The Peach and the Poppy

by Caesar J. M. Kauftheil

  After lunch, which was good but nothing compared to the meal Rochelle had treated her to, they split the bill, and Poppy lied about having to go back to her hotel. She started down the wet streets, one hand grasping an umbrella, the other in her pocket. She was walking for several minutes before she realized she hadn't been paying attention as she and Kathleen had aimlessly wandered down streets, turning here and there, and she wasn't quite sure how to get back to the Metro. She shrugged, and continued in what she was pretty sure was the right direction. She really didn't have anywhere to be, and she'd end up somewhere eventually, right?

  "C'est la vie," she said to herself.

  April Showers

  April floated back into Poppy's mind as she walked.

  After waking up in April's arms, they lingered in bed for what seemed like several hours. Poppy had dreaded April suggesting that they get up and drive Poppy back to her dorm, but the offer never came. Perhaps April was likewise dreading that Poppy would request to be driven back to school, and so they both waited in a lethargic state of suspended animation for the other to bring the unavoidable, logical end to the aftermath of a wonderful, tame yet enticing night. After some time, Poppy's ability to delay the inevitable reached its limit, and she turned her restfully comfortable body to face April, and ask her the question that had been growing louder and louder as it resounding in her mind all morning, but had reached the point of urgency that it drowned out all other thoughts.

  "Hey, where's the bathroom?"

  Poppy was fortunately spared the awkward encounter of meeting April's roommates during the trip, and upon returning, she expected to see April getting dressed, the lovely languor of the morning shattered. April, however, was still lying in bed, eyes open and her hands behind her head. Poppy sat down in the bed, pulled the blanket over her bare legs—her pants had come off at some point during the night after they had tired themselves out with erotic intimacy— and cuddled against April's warm body. It was a cold morning, the bed was cozy, and Poppy felt a bit like she was in a dream. So they remained in this torpor well into the afternoon, minds weaving in and out of sleep, limbs weaving in and out of intimate entanglements.

  "Do you want to get some breakfast?" April asked, eventually.

  "Sure, but I think we're past the point of breakfast. Lunch," Poppy responded, dreamily.

  "Might even be closer to dinner," April said, their bodies beginning to stir. Whatever meal it was, they had reached the point that the need for food was an issue that needed to be addressed. Poppy put on yesterday's clothes, April changed her shirt, and they made their way to the car. April asked if Poppy had ever been to a certain vegetarian restaurant in town, and Poppy said she thought she had heard of it. These were times when Poppy still ate meat, and so anything vegetarian was off her radar. That would change in the months to come.

  After they ate, and Poppy was thoroughly impressed by the food, Poppy insisted on paying. There was a large gratitude she wanted to express to April, for the kisses, for the touches, for the cuddles, for all the things she was now feeling and picking up the tab for a couple of veggie burgers was hardly scratching the surface of what she wanted to repay, but it was a start. She played it off, however, as a friendly gesture. At the very least, she hoped that this could be interpreted as a date.

  "Should I take you back to campus, or…" April began, and Poppy waited for her to finish the sentence, "…would you like to come back to my place for a bit?"

  It would be another two days before Poppy returned to her dorm. The fading and return of daylight were the only indications of the passage of time, and the world that continued moving forward in her absence was an abstraction to Poppy during this time. There was only April, the many aspects of April.

  There were April's lips, first against her own, then her neck, her bare breast, her stomach, her thighs… and Poppy hadn't stopped her from sliding her panties away, and kissing what had been hidden there. There were April's hands, which ran through her hair, caressed her skin, traced every curve of her body, which explored where only Poppy's fingers had been before. There were April's breasts, which Poppy had at first only touched through cotton barrier of a T-shirt, but eventually experienced with her own hands and mouth that exposed glory. There was every part of April's body that Poppy was allowed to timidly explore, with no pressure to deliver any pleasure beyond those of her affections.

