Free Hard Love by Ellen Wittlinger

up. “Don’t get me wrong. You write very well. Very well. It’s funny and it’s strong, and actually, I’m pretty impressed. If I wasn’t, I’d just shut up about it.”
    “So you liked it? I’m having a hard time figuring this out.”
    “Yeah, I liked it, but the part that makes the rest of it work, for me, anyway, is the line about not wanting anything else to change. It just rings true. And because the rest of the piece is so guarded, it feels like it just slipped out, which makes it seem even more true. Do you see what I mean?”
    I pulled the pages back to my side of the table. “I guess so.” I couldn’t even remember writing that line. Maybe it stuck out because it didn’t really belong.
    “You know what I’d really like to read is a rewrite ofyour “Escape” piece that you read to me over the phone. That one I could start to feel .”
    “Yeah? I thought that was a mess, actually. I ditched it.” I was lying to her again, without even giving it a second thought. The piece was right there, right in my backpack, but this crap about writing down my feelings was a crock. Like girls keeping a diary or something. That wasn’t what a zine was about. Not mine.
    Marisol waved to the waitress to bring more coffee. “Well, anyway, don’t get all mad about it. I like your writing. Whoever you are.” She almost smiled.
    “So did you bring something for me to rip to shreds?”
    “I tried.”
    “What? You didn’t bring anything? Unfair!” Actually it was probably a good thing. Ever since my bout with Dad last night, I’d been kind of spoiling for another fight, as if liberating that little spurt of anger made all the rest of it frantic to escape too. Wouldn’t be a good idea to unleash it on Marisol’s writing.
    “The thing is, I really want to write about a particular subject, something I can’t seem to get a handle on. I spent most of the week trying to get started on it and then I threw it all away. It was too … personal.”
    “ Too personal. I thought that was the whole point? You just told me …”
    “I mean the details were too personal. There was a lot of pain just lying there on the page. That doesn’t work either. I guess I don’t have enough distance on it yet to understand it. Maybe I never will.”
    “Was it about … a girl?” I wasn’t one hundred percent sure I wanted to hear some lesbian love story, but I did kind of want Marisol to tell me things about herself. I guess I wanted more clues to who she was too. Besides, I was tired of thinking about my own stupid problems.
    She scanned the bookshelves. “Well, I’ll give you the short version. The details are boring anyway. It was about six months ago. I’d only been out for a few months, but I met this group of girls who said they were lesbians. One of them goes to my school, and the rest go to other schools around here. Anyway, there was this one girl, Kelly. She was funny and smart. Right away I fell for her. It was the first time I really felt like that, you know? No, I guess you don’t. Anyway, she flirted with me and we, you know, kissed and stuff. I was so happy. I thought I’d found the perfect person for me. She was so cool—she didn’t let me get away with any of my G and T bullshit. My show-off stuff. She was just … great.” Marisol stopped her story and started playing with the coffee cup.
    “So, I guess she dumped you?” I know it was mean to cut to the chase like that, but I was kind of pissed off that she just assumed I couldn’t possibly understand what it felt like to be crazy about somebody like that. I mean, it hasn’t happened to me, but I read; I have an imagination. I think about it once in a while.
    “Umm. But that wasn’t even the worst. I mean, it was, but, the way it happened. We were sitting in Harvard Square one evening, listening to this Peruvian street band. It was kind of cold, and we were cuddled together, and Iwas feeling so in love. Out in public and everything. I’d never