Girl Power

By Kathy Luder

Steve and I aren’t exactly "steady," but we have been on a couple of group dates. I also talk to him on the phone almost every day. He listens to me and seems to understand me. Most importantly, though, he laughs at my jokes. It is NOT, as I have explained to my friends at least a thousand times, that I am seeing him exclusively. It is just that I don’t happen to be seeing anyone else. Anyway, I like him. A lot. And he likes me even more, which is very cool.

One Friday night, my friend Molly and I met at a freshman dance. We were fast dancing in a group of about ten people, including Steve. Every time a slow dance would come up, Steve and I danced together. We danced the way my grandmother taught me: my right hand in his left and my left hand on his waist up high. We didn’t just sway back and forth. We actually danced. We waltzed and fox-trotted. Sure, I had to teach him, but he was game for it and it was a blast. We laughed like mad and ignored everyone but each other.

I was really having a great time. He was very attentive and complimentary. And I suppose that is what got to me. I can’t recall anyone but my parents and other relatives ever telling me that I was pretty. In all of our hours of conversation, Steve had certainly never said that before. He had said I was smart; I was funny; I was nice; I was a good friend. He had said a lot of nice things. But he had never before said: "You are pretty." Trust me. I would have remembered. So when he said it that night, my heart melted. I couldn’t wait to tell Molly. It felt so good to be liked, to be popular, to be desirable.

As the night wore on, we danced closer and closer. I was content. Everything was right in the world. I laid my head on Steve’s shoulder, felt his heartbeat through my chest and his breath in my hair. He held my hand to his chest nestled between us and was lightly rubbing my back in time with the music with his other hand. The waltzing had ended. So had the jokes. Like the cheerleaders and football players all around us, we just swayed, lost in the music and each other.

Then his hand slipped a bit low. He brushed my backside below the waist. It sent a tingle through me like electricity. I could feel every inch of my body. I had never before been so conscious of another person’s physical presence and every move. I hesitated in our swaying for maybe a millisecond. But I wasn’t sure he knew what had happened. It could have been an accident. His circling hand probably just slipped. So, I ignored it. But within seconds it happened again and this time lower. If I was on fire, then he was too. I realized it was no accident. Steve had just touched my butt!

I stood straight up, pushed him away, and stomped into the girls’ room. I went into a stall, locked the door, and sat down. I realized by then that it wasn’t all Steve’s fault and it was hardly the crime of the century. To some degree, I was guilty, too. I had pulled him close and put my head on his shoulder. I wanted him. I was frustrated and tired of fighting. I was angry and feeling defiled and more than a little guilty. I started to cry.

I heard someone shuffle into the restroom and saw Molly’s shoes stop in front of my stall. I lifted my feet but she said, "I know you’re in there, Kathy. I saw you stomp off the dance floor. What happened?"

I didn’t say a word. I thought maybe she’d get embarrassed and go away. I should’ve known that Molly doesn’t get embarrassed and go away.

"I saw your feet. I know you’re in there. I am not leaving until you tell me what is wrong. You’d better hurry up while we have the place to ourselves."

Little did she know how patient I am. I could wait until morning. But then the door swung open. Those stupid doors all hang crooked and never latch right. Tears were on Molly’s cheeks, too. "Come on," she said. "You’re scaring me. What's wrong? I thought everything was going great. We were finally having fun at a school dance! We finally have boyfriends!"

"He is not my boyfriend!" I protested. "And besides, he touched my butt."

"What?"

"We were dancing and Steve touched my butt. Twice. I let him the first time. I thought it was an accident. Then he did it again. So I left."

"Wow."

"I thought he was different. I thought he really liked me...Oh, Molly, I am going to be the Frost Queen forever! I am so tired of fighting it. Aren’t there any decent boys out there? Even Steve is a jerk."

"He is not a jerk, Kathy. He is just a boy. He is nice, but he got carried away."

"He is too a jerk! He is a total, absolute, grade-A jerk face! He is the worst kind of jerk, a sneak-jerk, a pseudo-nice guy, a jerk in trustworthy clothing. He is the Benedict Arnold of the Boy Scouts!" Now we were both laughing. "I should not have had to stop him. He shouldn’t have tried!"

"Yeah, you're right. He shouldn’t have tried. But I don’t think he has to be hanged for treason just yet."

"Maybe not yet, but he is pretty close."

"So what are you going to do? He screwed up, but I think you can recover—both of you. Go tell him that he is to never touch you—anywhere—even on your hand—ever again without your explicit permission. Go out there and say: ‘Touch my butt and DIE, pig!’" Then we both cracked up. It got even cornier as we made up and practiced speeches for me to tell Steve much to the dismay and confusion of others who came into the restroom.

Finally, Molly said, "Seriously, tell him that if he is polite and behaves, you might still hang around him and let him call you, but that you demand to be treated with respect and decency. Remember, you are the queen, and he is a peon supplicant. Isn’t that the speech you are always giving me?"

"Yeah, you're right." I said, still laughing a little, and wiping away the tears. "I’ll give him another chance. But I have terms!"

When we finally came out, Steve was standing apart from our little group and looked pretty scared. Even though Molly was with me, he came right up to me and started apologizing. He said he was ashamed and promised never to do anything like that again. So I didn’t tell him off completely. But I did use my queen line.

All in all, it was a pretty mild incident. But it shook me up. I realize now that I have to be constantly on my guard and that even a friend like Steve can be weak at times. It would have been easy to give in. I’m glad I didn’t because I know it wouldn't have stopped there. And I’m glad that I have Molly. It’d be harder alone.

Who knows? Maybe someday she’ll be the maid of honor at my wedding. I’ll walk down the aisle in a pure, white gown as God joins me to the man that He has already chosen for me. Don’t tell my friends, but part of me wonders if maybe it won’t be Steve. His apology made me think he’d make a pretty good husband.

Kathy Luder attends Midwest Lutheran Church in Middleville, Indiana. She imagines herself quite stunning and extraordinarily clever but, alas, no photo is available. In fact, no photo exists.