But soon enough I was heading down ivy-drapedVia Giulia, my arm around
Eunice Park’s fragrant, boyish frame. Shewas seemingly in good spirits,
promising me a kiss, then chastising my poorItalian. She was shyness and
giggles, freckles in the moonlight and drunken,immature cries of “Shut
up, Lenny!” and “You’re such an idiot!” I noticed shehad released her
hair from the bun’s captivity and that it was dark and endlessand thick
as twine. She was twenty-four years old.
My apartment could accommodate no more than a cheaptwin-size mattress
and a fully opened suitcase, brimming with books. (“MyText-major friends
at Elderbird used to call those things ‘doorstops,’ ” shetold me.) We
kissed, lazily, like it was nothing, then roughly, like we meantit.
There were some problems. Eunice Park wouldn’t take off her bra (“I
haveabsolutely no chest”), and I was too drunk and scared to develop an
erection.But I didn’t want intercourse anyway. The next morning, she was
kind enough tohelp me repack my suitcase, which refused to close without
her help. “That’snot how you do it,” she said, when she saw me brushing
my teeth. She made mestick out my tongue and roughly scraped its purple
surface with the toothbrush.“There,” she said. “Better.”
During the taxi ride to the airport I felt the triplepangs of being
happy and lonely and needy all at once. She had made me wash mylips and
chin thoroughly to obliterate every trace of her, but Eunice
Park’salkaline tang remained on the tip of my nose. I made great
sniffing motions inthe air, trying to capture her essence, thinking
already of how I would baither toNew York,make her my life, my life
eternal. I touched my expertly brushed teeth andpetted the flurry of
gray hairs sticking out from beneath my shirt collar,which she had
thoroughly examined in the morning’s weak early light. “Cute,”she had
said. And then, with a child’s sense of wonder, “You’re old, Len.”
June 1: From the GlobalTeens account of Eunice Park.
Euni-Tard Abroad to Grillbitch.
Hi, Precious Panda!
So, guess what? I met the cutest guy inRome. He is exactly my type,
tall, kind ofGerman-looking, very preppie, but not an asshole. Giovanna
set me up withhim—he’s inRomeworking for LandO’LakesGMFordCredit! So I
go to meet him in the Piazza Navona(remember Image Class? Navona’s the
one with all the Tritons) and he’s sittingthere having a cappuccino and
streaming “Chronicles of Narnia”! Remember westreamed that in Catholic?
So adorable. His name is Ben, which is pretty gay,but he wasso niceand
smart. He took me to look at some Caravaggios and then he kind of like
my butt a little and then we went to one of Giovanna’s parties and made
There were all these Italian girls in Onionskin jeans staring at us,
like I was
stealing one of their white guys or something. I fucking hate that. If
mention my “almond eyes” one more time, I swear. Anyway,I need your
advicebecausehe called yesterday and asked if I wanted to go up
toLuccawith him next week and I was playinghard to get and said no. But
I’m going to call him and say yes tomorrow!What should I do?Help!!!
P.S. I met this old, gross guy at a party yesterday and
we got really drunk and I sort of let him go down on me. There was
older guy, this sculptor, trying to get in my pants, so I figured, you
the lesser evil. Ugh, I’m turning into you!!!!! The first old guy took
dinner at this restaurant, da Tonino, which was like O.K. He was nice,
dorky, although he thinks he’s so Media cause he works in biotech or
And he had the grossest feet, bunions and this gigantic heel spur that
out like he’s got a thumb glued to his foot. I know, I’m thinking like
Anyway, he brushes his teeth all wrong, so I had toSHOW A GROWN MAN HOW
TO USE A TOOTHBRUSH!!!!!What is wrong with my life, Precious Panda?