Eva : Part 4

Choose Me
by Xenia Ruiz

(Page 4 of 6)

"Do you have to speak to every man you come in contact with?" I said, disgusted.

"Why does it bother you so much?"

"It doesn't bother me. I just don't understand why you have to flirt with every man who speaks or smiles at you."

"It's basic human nature. I am woman, I like men; ergo, I flirt." She explained this with her expressive, salon-manicured hands and her slow, clipped English. "I can't help it if you don't like men. Miss Evileen."

I decided to let that one go. "Just because I don't screw men as often as I go to the bathroom doesn't mean I don't like men," I told her, hoping my words would hit their mark and shut her up. "Just because sex is basic human nature doesn't mean you have to act upon every desire. You're not an animal."

"For your information, I don't screw men as often as I go to the bathroom - which is a tasteless analogy, by the way. You need to stop being so self-righteous just because you have a low sex drive. I can't help it if I'm high-natured." Through the rearview mirror, I could see her glaring at me, furiously snapping the pages of her script.

"How many men have you been with?" I asked her.

No response except the flipping of pages.

"Are you ashamed? I mean, if you're so high-natured, and it's such a basic human need, why can't you tell me?" I pressed.

"Because it's too personal. And no, I'm not ashamed."

"You know my sexual history. I have nothing to hide."

"I don't either, but that doesn't mean I'm going to confess the intimate details of my life to you."

"Is it that you don't know or you can't remember?"

Her eyes narrowed like a snake's and when she spoke, her voice was not her own. "My sexual life is between me, my men, and the Creator, and no one else."

"I only asked to prove a point. Women want to be equal to men when it comes to sex, but the truth is, we can't brag about our conquests like they can, because we are the spoils, we are the ones who get soiled. And it's not just because of societal stigmas. It's because of the way we're made biologically. It's the way of the world."

"I'm not ashamed," she repeated. "I just don't think it's any of your business."

I shook my head, exasperated. We had had the same argument many times and it always ended the same. She accused me of being a man-hater; I accused her of being a man-teaser. Back in high school, Simone wasn't very popular because many of the other Black girls didn't like that she spoke so-called proper English and had long hair. Back then, she wasn't tuned in to her Afrocentric side and wore her hair relaxed. The same Black girls didn't like me because even though I looked Black, I spoke with an accent. The Hispanic girls stayed away from me because even though I was Hispanic, my skin was too dark, my hair too curly, bordering on kinky. Unlike the other girls, Simone never questioned why I read Essence or books by Black authors, nor did she ask me to teach her Spanish curse words. The teasing and our exclusion from the popular cliques made us best friends. One would think she would remember those earlier days, before she pulled a stunt like the one in the bookstore.

I approached Simone's apartment building and braked, switching into park abruptly and bringing the car to a jolting stop. Still looking at me in the rearview mirror, Simone gathered her bags from her earlier shopping spree, her fashion magazines, and her script.

"So are you coming to the screening party this weekend or what?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know. I'll let you know."

"Maya's coming." She leaned on the passenger headrest, suddenly trying to make up. "I need you guys there. You know I love you, right, chica?"

"I told you, Puerto Ricans don't say chica, they say mija."

"Well, I like chica. Mija sounds like 'hee-haw.'"

Simone, who had been my girl for over twenty years, was finally learning Spanish, but like everything that took time and patience, she wasn't trying too hard and wanted to write her own rules.

"You forgive me?"

"Yeah, yeah, get out."

She blew me a kiss and exited. "BYOB!" she yelled as I drove away. The second "B" referred to not only "beverage," but to "boy" - the latter of which I didn't indulge.

Copyright © 2005 by Xenia Ruiz

About the Author

A graduate of Northwestern University, Xenia Ruiz received First Prize in the university's Iota Sigma Epsilon Fiction Contest for her short story, "Pops." She currently lives in Chicago with her son and daughter.