Dressed in Clover

I met Becky on the second Saturday of college (September 13, 2014). She lived down the hall from me in our dorm.  I must have run into her, passed by her before that, but that was the first time we talked. Late that morning, I was walking down the hallway when I heard a familiar sound coming from her room, R.E.M., specifically Michael Stipe singing Man on the Moon.  I normally only heard that on my earbuds or when I was in my aunt’s car. I get much of my taste in music from Aunt Trish, my favorite aunt. I walked up to Becky’s open door. She was standing there in her dorm room, looking at something on her desk, singing along quietly to herself. I noticed her perfect hair, dark brown, perfectly straight. It went about halfway down her back. “Great song,” were the first words I said to her, “although I like the next track better.” “Oh, this is the radio,” she told me. That was the first time I heard her sweet voice. I was partially glad because while I loved the song that follows Man on the Moon on the album, it would bring up memories I didn’t feel like remembering right now, good memories of the boyfriend (Scott) I lost simply because we ran out of time. He was going to college in California, I was going to college in Boston, both far away from our hometown in Wisconsin. Man on the Moon finished. Some other song came on the radio, not one I was familiar with, not one that I would like. Apparently, Becky didn’t like it either. I could see she had the thought of finding a different radio station but decided to turn the radio off instead. “I’m Becky,” she said, finally looking up at me. Her eyes locked on my eyes. My eyes locked on hers. Her irises are gray. Anyone looking from a distance would call her eyes gray. However, if you get close enough, you can see a tinge of green in her irises. I saw she stands maybe an inch taller than me. She is 5 feet, 8 inches tall (to my 5 feet, 7 inches). She’s slender, but not a waif. She’s cute. Becky looks a bit like a girl I went to high school with, but Becky is much prettier than her. Me: I’m Jilla. My room is down the hall. Becky: Jilla? You are the first person I know with that name. Me: Legally, it’s Jillian. My grandmother was Gillian with a G, but my dad thought too many people would pronounce it with a hard G, so my parents spelled my name with a J, but I don’t like being called Jillian and Jill is too plain. Based on her impression after four minutes, Becky said, “Jilla suits you perfect,” and smiled at me. Me: Are you from near here? Becky: Rhode Island, my whole life. Your accent is not New England, is it? Me: No, I’m from Wisconsin, a small town in the southern part of the state. Becky: Your whole life? Me: All except 18 months. Towards the end of September, I would tell her about those 18 months. Eventually, I would tell her everything. Becky asked me, “Do you want to grab some lunch?” We talked over lunch, all afternoon, over dinner, and into the night. It was finally 1 a.m. when I go back to my room. I had known Becky for less than a day. Already I knew her better than some of my old high school friends who I had known my whole life. Already I felt she was a closer friend than anyone I had ever known. When I woke up Sunday morning, my first thought was Becky. I looked over at my phone and saw she texted five minutes prior. I replied to her text and got dressed. I met her in the hallway, we headed down for a late breakfast, and we spent the whole day together. Monday, we had (different) classes so I didn’t see Becky until mid-afternoon. After dinner together, we both had late classes, but we hung out for an hour or two after classes finished that night. My 18th birthday (September 16, 2014) was three days after I met Becky. Despite having only known me for three days, she still got me a present: a pink Red Sox hat. She didn’t wrap it. She just came up to me, looked deep into my eyes, and slapped in on my head, and pulled my hair through the back of it. “Happy birthday. You’re going to need this.” That was the only gift I received on my actual birthday that year. Over the course of the first semester, we spent as much time together as possible.  We had no classes together, and we had boyfriends for some of that semester, and of course we had to sleep, but usually hanging with Becky took priority over sleeping.  There were some nights we’d stay up until 4 a.m., much to the annoyance of our roommates. So, towards the end of first semester, we asked them if they were willing to swap roommates. I’d move into Becky’s room, and her current roommate would move into my room. They both knew each other would be less annoying than the two of us, but they wanted something out of the deal. What does every college freshman want? Beer, of course. We were all underage, so we couldn’t buy beer. However, Becky’s boyfriend-at-the-time Carl lived in Boston, well Brookline. Carl got his older brother Ted to buy the beer at the store. Ted sold it to Carl with a markup of course. Carl, trying to be a good boyfriend, took care of his brother’s markup, and sold it to Becky and me at the cost we would have paid in the liquor store if we were 21. We gave the beer to our former roommates (one six-pack for my former roommate, two six-packs for Becky’s former roommate because she was the one that switched rooms). Because they didn’t know any better, we were able to give them cheap beer. They didn’t care, they were happy. We were happy. The move took place right when we all got back from winter break, before courses started again. Soon, some people saw us as a single entity, Jilla-and-Becky. I knew that frightened some boys off. That’s ok. If Becky wasn’t sure about a guy, she would send him to me so I could screen him. Some guys were obvious no’s. Sometimes Becky would send them to me just so she didn’t have to reject them to their face. It was easier for me to reject them. I’d also have Becky screen some of the boys after me. Sometimes we’d screen a guy together, whispering back and forth about him. That would tend to make the guys nervous. In retrospect, I probably should have had her screen more of my boyfriends. The summer (2015) after Freshman year, I was back home in Wisconsin, and Becky was at her home in Rhode Island. We talked almost every night.  