Viviana Infante - Pushing for Love

 

 

So, something about me, I like to think that I was a brave child growing up and not in that sort of Harry Potter slaying the Basilisk Gryffindor, save a puppy drowning, though I definitely would have if I had the chance. But more so in the absolutely reckless, going to hurt yourself way that leads kids to petting rabid dogs, or walking on top of monkey bars or climbing outside of your dad's house window to sit on the roof, because, “Hey, it's cool and you're totally not going to slip and fall and break your neck.” But that was me. I was the most reckless and dangerous, naïve and kind of dumb kid. 

 

But one of my most reckless and repeated ventures with this childish bravery was in love. I was like a domino. I fall easy and I fall hard. One of the most influential moments was in second grade. Ángel Rodríguez is the love of my life. [audience laughter] I confess this truth to him on the playground, in front of him and all of his friends. I think we know where this is going, because Ángel, in the typical mean boy fashion and my horrible taste coming into play, decides to chase me around the blacktop for two laps, and corner me at the top of a hill and grab me in his arms, sweaty, and small and scrawny, little bone like bird, and he whispers in my ear, “Never talk to me again,” [audience laughter] and he pushes me down the hill. 

 

Bravery gets your heart broken at the bottom of a hill. And what bravery will teach you is that heartbreak eclipses the feeling of stinging knees or bleeding palms, and that you will never forget the humiliation of the love of your life in second grade laughing at you from the top of a hill with all of his little goonies behind him, and that you are forever going to remember how pathetic you were, because all you could think about was how he hurt you and hugged you in the same breath. 

 

You end up being brave, because he’d only give you shit. Throughout elementary and middle school and high school, I don't get it. Anything. I am a walking L. I don't get Ángel, I don't get Dominic, I don't get Nick, Mateo, Ariana, Lily. I am a failure. So, it's 17 years and seven consecutive failures. I have learned the hard lesson, “Bravery, you are the cruelest teacher, but you are good. I will never fall in love again. I know I won't.” 

 

I turn 18 and I make a plan, I'm like, “Okay, cool. This is all great. I'm going to college. There's going to be a lot of hot people, yada, yada, yada.” I flirt. I dress in flamboyant fits, and it's fire and I'm gray. I'm a fashion icon on my campus [audience laughter] and I make myself this open, extroverted person. I don't let any romance in. It's the plan. Fireproof, sure proof, it literally is a bulletproof plan. Nothing can get past this. I'm not going to fall in love, because I know what happens. I've known it happen seven times and I know better. 

 

But then, there's Liza. I've known Liza since freshman year, but we never really talked until we had a theater class this semester. There's a few key things you should know about Liza. Liza, to me, is the soft husk of your voice after a sip of warm tea on a cold day. And Liza looks up at me, because she's 5’2” [audience laughter] When we talk, she smiles. Her eyes crinkle in the corners and it makes her eyeliner crinkle. Liza picks at her fingers, because she's got anxiety until they bleed. And so, I carry Band-Aids in my bag for every theater class in case Liza needs one. I want to know if her hands are warm or cold, and I want to kiss the pain and the cuts and the bleeding away. I want to know Liza, but I know better. But bravery makes me stupid and bravery makes me dumb. 

 

And so, I, for the first time in my life, decide to ask someone on a date. I hatch the most cringe worthy plan. I'm so embarrassed in hindsight. I write a date note on the back of a Band-Aid and [audience laughter] I make two of them in case I lose one. And on the back of this Band-Aid in my smallest, neatest handwriting, because there's six other copies that just weren't fit enough for Liza's eyes [audience laughter] is, “Would you like to go thrifting with me and get bubble tea next Saturday? As a date? If you don't want it to be a date, that's totally fine. But I want to go on a date with you, because I think you're hot and nice and you're really slay and this would be really cool. So, yes?” All in the Band-Aid. [audience laughter] 

 

And so, that Friday I go to my class, and I wait until the clock hits 02:05 in theater and I'm sitting with a Band-Aid in my pocket, I'm sitting with a Band-Aid in my pocket, I'm going to ask this girl out, I'm going to ask this girl out in 02:05 hits. And I go to her and I'm like, “Hey Liza,” and I take out the Band-Aid which has flip me on the front with six arrows pointing to the back of this Band-Aid, and I put it in front of her and I'm like, “Here, for you.” And Liza, sweet, sweet Liza, who looks up at me and smiles and her eyeliner crinkles says “Thanks.” And she puts it in her backpack without a second glance. 

