Maurice by Kathy Najimy

Maurice by Kathy Najimy

Genre: AutobiographicalTime:

Junior high is God’s little joke on teenagers. Especially a ME teenager: fat, frizzy-haired, and the money my dad made on two jobs - butcher and postal sorter (with the help of welfare powdered potatoes) didn’t allow for the mandatory hip junior high clothes. Although I had big thighs and hair like frayed wire, I did have a great personality…and when I turned sixteen, I discovered my BOOBS.

So did Maurice. Maurice…drove a dry cleaners van that belonged to his uncle that you can still spot cruising around San Diego to this day.

I knew somewhere inside that he didn’t deserve me or the person I soon was to discover I was.

My best friend was Lavonne. Lavonne was beautiful but because she had a strict mom-and I was a “good girl,” her mom would only let her hang around and go out with me. Lavonne had green eyes and long brown hair, and although she was white, it wasn’t until years later that I realized Lavonne’s mom named her a black girl’s name. Lavonne liked me because I was fun and funnnny. We did prank phone calls till we choked from laughter…some fun, some really mean. We jumped into strange guys’ cars on a dare, we shoplifted See’s candy. We had a blast.

Lavonne and I were in the tenth grade, but because she was dating Doug (who looked like James Taylor and was older than us), one night we got invited to a party with the juniors and seniors. I ironed the shit out of my steel-wool hair and grabbed my Cost Less Imports Indian-print halter dress. Yep, my boobs were finally here, and I was gonna present them to the twelfth-grade boys! The party was at somebody’s divorced mom’s ugly San Diego apartment complex. We walked in (well, my boobs walked in first) chugging out of our Boone’s Farm and Annie Green Springs bottles of cheap sugar wine.

It was smoky and loud. Black Sabbath’s “Electric Funeral” blared. Lavonne found Doug and after a flirty batting and lowering of her repressed girl-eyes…they were off making out on the orange beanbag chair. Maurice De Mayo (I did not make this name up) started walking in my direction. Maurice was a popular SENIOR. He was most known for two things – his huge Jew-fro and the fact that he drove around in his uncle’s dry-cleaning van with DE MAYO DRY CLEANING proudly printed on both sides. If you could see past the fro, he was kind of cute. He had large French-like features and a sexy smile. As he walked, I saw him scanning the room. Most of the cute junior and senior girls were already coupled up with guys, making out, dancing, or puking. Me and my D’s were standing in the doorway; I was forcing down the wine I pretended to actually like. I guess he figured this fat tenth grader with questionable hair might be an option. He strutted up to me and my rack. I seriously could not believe it. This is the guy who dated Maxi – the stoner-cute, almost phantomlike cool girl that was WAY out of my league. Maurice and I talked for a minute. It was almost hilarious – he did that thing where he started to talk, looking in my eyes, and then finished his sentence staring at my boobs. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“In the VAN?” I said.

“Yep.”

We got in despite the fact that I had to do an embarrassing hike up with both hands to get my short legs into the seat. I masked it with a high-pitched “WOW, this is cool” to cover the grunt that helped haul my ass into the car.

He pushed in an eight-track of Three Dog Night – “One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever doooooo” – and we started driving and talking. I thought, Wow, he is actually talking and listening to me. Then we pulled into a driveway that led to the empty parking lot of the Kmart on El Cajon Boulevard. He had his hand on my thigh tapping out the rhythm of the song. He turned off the engine and lunged in to kiss me. I could not believe we were making out! He was smashing my mouth and jabbing his tongue in. It was weird but all I could think about was getting back to that party and telling Lavonne, “I made out with Maurice De Mayo!” He kept wet-kissing when he lifted his whole body and put it right on top of mine. He was hugging and pushing on me and groping at my breasts, which were now way free of the halter. He felt sweaty and hot and smelled like Brass Monkey. I kind of enjoyed the kissing and the boob stuff, but now his whole body was on top of mine…hard. I was squashed in the passenger seat – I couldn’t even kiss anymore. I tried to find an empty airspace to breath. He was heavy, humping on me, and then started to lift my dress up. Then it all came to me in a flash. This was it. This was it. I was going to lose my virginity in a cleaner’s van in the parking lot of Kmart to a guy whose hair was bigger than his head and who probably didn’t even know my name. “Um. Stop,” I said. “I don’t wanna do this…Stop.”

“No,” he said.

“Stop,” I said.

“IT’S TOO LATE!” he screamed at me. I will never forget that phrase. “IT’S TOO LATE!!” (I didn’t know…was I unaware? Did boys have some physical limit that made it impossible for them to stop? Was I going to break something in his insides?...A muscle that, once they started humping and kissing on a slutty fat girl, they couldn’t possibly stop without being paralyzed??!) “It’s too late!” He shoved his Levi’ed crotch on top of my underwear. “No!” I said, and in a moment of brilliant clarity, I reached over and grabbed the handle on my side of the van door. Maurice just dropped…fell out and smashed onto the cement parking lot floor and rolled. He didn’t say a word to me the whole ride back to drop me off at the party. I reached for the van door handle…my savior…and got out. I went in, got Lavonne, a Tab and a bag of barbeque Lay’s potato chips, and walked home.