I missed her. The second day I was home, I scrolled through the camera roll on my phone until I found a good picture of both of us. I printed it and put it in a frame beside my bed, so that I’d see it every morning and every night. At least Scott was at home (in my town) too. Scott and I hung out a lot that summer. Physically, we picked up where we left off. Our parents let us get away with a lot because of the long history between us. A few occasions we went nightswimming in my parents’ pool (Even though I had bathing suits in my room upstairs, when I was nightswimming with Scott, I’d go in the pool in normal clothes like he did, just so we could not-like swimming in clothes and take them off). Scott and I spent as much time as we could together (before we ran out of time, again), but it wasn’t the same. Before college, the single entity was Scott-and-Jilla. Even when we were dating others and sometimes not talking to each other, there was still that sense of a connection, people still associated the two of us. However, that summer, that connection was gone, and we could tell it was gone forever. That connection for me had been replaced by Becky, even though Becky and I were just friends. That didn’t stop me from comparing all my college boyfriends to Scott. Between screening with Becky and comparisons to Scott, I didn’t hold on to any of my college boyfriends for too long. Becky and I shared a room for the rest of our college careers. Sophomore year, Becky could have had a better room (she had more credits than I did because of her AP classes in high school), but she requested a worse draft pick in the dorm room lottery just so we could room together. There was never a guy that came between us. Obviously, we’d spend slightly less time together if one or both of us had a boyfriend, but still a lot of time together. We never went after the same guy. We went on several double dates. They would usually result in Becky and I interacting while our boyfriends sat silent with a scared look on their face. I always enjoyed our double dates, but it did scare a few boyfriends away, especially if it was a first-date double date. At parties, we would never get too far away from each other and always look out for the other. One time a creepy guy wasn’t taking no from me. He had backed me into a corner and wasn’t letting me out. He put his hand on my shoulder right when Becky looked over to me. She saw my face (it wasn’t happy). She saw me tell him no. She told the nice, hot guy she had just met, “Sorry, but my friend needs me.” Becky walked away from that guy, over to me. She pulled the creep’s hand off me and elbowed him just below the eye (he was short). Becky shouted, “Hands off MY girl!”  She pinched my butt cheek (more for show than anything else), grabbed my hand and we walked out. Even after we got outside, she didn’t let go of my hand. One time, Becky and I were about to meet up for lunch after our morning classes. I got outside and saw her far ahead. I saw that there was a guy harassing her. He kept trying to touch her, she kept slapping his arm away. I could hear her shouts in the distance. I sprinted towards them. They didn’t see me coming. When I got close, I took my backpack off, full of books, swung it around me, and threw it at his head. Ok, it hit slightly lower, high on his back, but it knocked him to the ground. He skinned the side of his face on the sidewalk. I imagine he got a nice bruise from that as well. I grabbed my backpack, and we took off running. One evening, we were getting ready for a party. Upon seeing Becky in her dress, I exclaimed, “Wow! That dress looks amazing on you.” She replied, “Yeah, I knew you’d like this one. That’s why I got it.” She was wearing a red dress because red is my favorite color. She wanted me to see her wearing my favorite color. I had just started to get ready. Becky says, “Wait.” She went over to her closet, pulled out a dress, “You’re wearing this tonight.” I objected, “No, I’m not.” Becky persisted, “Yes, you are. Come on, I got it for you. I already cut the tags off. It’ll look amazing on you.” I tilted my head, “Becky.” She handed me the dress. I relented and reluctantly put it on. It was totally not my normal style, but she was right, it did look amazing. The dress that Becky bought for me was purple, her favorite color. She wanted to see me wearing her favorite color. I got a lot of attention that night, but she was never too far, making sure that all the attention I was getting was positive. Becky was getting a lot of positive attention too. Although we have different tastes in music, they’re similar enough. I’ve learned to like some of Becky’s music, she’s learned to like some of mine. Becky and I have been to a few concerts together.   