  The second morning, they shared the confined space of the shower, and Poppy found herself simultaneously moist and wet—these April showers became one of her favorite things about staying overnight at her lover's place. She was dressed in April's clothes, which fit fine everywhere except in the chest, and soon met the roommates, a lesbian couple that kept to themselves mostly but were friendly enough. They were a little more understated in the expression of their orientation, but they were both apparent in their homosexuality even when not in one another's arms.

  Between sessions of intercourse, there was discourse when she and April would talk, gradually emptying the half-full case of beer in the kitchen, continuing the conversation on the way to a liquor store, buying a replacement supply, and idly emptying bottles of Corona. What they actually talked about, Poppy wasn't sure—it was the aimless chitchat and occasional deep discussion of two people exploring each other's minds as they had explored each other's bodies.

  On the third night, a downtrodden Poppy said she should probably get back to her dorm—it must have been a Sunday night, Poppy thought, because she was way too comfortable to leave April's company without a driving force. Poppy's dorm mates probably thought nothing of the extended absence—her parents lived less than an hour's drive from the campus, and she had visited home once or twice already that year. She also hadn't talked to Jay, who was her best friend even back then. She was anxious to tell him about the weekend she had spent with April, mostly because she wanted to shout it to the world, but Jay was the only person she felt comfortable talking about this with.

  When they were ready to head to the car, the final voyage to end the odyssey of intimacy, April became silent, dragging her feet.

  "What's up," Poppy asked, concern immediately welling up inside her at the fear that there was something unpleasant April had so far neglected to tell her.

  "I like you, Blondie," April said—the nickname had been playfully given the day before, and had rapidly become April's pet name for her. "I mean, I hella like you."

  "I like you too, April."

  "So, do you want to… keep doing this?"

  "Absolutely," Poppy had said, unaware of what specifically "this" was, but there was no part of their weekend together that Poppy didn't want to experience again. And again. And again a few times after that.

  "I mean, I know you've never had a girlfriend or any of that shit, and I don't want to make you feel pressured into anything…" April wrapped an arm around herself and was glaring shyly at the ground. It was by contrast now that caused Poppy to compare the tough, rebellious April she had barely met only a few days ago to the sincere, almost fragile April she knew now.

  "You mean, you want to have a relationship with me?"

  "Yeah," April said, looking Poppy in the eyes. "I mean, it's okay if you don't want that."

  Poppy walked up to April, placed her arms around her, placed her hands on her shoulders, and brought her lips firmly against April's. The kiss lasted several smoldering seconds, and April gave her a look of anticipation.

  "Yes, definitely," she said, as if the kiss and the wide grin she couldn't keep from her face weren't answer enough. April's arms closed around her, and they began kissing again. They walked back inside and fell onto April's bed, and Poppy barely noticed the clothes she had just put on removing themselves from her body again. Time had become immaterial again, the world beyond the bedroom whizzed on without her, and her reality contained only April and the many aspects of April: her lips, her hands, her breasts, and the many regions of her body to explore.

  They eventually separated, found their
clothes strewn chaotically about the floor, and, hand in hand, walked to April's old, beat up car. They entered the car, and kissed. April started the car, and they kissed. At every red light, they kissed. When they arrived on campus, they kissed.

  It was three in the morning by the time Poppy finally returned to her own bed, which had never felt so empty before.

  Rue Quelque Chose

  Poppy broke the spell of reminiscence to find herself on a street as foreign as any in Paris. She sighed to herself, hoping she'd have wound up somewhere familiar by now. It occurred to Poppy that she was staying on the other side of the Seine, the river that divides Paris, and she realized that she should have crossed one of the bridges that connected the Left and Right Banks a while ago. She was lost, but this wasn't a new experience to Poppy. She had always lacked a solid sense of direction.

