$15 for your thoughts?...

It's always amazing when you call someone with your own troubles, only to have them superseded by theirs.

That was the case last night at around 8:30, when I called a friend to complain about our final assignment, and exams, and studying, and laundry, and a bunch of other things that were happening. She let me ramble on, talking about this and that, and about this cute boy that I'd taken a shine to from a class. I finished my complaining for that moment, after asking her for some advice, and then dropped the usual, "And how are you?"

"I'm late."

"Late for what?" I asked...then said, "Ohhhh...shit."

As it happened, she was late about five days for her period, something that always comes to her like clockwork. I went through my limited knowledge of the menstrual cycle. Her stress levels have been high, she said, thanks to family and school and problems. So maybe it could be that, she guessed.

"But I don't know what to do," she said quietly.

Truth be told, neither did I. Not like I've been having my period since I was 14 (is that even when they start?) and not like I've ever really asked Mom about periods and the woman question. I asked her if she wanted to wait a few more days, or talk to a nurse, or another girl, or maybe try a pregnancy test.

"I just don't know what to do," she said again.

"OK, well, sweetie, do you think that doing the test will make you feel better?"

A pause. "I guess so?"

"Alright then," I said, "so a pregnancy test. Easy stuff." As far as I knew, but what the hell do I know about women?

We talked about doing it for a few more minutes, and I asked her if she wanted to come over and do it here in my bathroom. "No, that's OK," she said. Her boyfriend wasn't going to be by for a while, so she would just do it herself.

"Are you sure about that?" I said. I didn't want to push her into having me help, but she seemed half-gone at that moment.

"No," she said, starting to cry.

"Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes," she said almost silently. I swear I could hear the tears by then.

"OK, that's what we'll do. We'll just have to go to the pharmacy and get one, and then pop back to your place."

"Where do they have them?" she asked, "and how much?" There was another pause. "I guess I could just go get one myself..." she said, her voice trailing off.

"No, no. I'll just pick one up on the way," I said. "Sit tight, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

My trip to the pharmacy was embarrassment free, which didn't really surprise me. I walked to the condoms and cleverly underneath was a row of pregnancy tests. I took a brand name I recognized, looked it over, and went to the pharmacist to pay. No questions were asked, until I asked about a girls period being late. She told me it could be anything from stress to illness to physical changes, but that it was a good idea she do the test anyway.

Her parting words of wisdom actually went on the 'Things I Learnt Today' list: Girls can actually have their periods change if they start hanging around with another group of women. I kid you not, their bodies actually tune themselves to each other so they all get bitchy and bloody at the same time. I shook my head, paid the $15 bill and headed out.

This would be my first time ever having to fulfill the role of 'girlfriend'. I mean, I'm there for my close friends, but I've never been asked to do that whole 'girlfriend' thing, to fill the shoes of the more experienced woman. Hell, I'd come prepared with a 5 minute crash course in periods, pregnancy and the hCG, dropped $15 on a test kit and powerwalked ten minutes to confront a girl about her sex life and talk periods and menstrual flow.

To say she was cowering in her room would be an accurate statement. For some reason she never likes crying in front of me, so the tears had stopped, but she was still in a state. I gave her a hug, and she squeaked out a, "Thanks for coming."

Why do people think they are so totally alone in these situations? I would move heaven and earth to help the people I love, and I don't think a second thought about it, yet people seem so surprised that you would be willing to help. But she seemed so generally happy that I had taken the time to buy her a test kit and come do it with her, as if the possibility that I wouldn't come even existed. It's almost like people expect you to tell them you're busy when they need to go to a hospital or are getting divorced or have just accidentally drown their significant other in the coy pond.

All I know is, I really have faith in my friends, and if I ever asked for help I sure hope they're there for me too. I just hope that faith isn't misplaced, because everyone other than me seems to be surprised at my random acts of kindness.

"OK, so bear with me," I said as I pulled open the box and read the leaflet. "I haven't done one of these before, for obvious reasons." Why not insert a bit of humour? It's not like we might have an newly minted mother on our hands.

We read them through together, and I asked her if she needed any more directions in my best doctors voice. She said no, and I went back to the page.

"Sometimes I wish I was gay," she said, exhaling on a laugh. "You don't have to deal with this."

I tried as best I could to keep my forehead from launching off my face. "Well, yeah, I guess you're right," I said. "We just have to worry about, you know, that test that you can't take back."

We both laughed, but I think I got my point across.

"Right, so now you've just got to go wee on a stick, and we're all set," I said.

She looked at me. "Wee on a stick? What the hell is that?"

I glanced over at her. "Well, come on, I haven't done this before. The only experience I have of pregnancy tests is from Bridget Jones, and that's how she described it," I said, in mock defence. "Jesus, besides, they at least had a bottle of wine on the go...what do I have!?"

She stepped out of the room and I sat staring out the window, mind ablaze. Not that I really believe she was pregnant, but still, there always is the freak chance...