Most of my music tastes come from my Aunt Trish. I remember one afternoon sophomore year, I sang the New Order song Temptation. That wasn’t the only time that I sang to her, but that one sticks out in my head. Becky’s parents would visit at least per semester. They would take her out to lunch or dinner. She would always bring me along, even if she had a boyfriend at the time. One time she got into an argument with her then-boyfriend about her bringing me instead of him for lunch with her parents. The summer (2016) after sophomore year, I was home again in Wisconsin, Becky was home in Rhode Island. However, Scott decided to stay at college in California. I missed not having Scott to hang out with, but I really missed Becky. Again, we talked on the phone almost every night. We’d call each other even if one or both of us got home very late. One night in late June, after I had a long but boring day, I was on the phone with Becky, describing my day to her, there was a pause in conversation. I broke the silence, “I miss you a lot.” She responded, “I miss you too.” My next sentence came out almost without me thinking about what I was saying, “I, um… I love you.” Not even a millisecond after I finished saying my sentence, Becky responded “I love you too.” We both understood it to be platonic love, but very strong. We didn’t discuss it further, there was no need. We both understood each other’s thoughts, feelings well. Another slight pause and the conversation continued on as if nothing happened. About once a week, we would say “I love you” to each other. Sometimes I would say it first, sometimes Becky would say it first. In early August, Becky and I met up with each other in Canton, Ohio, sort of a mini-vacation. I drove seven hours there, she drove ten hours, but it was worth it just to be with each other for a few days. In my life, I’ve seen my dad cry on only a very few occasions, but he said he cried when I sent him a picture of the brand new bust of Brett Farve, enshrined only days earlier. We did a few other things in/near Canton, but really, it was just good to see Becky again. Becky is the reason that I’m a Red Sox fan, but I’m also still a Brewers fan. Thankfully, they’re in opposite leagues. She took me to games at Fenway several times. Some of the Sox games were with friends, some were just the two of us. I must say, Miller Park (or whatever its name is now) is nice, but Fenway is legendary, it feels different just walking into there. One time, she took me to a Paw Sox game in Rhode Island. We also went to a few Bruins games together. I’ve grown some affinity towards the Bruins because we don’t have an NHL team in Wisconsin (even though we should). I’ll root for the Patriots only because they’re Becky’s team, but I’m not a fan. For football, I’m only a fan of the Packers. For the NBA, it’s only the Bucks for me. I don’t care that the Celtics are her team, I can’t root for them. Junior and Senior years of college, we got an off-campus apartment, only one bedroom because Boston is expensive, but we were together, so it didn’t matter. One warm September (2016) weekend, junior year, a group of our friends went up to Newburyport for the weekend. One of the guys in the group, that’s where his parents lived. I suggested we go to the beach on Plum Island that Saturday evening after dinner. We all sat on the beach. Some of the guys tossed around a football. As it got dark, I said “Let’s go in the water!” I ran, clothes and everything into the water. Becky, without hesitation, followed. The others just watched. This was my first time nightswimming in the ocean. (Becky hadn’t been nightswimming before). Yet I knew it was going to play out the same. Becky and I got neck deep, decided swimming in clothes (regular clothes, not bathing suits) wasn’t fun. So we went back onto the beach, stripped off our clothes, then went back into the ocean naked. Seeing us, a few of the guys thought it might be fun, stripped down to their underwear and came in the water. Other guys were talked out of going in the water when their girlfriends warned them of shrinkage. Two of the girls then decided to come in the water in their panties. Some people stayed on the beach the whole time. Eventually everyone in the water got out. Becky and I were the only ones completely naked, but we were also the only ones whose clothes were completely wet. The guys/girls that went in the water in their underwear, quickly stripped those off and put on their dry clothes (without underwear) away from everyone. Becky and I didn’t want to put on soaking wet clothes, but we had nothing else to put on and no towels.  So, we stayed on the beach naked for a while, waiting for our clothes to get less wet. We told the others they could head back to the house without us. Even though Becky’s hair was wet and full of sand, it was still perfect, still gorgeous. While it was warm during the day, it was getting chilly and breezy at night. We huddled together for a little while to try to stay warm. Once we thought it was late enough that absolutely no one would be on the street, we gathered our still-wet clothes, ran to Becky’s car naked. Once inside the car, we turned it on, turned the heat on. Once we weren’t as cold, we put our wet clothes over the vents to help them to dry. By four o’clock in the morning, everything was dry enough to put back on, but we weren’t going to go to our friend’s parents’ house at that hour. So, we stayed where we were, rested in Becky’s car for a bit, then went back onto the beach to watch the sunrise. After the sun was a bit higher in the sky, we went back into town and found a place for breakfast. We messaged the others to join us there. Becky and I have a knack for getting each other out of our comfort zones. One time Becky told me that she wanted me to be in my bed, pretending to sleep, while her and her then-boyfriend had s*x in her bed across the room. I was slightly weirded out, but I agreed. The room was mostly dark, but I could still see what was going on. ...and hear, I could definitely hear. It was that night that I found out just how loud Becky is during s*x, especially when she orgasms, unless she has something in her mouth, then she’s only mostly loud. The whole show turned me on a lot. Eventually I decided to reach down and finger myself, but I know how to have a quiet orgasm when needed (and a loud one when I can be loud). Becky figured out what I was doing, looked over and smiled at me. I was caught, but