because it turned out from the second he hung up, he ran non-stop straight to my apartment from across campus. I stood there, not sure whether to laugh or take him seriously when he tried to appear together and suave. At the banging, my other apartment mates had come to the front door, and we all stood there collectively gaping at this drunken mess of a boy. After trying to talk to him, it was clear that at the very least, Kevin desperately needed water. In slurred speech he tried to rattle off the litany of liquors he had imbibed, but all I could make out through his attempts to speak clearly was "Four beers", "wine" and "a big, yeah, a big glass of vodka." Anything mixed with the vodka? "No... just vodka... I wanted- water- they said it was water but then it was vodka but I drank it anyway." Where were you? Were you with anyone you knew? "I don't know, no, I was alone. I wanted you to like me so I drank."
Oh, fantastic. So now if this kid dies, it'll be on my head. Exactly what someone who already suffers from Jewish guilt needs added to her plate.
I ran inside to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, with my roommate Cate. My other roommates had started their first of many attempts to get Kevin to sit down in one of the porch chairs outside our front door. Based on the cacophony of arguing voices I heard, the other girls were quickly learning that Kevin had no interest in sitting. Instead, they switched to doing their best to be good hostesses, and prevent him from falling over onto his face. I rushed back with the glass of water, and handed it to him, saying, "Here, Kevin, drink this." He fervently shook his head, swaying on his feet, and replied in a loud voice, "No!" he said, "I don't want it." As I tried to persuade him to take the water, while simultaneously attempting to convince him to sit him down in a chair, it was looking as if I wasn't going to succeed in either capacity. And then a miracle happened. His blood alcohol level quite literally rose to the occasion and accomplished what none of us could. Stronger than any of our verbal persuasions or his refusals, his inebriated extremities gave out and slid him into the chair. Now seated, he finally grabbed the glass of water from my hand. He held it up to his face to look at it really closely; I guess it failed his inspection because without warning, he threw it on the porch floor. It shattered and glass flew everywhere; let’s all take a moment to applaud the genius who decided to give worlds drunkest boy a glass made of actual glass (thank you, thank you.) With a total kitten left in the rain expression, and completely dejected posture, he sat in the chair looking at the floor, all the time moaning, "Elena, why do you like Bob? Why don't you like me? I-I- I write you poetry. I write poems about you. I write poems for you. I write stories. I'd buy you flowers. I like you so much Elena, I write poems about you, I really like you, I..." He fell into a morose silence, took his phone from his pocket and started to try to dial numbers, or text. I watched for a moment as he did this with the agility of a drugged-out ape. Then I turned to my roommates, all of whom were still standing in the doorway watching the scene. I mimed at them to get me something to clean up the glass. With my back turned, I failed to notice that Kevin was beginning to slowly ooze out of the chair. I turned when I heard something clatter down the opposite end of the porch. It seems using his phone in his delicate state was entirely too frustrating, as he had thrown it. The force he had to muster to chuck his cell was so overwhelming that his body flew out of his chair. He was now face-down on the ground. He just lay there, entangled in the legs of the chair he had just fallen out of, and rolling, albeit with limited range of motion, on the broken glass. My roommates and I tried to get him off the porch and into our apartment. This was no easy feat, since he was treating those glass shards like Scrooge McDuck undulates within his money vault. It was then that he announced to the general public that he had to go to the bathroom. Cate offered to drag him there, accompanied by Katie and Val.
Meanwhile I scooped up his phone, and began to call his friends in the hopes that someone he knew could come help us to get him back to his dorm room. The last people I wanted to involve right now were cops, RAs or any authoritative types; Kevin was only 19 and therefore underage. I didn’t want this kid to get in trouble, but I DID want him the hell out of my apartment. So, from his phone, I proceeded to call his friends that I knew, and when no one was answering or available, I called his older brother. Nope. I was feeling desperate, but then I had a stroke of brilliance- I could call MY friends, and maybe they could help.
I decided to call my friend Allyson to see if she knew anyone (read: strong dudes. Not exactly the majority on an arts campus) that could help carry him back to his room. She was at that moment in the middle of hosting a party at her place, but said she'd bring over guys. They'd aid us in lugging our drunk baggage to the music building. Once there, we'd be passed off like an (alcohol-soaked) torch in a leg relay to our mutual friend, Christian. He had agreed to meet us at that checkpoint, to help bring our "torch" the rest of the way to the dorms. While this jewel-heist level planning and coordinating was being completed, Kevin had finished using the bathroom. I knew this because he was now lying face down on our living room floor carpet. For someone who maybe 20 minutes before was begging me to go party with him, he sure was lying down a lot. I had been distracted by the delivery/rescue mission I was planning but managed to catch a glimpse of his bathroom-to-living room journey. I have vague memories of him, not walking but sliding on his belly from the bathroom, down the hallway, and into the living room. I didn't know that was a measurement of how intoxicated a person can get, and I've worked in a nightclub. But apparently the party doesn't ever have to stop: when legs become useless, travel like snake.
