April and Abril

At 16, we called ourselves the Triple A Express. Of course, no one ever rode the Angela, Abril, April train. We wanted to be like April: virginity lost at 13, first miscarriage by 14. Teenage Miscarriage Mamas; Next on Maury. Even though Abril woke up early on Saturday mornings to watch Ricky, Jenny, and Maury, she never really wanted to be an unwed mother. I’m sure Abril and April wear just as much make-up as ever although they’ve always had clear skin: Abril bronzed and April rosey. We lost touch. I remember being on my mother’s bathroom floor with April after we’d had a threesome. How my mother didn’t know we snuck 18 beers into my closet drove me nuts. On today’s Oprah, a woman blinded by divorce. When Abril left the bedroom, April and I started kissing. Before Abril came back, we stopped kissing because she might have been freaked out, or felt left out. Missing scene: April and I coaxed Abril to get naked, kiss us, lay in the bed. That night, April was crying as I was puking in my mother’s toilet. I couldn’t have been that quiet, saying between barfing, “This is so rock and roll; Motley Crue Behind the Music.” And April’s sobbing, saying something between panicked breaths about being abused, or neglected, or something else young girls are affected by; perhaps her anorexia, or her abortion. I was too drunk to be anything but obnoxious as Bjork’s voice vibrated the wall connecting the bathroom to my bedroom. How we both got from the bathroom back to the bedroom didn’t make much sense. Abril was left unconscious on the bed. The next day she said she felt pressured. That didn’t make much sense either. She said three fingers were too much because she was a virgin. I just wanted to be close to them. I wanted to feel the weight of a woman for the first time before I ever felt the weight of a man, just to be sure.