A Common Pornography: A Memoir

Elvia

During the time I was seeing Daphne and hanging out with the other New Wave kids from Hermiston, I met Elvia, a beautiful and quiet Hispanic girl who dressed more conservatively than the rest. I started to talk to her more and more when she made it up to the Tri-Cities on the weekends. Pretty soon, we decided we would be boyfriend and girlfriend. But first, I had to tell Daphne and stop having sex with her. This was tricky because they worked at the same place, a burger joint called Arctic Circle. After news broke about Elvia and I, Daphne was stone cold to us both. I would come pick up Elvia when she got off her shift sometimes and Daphne stared hatefully at us. Soon enough, Daphne’s anger boiled over and she spray-painted a message for me on a water tower near the highway exit. It said, KEVIN SAMSEL IS A DICK.

Elvia and I went out for about a year, and even though I had a couple of prior girlfriends, I felt like this was the first girlfriend I could really get into. She was so pretty, with perfect olive-brown skin and thin-but-plump lips that my mouth will never forget. Her face often displayed a sexy pout or a smile so giddy and mischievous that it ignited her whole being. Our sex felt alive and loving and totally open. Plus, she had a mysterious personality that intrigued me. She lived with white foster parents who were very religious and wouldn’t even let her listen to Top 40 music in the house. Once, they threw out all the cassettes that she had hidden in her closet. Even her David Hart cassette. She had cried about that and I tried to ease her pain by making her mix tapes, which were eventually found and thrown out as well.

Her own parents were somewhere not far away, but it was always kind of vague as to why she didn’t live with them. Maybe they were too poor.

Sometimes, during the week, because we couldn’t see each other, we would write letters. In these letters, she was more goofy than she was in person. She’d crack jokes, make fun of her foster parents, and quote fake Bible passages. If she hadn’t lived with such conservative white people, she may have been a Goth or a punk.

One week she sent me a serious letter and told me that she was pregnant. I tried to make a plan to see her that weekend (we’d sometimes sneak long-distance phone calls to each other), but she told me she was grounded. She asked me to send her $300 so she could get an abortion. I emptied out my bank account and scrounged up some more tip money and sent cash. A week later she called me and said she hadn’t gotten the money yet. I really need it, she said. She was crying. I told her I’d send it again, but this time it would be a money order. But first I went down to the post office and asked them if the letter had not been sent for some reason. I kicked myself for sending cash and my suspicious mind kept thinking that a crooked mailman probably stole the valuable letter. I could picture him sitting in his mail truck, holding it up to the light and glimpsing the hundred-dollar bills through the envelope.

The people at the post office couldn’t solve the mystery for me.

Two days later, with a rock of heavy embarrassment in my gut, I had to call Elvia and tell her that I could send her only $150. She seemed disappointed and cold and then told me that she was probably going to move after her upcoming high school graduation. What do you mean? I asked her. I’ll tell you later, she said.

Daphne and the other Hermiston Wavers were still coming up to the Tri-Cities on weekends, but Elvia wasn’t catching rides with them anymore. I heard from one of them that Elvia had moved away. I had this person snoop around and a couple of months later, I had a new phone number for Elvia. One in Yakima. Someone thought that she had moved there with a cousin. An older Mexican guy.

I called the number one night when Mom and Dad were gone. I was able to sneak long distance calls on our phone sometimes, even though Dad would get mad about it. Elvia answered. I said hello and her voice answered back, sounding shocked and sad, as if she had been caught stealing something. At first, she seemed regretful that she hadn’t spoken to me. I asked her why and she became vague and nervous. I told her that I loved her and that I wanted to come see her. Finally, she told me that she had moved to Yakima to live with a new boyfriend. An older guy I knew nothing about. I asked her all the selfish questions: Why did she do this to me? Were they having sex? Was the sex better? Did she ever love me? We both started to cry, but I was trying to stay calm.

Mom and Dad drove up the gravel driveway at that moment. I was using the phone in the kitchen, where they were about to enter, arms full of Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets. “Get off the phone. It’s time to eat,” said Dad. They sat down just ten feet away at the dining room table. I tried to stretch the phone cord into the hallway, but Dad got angry and told me not to pull it so hard. It was already crackly. “It’s time to eat!” Dad shouted. It was as if he and Mom had gotten into a fight on the way home. He was in a foul mood.

“Are you going to go to school somewhere there?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have babies,” she said.

I thought she was saying this to hurt me, to make me give up. “You’re going to have babies with him?” I said.

Then Dad walked over and pushed his finger on the hang-up button. “Did you hear me?” he said.

“I’m not hungry right now,” I said.

I went to my room and paced around, hoping the tension in the house would decrease. I went out to the kitchen again and told them I wasn’t feeling well, hoping that would calm things down. Dad bit into a piece of chicken and tore off a chunk of meat. He was the kind of eater who devoured everything to the bone.

As they ate their dinner, I snuck down the hall and into their bedroom, where the other phone was. I picked it up and called Elvia again. She answered after several rings and started crying. I felt like I was now in the position of comforter and I started telling her that things would be okay and that I loved her. I wanted to ask her what she meant when she said the baby thing, but she was too upset to go back to that.

After a few minutes, a man’s voice came on. Her new boyfriend. “Just leave her alone,” he said. “She doesn’t want to talk to you any more.”

“Yes, she does,” I said. I felt stupid, like I was challenging him to a fight from seventy miles away. “Who are you?” I asked.

“Look, man, it’s over. You’re upsetting her.” He said this like he was trying to be cool. “C’mon, dude.”

In my head, I tried to imagine her, in this shitty little farm town, crying in the corner of some tiny one-bedroom house. I knew I’d probably never see her again.

I told myself that it wasn’t my fault.