they kept going so I kept going. Even if I wasn’t watching, she would have given me all the details the next day. We always would give each other details, very intimate details, of our s*x lives, dates, etc. Becky’s 21st birthday was Wednesday, March 1, 2017. (She was born minutes after the start of March in 1996, so she just missed being a leap-day baby.) She really didn’t want to get drunk without me. So, we went out to dinner. She had her first legal drink there. Then we went back to our apartment, had some friends over, so I could drink too. We didn’t drink too much because we had class the next day. The summer (2017) after junior year of college, Becky and I were each back home again. I had an internship at a company about an hour away from my parents’ house. With my internship, I couldn’t take a vacation with her like the prior summer. Between the nine hours at the office and the two hours of commute time, I didn’t have much free time during the week, but I still talked to Becky every day. I would normally talk to Becky around 9 p.m. each night (10 p.m. her time) that summer. One day, however, I decided to call her on my way home from work. Becky answered the phone, “Hey! I didn’t expect to hear from you so early.” I told her, “Yeah. For some reason, I thought I should call you now.” Becky said, “Yeah, I had a rough day at work.  I came home and my mom started yelling at me for no good reason, but now I’m talking to you, and everything seems better.” I said, “That’s why I called.” Becky asked, “You called me when I most needed to talk to you, but how did you know?” I answered, “I don’t know. I just had a feeling that I should call you.” We talked for another 45 minutes until I got home. We talked again at our normal time that night. Back at college, the night before (Friday, September 15, 2017) my 21st birthday, we went out with our friends. We got to the bar right at midnight. The bouncer saw my driver’s license and just chuckled at me and let me in, as it had just officially turned to September 16th so I had been legally 21 for only a minute. The next morning (Saturday, my actual birthday), my parents called me to wish me a happy birthday. My mom also told me, the company that I interned with over the summer sent me a letter to offer me employment after I graduate. My mom thought it was my last paycheck from the summer so she opened it (because she would have deposited the check for me). My mom said the letter arrived on September 15th, but she waited until the next day to tell me because she thought it would be cool to find out on my birthday, my 21st birthday. That afternoon and evening, it was just Becky and me. We spent the day together as if I was hers. She took me to her hometown, to a brewery she had gone to over the summer. She took me out to dinner to celebrate my birthday and (legally) toast to my job offer. Instead of driving back to Boston that night, we decided to crash at her parents’ house. When we got there, it wasn’t too late and there was a pub not too far away. We walked there so Becky could drink too (She didn’t drink too much before this as she had to drive). We were quite drunk as we walked back to her parents’ house. There were no spare beds.  The dog was occupying the sofa, and we were drunk, so Becky shared her (twin-size) bed with me. Nothing happened overnight. After all, we were just (the most extraordinary of) friends, but there’s an extremely deep connection, a sense of belonging to the other (by both of us). However, when we woke up in the morning, Becky’s arm was around me. One Sunday afternoon our last semester at college, I was studying for a test the next day. I noticed Becky was staring at me. I looked back and asked her, “What?” She just smiled, “Nothing,” but kept staring. After a while longer, I asked again “What?” She said, “Just you.” I tilted my head, “What about me?” Becky told me, “You make me smile.” I smiled back, but then got back to studying. Later on, after I was done studying, I realized I had been a bit short with Becky. I went up to her and hugged her, “You make me smile too.” She hugged me back. Another seemingly random Saturday morning, Becky decided to take a bath (instead of her normal shower). After she was in the bathtub for about a half hour, she called me into the bathroom. She asked me to take pictures of her while she was in the bathtub. The funny thing is she never asked me to send the pictures to her or anyone else. I only recently realized she had me take the pictures of her in the bathtub so that I would have them for myself. Becky decided to move to Wisconsin with me after college. She’s a nurse, she could get a job anywhere, yet she chose Wisconsin, and we’re not even in the city or near the lake. I mean it’s my home state, I like it, but she chose it with her own free will. I knew she came here only because of me. We talk about everything, but there wasn’t even a discussion on this. In theory we could have moved apart to different regions of the country after college, but that wasn’t ever considered. We had no thoughts about being anything but together. Becky only applied to places near the company I interned with/had an offer from. I had still planned on applying to other places across the country, and I’m sure she could have gotten employment near one of them, but she had her heart set on Wisconsin. My guess is she knew I liked that company. During spring break senior year, Becky flew with me to Wisconsin. We stayed at my parents’ house for the week. Becky slept in my sister Kim’s old bed (Kim had moved out over four years ago). We looked for an apartment near my job. With real jobs and Wisconsin prices, we could afford a two-bedroom apartment. She had interviews with a few doctor’s offices and the local hospital there. She ended up getting a job in a specialist’s office.