Christmas Presents and Past. Janice Johnson Kay

she was ready to give up her virginity. She was the last holdout of all her friends. In fact, she might be the last virgin in the junior class at Half Moon Bay High School. Or maybe at the whole high school. She did have hang-ups. But finally, she knew what they were. She’d been waiting. Not for the right time, but for the right guy.

      “Hey,” Will said. “We’d better get going. We’ll be late for the movie.”

      It took her a moment to remember what their plans for the evening had been. “Oh. Right. This was such a cool present. Thanks.” She kissed his cheek again, then jumped up, took the apron to her bedroom and grabbed her purse. She paused to brush her hair again, checking herself out in the full-length mirror on the back of her door.

      She wore men’s shrink-to-fit Levi’s, a Mexican peasant shirt embroidered down the front, sandals and big gold hoops in her ears. Her strawberry-blond hair hung straight and smooth from a center part, reaching to the middle of her back. She looked hip enough not to stand out in the Haight-Ashbury, except she was cleaner than she would be if she was sharing an apartment with ten other people. Dinah had gone to places like that with friends and seen how one big group lived on practically nothing but still somehow had hashish to fill a bong. It seemed like they were passing one around anytime several of them were home, sitting cross-legged in the living room on the mattresses that substituted for furniture. The bedding was always disheveled and grungy. She’d felt uncomfortable and passed the bong on without doing more than pretending to take a draw. She didn’t actually like being stoned. And, despite being antiwar and in favor of loving everyone, some part of her was too materialistic to want to live that way. No, too establishment. If she ever had a boyfriend she really loved, she wouldn’t share him. And she hated being dirty. So maybe she was a pretender, a traitor to her generation.

      But Will seemed to like her, didn’t he? He straddled two worlds, too. He told her he’d also gone to antiwar demonstrations, and they’d seen some of the same concerts at the Fillmore Auditorium and Winterland. Only, he was a really good student, and he cared enough about making state in wrestling to cut his hair.

      They saw the movie Bullitt, a police drama with Steve McQueen that was really good. Afterward, they stopped for a burger and fries, and talked about the movie and eventually the war and their parents. Will wouldn’t be graduating in June with his class; he’d gotten meningitis when he was a freshman and had been really sick, so he was enough credits short he had to go half-time first semester the next year.

      “What a drag!” She couldn’t imagine having to go back after all your friends had tossed their graduation caps in the air and were gone to college and jobs.

      “Yeah,” Will said, sounding gloomy, “but the thing is, I don’t know what I’m going to do after graduation anyway. I guess I’ll apply at San Francisco State,” he said, swirling ketchup on his plate with a French fry. “Or I could go to Skyline.”

      He was from Pacifica, which was close to Skyline Junior College, so he could easily live at home and take classes there. Dinah lived in El Granada, half an hour farther south along the ocean from San Francisco. If she were going into the city, she’d drive right through Pacifica.

      “You don’t sound like that’s what you want to do,” she said, resting her elbows on the table.

      “You can tell, huh? The thing is, I like to build.” His face lit with enthusiasm. “I thought about going for a degree in architecture, but I’m not very good at art. I can see what I want to do with wood, but I can’t put it down on paper. Anyway, design, that’s not the same thing as actually building something with your own hands.”

      Dinah nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. She did enjoy creating new dishes, but mostly what she loved was the act of cooking. Reading a cookbook wasn’t the same as appreciating the textures of everything from flour, which was puffy and lighter than air, to ginger root, which could be tough, filled with threads and yet bursting with moist sweetness. She found satisfaction in perfecting the techniques to draw out the most flavor, the precision of measurements, the exhilaration when a flash of creativity proved to be genius instead of a gigantic, mouth-puckering mistake and, in the end, from the beauty of the food arranged on the plate. She liked to touch, to mold, to roll out pastry, to chop and stir. Will just liked doing the same things with wood and tile and drywall.

      “My parents keep telling me I’m too smart to be a carpenter,” he continued, his expression brooding. “And then there’s the draft.”

      “But you don’t have to worry yet, do you?”

      He grimaced. “I’ll be nineteen in August. I started kindergarten a year late.”

      “Oh.” The realization stole Dinah’s breath. A couple of boys who’d gone to her high school had died in Vietnam. She’d known one. Not well, but enough to be shocked when she heard. Donald had played football, and a girl who’d been in Dinah’s geometry class had gone to the prom with him. He was drafted, sent overseas and killed six weeks later. Dinah was already worrying about her brother. “It’s awful!” she burst out. “What would you be fighting for, anyway?”

      “That’s why they have to hold a draft. No one wants to enlist anymore.”

      The awful thing with the draft was its unpredictability. How did young men plan their future when they could get drafted anytime? A student deferment was about the only protection, and that was temporary. Everybody knew now how awful it was in Vietnam. Every night, the news was filled with gruesome images. The Tet Offensive had been heavily covered by reporters and cameramen. Supposedly Nixon, just elected, had a plan for ending the war, but nobody under thirty believed that. And now Martin Luther King, Jr. and Bobby Kennedy had both been assassinated, silencing their voices. Dinah sometimes felt as if there was no hope.

      Now, feeling desperate, Dinah said, “But if you go to college, you’ll be safe.”

      Will pushed his plate aside. “Now you sound like my mother.”

      It went against the grain, but Dinah stuck to her guns. “Maybe she’s right. If you get drafted, you could die. For something you don’t even believe in.”

      “Yeah, but what if the war goes on and on? Being stuck in college…” His face showed his struggle to find the right words. “It would be like treading water. I wouldn’t be going anywhere!”

      “At least you’d be alive,” she said passionately.

      “I might not get a low draft number.”

      “But what if you do?”

      “I don’t know!” he almost shouted.

      Dinah bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I guess I do sound like your parents. It’s just because the idea scares me.”

      He reached across the table and took her hand. “I know. It scares me, too. But it makes me mad that I should have to spend years more in school because of Nixon, even though it’s a waste of time for me.”

      She nodded. It didn’t make sense. There must be tens of thousands of guys taking college classes they didn’t even care about, just to keep from having to go to Vietnam. And that was horribly unfair to the ones who couldn’t get into college and win a deferment.

      “None of it’s fair,” she said.

      He squeezed her hand. “Let’s not worry about it right now. I don’t even have to apply to college until fall. That’s a long time away. The war might be over by then.”

      She nodded. “If Nixon starts withdrawing troops, the way he’s talked about, they might not need to keep on with the draft anyway.”

      “Right. So let’s forget it.” Will grinned at her. “You want to split a hot-fudge sundae?”

      While they were eating it, laughing when their heads bumped as they dueled with plastic spoons for luscious drips of chocolate, Dinah thought of all the things her mother was afraid she did whenever she was out at night. Mom lay awake worrying that she was smoking pot, at least, if not dropping acid or having wild sex. Here she was instead, eating a hot-fudge sundae