 

So, obviously, I do what any panicked 19-year-old girl would do when you know the person you're crushing on just doesn't take the hint. I run away, and I go back to my dorm, and I cry and I whine, and I moan and I say, “I'm such an idiot. I'm a failure. I should have realized it. I knew it this was going to go wrong, yada, yada, yada.” And my roommate, who is God sent for me on this earth, she's the best guy. She's so amazing. Love, Lana. Lana, you're amazing. Hits me with such a nugget of wisdom. She reminds me we are here present in the age of technology. And she says, “Why don't you just text her?” [audience laughter] 

 

And so, to follow the wise words of my philosophical roommate, I text Liza with a funny little meme attached, and it's me edited in a photo going like this and saying, “You should really take a double look at that Band-Aid, Shawty.” [audience laughter] I wait for an hour. And no response. And so, I wait for two hours, because I decide to give her a little grace period. And no response. 

 

And so, I go out shopping with my friends to distract myself. I decide, I'm like, “I have a heart murmur. I have conditions. My body isn't fit for the world and it's going to hurt.” I'm waiting in this car and I feel a ping in my pocket, because I have my ringer on for the first time in my life, because I want to make sure I know she sees the text. And it's, “Viv, I just saw the Band-Aid.” Nothing further attached. But there is a dot-dot-dot flashing at the bottom of that text, so I've got a little bit of hope, but I am wondering, “What do you mean you just saw the Band-Aid?” Like, “What's attached to this?” “Viv, I'm such an idiot….” 

 

Liza, I need a little bit more than that, [audience laughter] because I am over here thinking about how horrible it is that I'm going to get rejected over the phone. And so, I'm sitting there holding my heart in my hands and just waiting for dot-dot-dot the to become a no. And it pings and it says, “Viv, I would love to go in a date with you next Saturday.” [audience cheers and applause]

 

No, no, no, you may or may not have guessed it, but we do go on that date, and it is amazing. We go thrifting at our local thrift stop. I learned so much about her, but we just talk daylight savings away, hours spent in a restaurant where only I eat, because she's got like a friends-giving coming up and she's like, “I got to save it for later.” We missed the bus back to our school, because the Brandeis van is unreliable and didn't show up at 05:30. Because I am smooth as butter according to Liza and I got that W rizz, I turn to Liza as we're shaking in 30-degree weather at the pitch black of 05:30, and I go, “You want to share a glove?” And Liza goes, “Sure.” [audience laughter] 

 

And so, I learned that Liza's hands are cold for about three seconds until my sweaty hand gets all up on it, but she holds it anyway. I walk her to Chipotle, so she can get food for her friends. And then, I walk her back to her dorm like the gentle lady I am, because [audience laughter] I was raised right. I wait for her to turn at the door after we hug and say, “I had a great time, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.” And I skip away. 

 

I leprechaun leap, my heels are clicking, I am literally just flying through campus in the air every two seconds, giggling and yahooing and I just-- It's a victory, man. It's a second victory, because my friends are waiting for me at my dorm to congratulate me about how amazing this date is, how amazing I am. We're whooping, we're cheering, its celebration, and I did it. I go to bed, content and I think about a little girl who never thought anybody would love her, who knows heartbreak better than she knows love sometimes. I think about how brave she was to go for it seven times, and to wait for lucky number eight. And for the first time in my life, I go to sleep content with being brave. Thank you.