So Different

by Robinson, Ruthie

  Now how to lock up? There were two locks. One needed a key, which she didn’t have. The smaller one she could lock from the inside and close the door. He would be safe; this was Austin, after all. The latest the major crime had been someone stealing fish out of the city’s nature garden. She loved this city for so many reasons. She opened the door and the cool air greeted her. She pulled his door closed behind her, checking to make sure it was locked.

  She made her way to her bike, unlocked it, pushed her bag so the strap lay across her front and the bag part against her back, started her little engine, and drove away. Damn, he was good, she thought again. He tasted like some more kind of good, which hadn’t been her plan. And what the hell had she done, telling him about her brother? Just one good screw and she gave away all of the state’s secrets. So now what? Well, he didn’t have her number, but that hadn’t stopped him before. Maybe he’d be satisfied now that he’d gotten to spend almost the whole night with her. Maybe his itch had been scratched, his curiosity satisfied.

  She shouldn’t go back. He was too good to drink of too often. She could get drunk and lose herself in his wilderness for who knew how long.

  Hopefully that was the end of that for him. It was for her for sure. He lived close to her. He didn’t know that, either, probably thought she lived with her parents in the hood somewhere, the same place she’d lived with her boo, the giver of her bruises. And why did he have to seem so surprised by her choices? Not so much about the derby—that she was a hard-hitting punker didn’t surprise him—but the job working with the blind had.

  Yes, she had forgiven his first impressions of her, but she’d knew it wasn’t the only one he probably held. What did he know of difficulties? Nice guy, she admitted, but born into the upper white-collar sphere where the world was his oyster. She’d met his type before. They’d come over after she left the rink, wanting to see if there was any truth to the rumor that once you go black, you never go back. It made her crazy. She’d seen his type before, wanting to see what it was like with her kind; throw in punk rocker on top of being black and people expected she would be wild. Testing out two stereotypes in one night was a hard proposition to pass up.

  The size of your chip will weigh you down, her brother’s voice said in her head. He’d said it to her enough when she had gotten angry at some injustice in the world, some treatment of one group or another, some assumptions people held about the blind, about AA, about pick a group; everyone had their expectations for what and who they were. It made her angry and kept the oversize chip squarely in place on her shoulder.

  She sat at the red light, the last one before she reached her street, her home. She knew people saw what they wanted to see, put people in categories and tried to keep them there. She understood at the basic level that it was easier for them to do that, easy for them to understand the world if they could place you in a box. Then they were okay, more content with their own boxes, more at peace with their understanding of the world. If you ever challenged their worldview, it threw them, and then all hell broke loose.

  She pulled into her drive, rolled up to the front door, killed her engine, and hopped off. She unlocked the front door, pulled her light and compact sunny yellow E-max 120S—her electric scooter—into her living room. This scooter had been way beyond her means, and out of her price range, but she’d found this one on Craigslist. A steal. Lucky her.

  She locked her door behind her and headed for bed, choosing to shower in the morning. His cologne lingered on her skin. She could smell him as she undressed, losing everything except her boxers. She pulled back the covers and slid in, pulling them over her nearly nude body. She loved the feel of cool sheets against her skin, loved the way that man smelled. She smelled his scent now, a small cloud around her. She closed her eyes, remembering what it was like to have him inside her as she fell asleep.

  * * *

  Wednesday morning Adam awoke to the sound of his alarm. He opened one eye and peered at his clock. It was six-thirty. He looked over to the other side of his bed. It was vacant. His first thought was that he wasn’t surprised; his second, that maybe it was for the best. He turned over onto his back and looked over at the early morning sunlight peering in through the window.

  What a night that had been. Of course he hadn’t heard her leave. He was sleeping like the dead, tired after the third time lasted longer than he expected. He’d fallen asleep, sated and satisfied. He’d remember that session well. It had been the most rigorous of them all. The first had set the course for the next. He’d been in control, setting the pace, maintaining the rhythm, choosing slow over fast, wanting to savor the punch that came so forcefully at the end of each. Whew. Got goose bumps just thinking about them.

  The last had been all her, all energy. Her power source should be placed in bottle form, available at your local pharmacy. He had been wiped afterward and could barely keep his eyes open.