  And that was the story of her life, wasn't it? Ambling ever forward without knowing where she was headed. She had chosen her degree in animal sciences based off the fact that she liked horses and was just lucky enough to find a job in the field and eke out a living after college. She wound up falling for straight girl when she was twelve, with a rebel when she was eighteen, and now that she was twenty-five, she was developing feelings for a woman she would probably never see again after she returned home at the end of the week—if she even saw her by then. And now, here she was, walking along the crooked path of Rue Quelque Chose in Paris, because she hadn't thought about where she was headed. She saw through the large window that she was passing by a salon, a few of the seats occupied, and others rested upon by bored-looking stylists.

  Well, thought Poppy, she might as well make the best of where she had ended up.

  She walked inside, and a woman wearing heavy makeup and a smile approached her and Poppy could tell the young woman must have spent at least an hour on her hair that morning.

  "Bonjourrr," the hairdresser drawled, and began speaking in rapid French.

  "Um, parlez-vous anglais?" Poppy stumbled over the phrase she had memorized.

  "Oui. Welcome! How may I be of assistance?" She spoke with an extremely thick accent, and Poppy could just barely understand her.

  "I was thinking about going for a new hair style," Poppy said. She wasn't sure what had incited this impulse. She hardly ever cared about her hair, occasionally going in to have it trimmed when it got too long and Leopold insisted that she had split ends, but she never bothered to have it styled. It was either pushed behind her ears, or tied back when she was riding, and that was about as much as she ever bothered to think about the matter.

  "I see," the woman said, only half disguising a snippy sneer as she looked at Poppy's rain-frizzed hair. "Did you have something in mind?"

  "Not really… I was hoping you could just…" Poppy waved her hands around her head, searching for a word. "Make it look nice."

  "I think we can do that," the woman said, beaming. "Come with me."

  Poppy followed her to a chair by a sink, where she was laid back to have her hair washed, and the woman spoke to her, barely intelligible between her accent and the sound of rushing water, and Poppy responded with periodic 'mmhmm's.' It was amusing to Poppy to hear the hairdresser's English which was spoken with a heavy influence of the rhythmic patterns and pronunciations of French.

  Hair shampooed and rinsed, she was led to another chair, covered in a smock, and the stylist began brushing and playing experimentally with Poppy's hair. Her head was turned side to side, tilted up and down by long, pink-nailed fingers. Another idle hairdresser wandered over, some words were exchanged in French, a pair of black-nailed fingers toyed with locks of Poppy's hair, there were sounds of agreement, and the other stylist walked away. The sound of snipping scissors filled Poppy's ears, and as she was unsure what to make of the progress, she trailed off in her mind again.

  Pieces of April

  April had showed up to their next sociology class wearing a studded denim jacket, combat boots, and her militant persona. She took a seat next to Poppy, saying under her breath, "Hey, Blondie." Poppy smiled in response. Though they remained physically separate during class, Poppy couldn't help but notice the way their body language matched, both leaning back in their chairs, arms crossed over their chests.

  When class ended, they gathered their things and walked out together, and once outside, April leaned against a wall and pulled her into a deep kiss. Poppy could feel the eyes of their classmates on them and knew that would now forever be associated with the abrasive and argumentative April, for better or for worse, but she allowed herself to succumb to the pleasure and comfort of April's lips. College was a big place, after all, and a reputation didn't have the same staying power as it did in high school where everyone had heard she was a lesbian even though she had never been with a girl, publicly or otherwise, back then.

  It became the pattern for the remainder of the semester that Poppy and April spent nearly every free hour together, between classes and April's work shifts at a smoke shop downtown, where a month or so later, Poppy had gotten her nose pierced for free. They walked hand-in-hand across campus, made out leaning against redwood trees, and Poppy spent several nights a week sleeping in April's bed. She refrained from telling anyone, aside from Jay, about her girlfriend. It wasn't that she was ashamed of April, it was just that… she was a bit much to take in.

  She was only able to keep the secret from her roommates for about two weeks. Christy, one of the three girls she shared her dorm with, approached her one evening as she was boiling water for pasta in their kitchenette.