...and as I was finishing that thought she came back in the room and slammed down the test on the chair in front of me.

"How could you be done!?" I asked, "you just went in there! Did you, uh, get it on the strip?"

"Oh yeah," she said, "easy."

We both sat there. A pink line appeared. "Don't worry, that just means the test is working," I said, still staring at the line. Don't you fucking move, I mentally chanted to it.

To break the ice while we waited, I asked if she had told her boyfriend what we were up to. She had said she was 'concerned' but didn't come out and say it to him. I then asked if she would be telling the boyfriend if it came back positive, and got an 'I don't know' answer. Probably best to stop there.

After a few more minutes, I realized we'd forgotten to check the time. The test was supposed to show within 10 minutes, and we were pretty sure that over five had already passed. We waited a few more, then she breathed deep and said, "That's it then, I guess I'm not pregnant."

It was very anti-climactic, really, because I didn't get that rush of 'ahhhh' that I expected. Probably due to the fact that I 'knew' that she wasn't pregnant, but still, we both felt a sense of relief. I packaged up everything and put it back in my bag, figuring it best not to leave a spent test in her garbage can for prying eyes. Around that time I realized my head was pounding, so I got some aspirin and a glass of water and we just sat there shell shocked.

A few minutes later, we Facebook stalked a cute boy in a class of mine, to get her opinion, and then I decided I should make my exit before the boyfriend came by.

"That's it, I'm never having sex again," she said. "Never, never, this is crazy. I'm done." I contemplated the thought of 'never never' having sex again, shuddered, and told her she'd be back in bed with her boyfriend inside a month. She rolled her eyes and called me oversexed.

"Thanks for coming," she said again, and gave me a big hug.

"Of course," I replied, and she walked me to the door. A few minutes later I was out on the street, breathing in sweet fresh air and contemplating moving to the mountains and living as a hermit.

---

Of course, no day like this could end without one more little slap in the face.

I smacked the up button in my lobby, blaring music and trying to pretend I was anywhere but there. The door slowly creaked open to the elevator, and I stepped into a car that was already half full.

Within about a half a second, I realized someone who we all know and love was also on board, standing in the corner. He looked as good as usual.

Indeed, Elevator Boy was again locked in an elevator with me, who looked like absolute shit, Carly Simon blaring out of my eardrums and looking withered and washed out.

I made the faintest of eye contact, then glared at the door, cursing my ever-ridiculous situation with the guy. I swear, one of these days I'll actually say hi. Either that, or hope to God we meet through one of our mutual friends. To think, I've gone an entire school year and not even said hi to him...what am I, 12?

---

This afternoon, while walking through the mall, I found myself passing by some sort of drop-in massage place. I had actually walked by it, then stopped, backtracked and read their sign. My back was killing me from what doctors like to call 'tension' and normal people call real life, and since I knew I wasn't going home to Swiss Boy, a hot bath and massage oils, I figured what the hell. For $25 I could get a 20 minute massage.

As luck would have it, there was no wait, and after filling out a questionnaire that asked me everything but did I enjoy getting fucked by barnyard animals, I was introduced to Brian, a middle-aged guy with a strong handshake.

"So, what are we working on today," he asked pleasantly. "Anything bothering you more than other areas?"

"Uhh...upper back?" I said, since I have no real idea what you call where it hurts other than pointing.

"OK, upper back, shoulders," he said, and sat me in this back-rubbing-chair-contraption.

I've never had a massage with a shirt on, and I've got to say I'm not really a fan, but the things that man did to me were wonderful. I have definitely said "harder" and meant it before, but he could deliver.

As he was rubbing away I could actually feel the tension in my body. Sort of amazing what we can do to ourselves, isn't it? As he moved to using his elbows, he hit one particular spot that was the money shot of the massage.

"Mmhhoooo," I groaned in pain. It felt great, but ow, it hurt.

After a few more such noises, I amused myself contemplating how much noise one young gay boy is allowed to make with one older straight man before it raises eyebrows.

As if on cue, he moved to my spine, pushing from the bottom up. A second later, there was a loud 'crunch crack' and he stopped. "Wow," he said, "even I heard that."

"No problem..." I moaned.

---

In other news, the Swiss boy left today. He gave me a big hug, which I happily ate up. Annoying in a way, since he's pretty much exactly my type (except for the straight part). Tall, really good looking, European, intelligent, quiet in a fiercely friendly way.

The hug felt really good...I never really noticed, but hugging boys just feels so much different than hugging girls. I hug women all the time, and boys infrequently, but this felt just nice. I tucked right into him, which annoyed me further, because honestly what kind of a tease is a perfect hug?

He did leave me with one great memory though, a going away picture in my mind. As I was walking to my room, I passed by my roommate's door to see him standing beside the bed. What caught my eye was the blur of motion, as he leaned back to stretch his arms out. With his arms pinned behind him, his newly-bought white Abercrombie tee rode way up his stomach, giving me a brilliant view of his amazing body.

And that's just how I'm going to picture him when I remember him.