A few moments later, there was knocking at the door. Allyson had come through, and rallied with more than the expected number of troops. She was at our door, with the ENTIRE PARTY from her apartment in tow. It was a camera shot right out of a high school movie, when the host opens their front door to be faced with their entire school's population, all of whom are ready to par-tay. Allyson's smiling face at the helm did not put me at ease, especially when the mob all immediately swarmed into our living room, dining room, and kitchen, talking and laughing and carrying on. Those in the living room had formed a ring around Kevin, who was still lying on the floor. The two guys who volunteered to carry him started kicking him and telling him to stop being a baby. (I may have cleaned up the language a little bit.) I felt so bad. This poor kid was being berated by these guys. It seemed as if I was the only one who felt the slightest amount of sympathy, because within moments all the other guys from the party started joining in and making fun, too. I tried to get them to stop, but one of the guys explained to me that Kevin was “faking”, “overreacting”, and this was the only way for him to get it together. I was unconvinced, but before I could argue or do anything, Val, our resident tyrant, started shouting at everyone to get rid of their drinks and shut up, or get out. Finally, Kevin was lifted up off the floor, with one arm slung over Cate's shoulders, and the other over another guy's, Tom. Even in this situation, I couldn't help but notice that Tom was, well, gorgeous. Oh god, I am ridiculous.
We started the first leg of our journey from the apartment to the music building, most of the party still with us. In sober life, this walk takes maybe five or seven minutes. But tonight's walk was slightly different than all other walks. Perhaps it was the darkness of the evening sky, the fullness of the moon, or the chill in the autumn air. Or, maybe it was the fact we had a fucking nearly-comatose and handicapped individual that people were taking turns lugging down the half-mile stretch. But, at least this prolonged trip was giving Tom and I some time to chat before reaching our destination. We (at least the soldiers who hadn't fallen along the way) arrived at the tables outside the music building a good twenty minutes later. Our greatly-reduced numbers, now down to five, were hanging out and waiting for Christian to get there. In the meantime, Kevin was propped up on one of the tables with connecting bench seating, while Tom and I walked a few feet away and continued chatting (i.e., heavily flirting and number-exchanging.) I could see Christian coming towards us from the distance. Just as I was starting to feel relieved and that salvation was upon us, Kevin chose that exact moment to lean over and vomit everywhere- including on Cate's coat. Tom, Christian and I made our way over to Kevin. So much puke came out of the kid that he had fallen over into it's apparent gravitational pull. But before anyone could help him, we watched as he quickly got himself off the ground and started running across the quad. We couldn't catch up because dude was fucking sprinting, so we followed him from behind to make sure he made it to wherever he was running to, without injury. But when we reached the dorms, where he was heading, he had disappeared from sight. I still had his phone so I couldn't call him to see if he was ok or possibly in another universe since he seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. But Christian was an R.A. in his building, and he said he'd look around, check up on him, and keep us posted.
I wound up going to bed with Tom that night. Aside from the fact he was hot, I don't really know why I did. We walked back to my place and kicked it in my living room. And by that I mean he borrowed my friend's guitar and serenaded me with Sublime. I sat there, frozen, with what I hoped was a convincing "my panties are dropping" face. In reality, I was doing my best not to make fun of him/my choices. And stop picturing the scene in Animal House where Belushi smashes the beatnik's guitar against a wall. White college guys who learn three songs to play give the guitar such a bad rep, man. I realize they do it to get laid, and I realize that I did sleep with a dude who did exactly what I'm describing, but I did not sleep with him because of his musical "skills." What it boils down to is: he was gorgeous, had that white-skater kid appeal, and didn't reek of patchouli like most guys on my campus. The only other remarkable event of our hookup was his comment, post-coital, "Elena, you’re
fucking hot, but man, you are a fucking weird girl.” This may have been due to the large stuffed Spongebob doll I had on my bed. I don’t think there was anything else too odd or revealing, at least not on the open surfaces of my room. Lord knows what he would've said had he seen my favorite vibrator of the time; it was pretty much a life-sized plastic cucumber- with 7 speeds! It had been a gag gift from Spencer’s, but turned out to do a phenomenal job of getting me off. So I kept it, named it, and loved it until the day it died.
The next morning I was told that Kevin had had severe alcohol poisoning, but some guys from his dorm called an ambulance for him and he went to the hospital. He came over late the next afternoon to get his phone, and apologized the entire time for his behavior. He felt awful about the whole thing. I assured him it was fine, but suggested he might want to take Cate's vomit-encrusted coat to be dry-cleaned as sort of an apology to her, which he wholeheartedly agreed to do.
Kevin and I sorted of tapered off after that, and I heard from a mutual friend that he really did get drunk to try and impress me, or something along those lines. I felt terrible about the whole situation, but a few months later he got a super hot girlfriend who really loved him, so I didn't feel too badly anymore. And wouldn't you know it, her name was Elena too. So while my Kevin jinx may be unbreakable, his bad luck with girls named Elena seemed to have ended with me.
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