  "So, I hear you have a girlfriend." Poppy froze—it seemed rumors travelled faster than she thought. "My friend said he saw you playing tonsil hockey with some punk-looking chick." Poppy colored, not sure what to say, and Christy continued. "So, who’s the lucky lady?"

  Poppy ended up making spaghetti for two, and she told her roommate about April. It was a bit of a relief to have someone else to tell about the situation—Jay was starting to get bored hearing the details of the blossoming relationship. Christy's eye lit up when Poppy mentioned that April was twenty-one.

  "So, she can buy us alcohol?" Christy asked, beaming.

  Winter turned to spring, spring waned into summer, and as the second semester closed, April helped Poppy pack up her stuff from the dorm. Poppy rejected her parents' offer to help her move her things back home, insisting a "friend" had offered to drive her back, and so they filled April's car, which rattled with the burden of Poppy's belongings—slightly less than she had arrived with, as she now kept part of her wardrobe along with other miscellaneous things in April's room. Concerned about the car's condition, they decided to take the long way back rather than the quicker, windy highway through the mountains. It was a sweltering trip home, as April's air conditioner didn't function, and only one of the windows could be lowered.

  When they arrived at Poppy's house, April began unloading the boxes as Poppy went to hug her parents.

  "Who's your friend?" Poppy's mother asked curiously, under her breath, as she watched April—dressed less wild than usual at Poppy's request, but still looking undeniably April—placing a basket of clothes in the driveway.

  "April. We go to school together," Poppy said, careful not to divulge the specifics of their relationship. Her parents, fortunately, didn't pry. April approached a few minutes later, wiped her hands on her pants, and introduced herself to Poppy's parents.

  "We were thinking of going out to dinner tonight to celebrate you coming home," her mother said to Poppy, and then turned to her girlfriend. "We'd love if you'd join us, April."

  April looked to Poppy, who shrugged. "Sure. Thank you." The two girls began carrying Poppy's things inside, and when they were alone, April muttered, "Do they know?"

  Poppy shook her head. They had to find out eventually, of course, but Poppy was still nervous about the situation.

  Once everything was placed inside, with a few quick kisses privately exchanged in Poppy's room, they all got into Poppy's father's Prius.
Poppy could sense April's nervousness during the drive as they sat together in the back, and Poppy had to fight back the urge to reach over and grab April's hand. They arrived at Poppy's favorite Chinese restaurant, got a table for five—Poppy's sister, Aquarius, would be meeting them there.

  "Should we get the usual?" Poppy's mother asked, as they glanced over the menu.

  "Oh, I don't eat meat anymore," Poppy said.

  "Well, that's new," her father said. "Are you a vegetarian as well, April?"

  April nodded, and though Poppy felt it was now blaringly obvious that their friendship was much more than just college friends, her parents graciously let the issue, as well as the topic of her new piercing, as on-the-nose as it was, go undiscussed. Her mother filled the silence by naming items off the vegetarian section of the menu that they could eat.

  Aquarius entered the restaurant, greeted the family, hugged Poppy, introduced herself to April, and sat down opposite Poppy.

  "I like your nose ring," Aquarius said, blatantly breaking the ice on the subject.

  "Thanks, Aqua," Poppy said, thankful that the conversation was cut short when their waitress appeared and took their orders.

  With the menus cleared, Poppy met a mild bombardment of questions: How were her classes? How did she like the campus? Had she decided on a major yet? Once her family had wrenched enough information out of Poppy, they turned to April.

  Her answers to questions were put in the best light possible when necessary: she said she worked in Santa Cruz in a shop that sold posters and incense, leaving out the part about also selling pipes and other marijuana paraphernalia. She said had been going to school for four years, but didn't mention that she had spent one and a half of those years screwing around in community college. She readily admitted that she was a vegetarian, but she didn't add in, as she usually did, that the only meat she ate was pussy. Aside from April having to catch herself almost saying "Blondie" when referring to Poppy a few times, things were going well so far, it seemed, and Poppy considered she might come straight to her parents about her relationship with April in the next few weeks or so.