  He took in a lungful of air. His eyes found the ceiling again. Maybe now that he spent the almost night with her, he could move on. He should move on. It shouldn’t be a problem. It had been more work than he’d imagined just getting her to spend a half night with him. He wasn’t up to working for more, not for something that was transitory at best.

  He was good now, he thought. It was okay to put a period to them, skirting around the thought that this could be more. Not when he’d just gotten out of one, although to be honest, that felt like a different time in his life.

  Interesting though, the part about her brother—the reason behind what she did for a living. What must losing your eyesight feel like? He’d seen the men and women making their way around town, their canes moving from left to right. His father’s dental practice was in the area near where Mariah worked, and he passed them as they waited to cross the street. He watched, amazed at the courage it required, and wondered if he’d have the same courage to forge ahead if he lost his vision.

  He turned over onto his stomach, reached under his bed, and pulled out the picture of Jamie, framed, courtesy of her. It was taken after her graduation. She was a beautiful woman and, surprisingly, his heart remained quiet at his examination. She was a reminder to look before you leap, critically review your choice before you purchased. One never knew what lurked under the surface.

  The outside was beautiful, the revered model of what most men were led to believe they wanted. She was the bride in white atop the pedestal, and he’d signed up without giving it any thought, had bought into the ideal that was set before him. Lucky him now. He’d barely escaped, counting his lucky stars daily to have gotten away with as little damage as he had.

  He pushed the picture back under his bed and pushed his cover aside. He’d shower, dress, and then stop somewhere for some breakfast—something more substantial than his normal breakfast taco and coffee from the Taco Post. He needed pancakes. He was starving. What a night, he thought, moving his feet toward the shower.

  * * *

  “You ready?” Mariah asked Hannah, her 1-3 p.m. appointment. They were standing inside the main post office downtown. It was Hannah’s destination today, a test of her traveling around town skills. Hannah was a sweet girl who lost her eyesight as a result of an illness. They had taken the bus over, and Mariah had walked beside Hannah as she’d made her way into the post office.

  “Tell me how to get back,” Mariah said.

  “It’s all right turns, once you leave the front door. So, I’ll take a right after I leave here, find the sidewalk, another right at the end of it, and then another right, then follow the sidewalk to the bus stop,” Hannah said.

  “How will you know what bus to take?”

  “I’ll ask the driver.”

  “Okay, then, get going. I need to mail a letter, so I’ll meet you at the bus stop when I’m done.”

  “Okay,” Hannah said before turning to leave.

  Mariah stood and watched her exit, watching as she made a right turn too soon, then continued to stand and watch Hannah as she ran into the wall, and follo
wed her progress as she figured it out, corrected herself, and returned the way she’d come.

  Mariah went on to mail her letter, her thoughts on Adam. Whew. He’d surprised her. Not because he was good—she’d expected that—although appearances, she learned from past liaisons, could be deceptive.

  Not with him, though. He was more than she expected, more focused, not like in the car. He’d kept up with her then, but she came away with the notion that she’d somehow surprised him, that somehow the night hadn’t gone quite like he’d planned. This time he was more in control, had that hips-holding-hers-in-place thing down pat. And who knew that she’d like it?

  She put her letter in the box marked ‘stamped’ while she pondered, really strongly considering giving him a call. But what would she say? Can I have some more? I like the way you bump and grind. Nope, even though she wanted to, very much.

  * * *

  Thursday night Adam found himself at The Rail Yard for another practice. He parked near the front door. The parking lot was empty save for a few cars. He was back here again, chalking up his earlier decision to stop.

  He walked in through the side door, having noticed the women leaving from it the last time. He didn’t venture too far into the building. Her team stood talking and putting on skates. He was early, apparently.

  He walked over to the not-so-good seats, further away from the rink than the season ticket holders. It was not so bright over there. The lights in here weren’t in full operation, mostly the lights on around the track, so he sat in the shadows. He found her, in short blue jean shorts and a t-shirt, with those white knee length socks covering shapely brown legs. She was moving around the track, head down, racing fast, her main speed. When she’d taken control of them last night, fast and furious had been her pace.

  Her team was lining up now, doing some kind of exercise. He’d ask Mariah about it later if he were lucky enough to talk her into coming back with him. Women’s Flat Track Roller Derby was a big deal. He’d googled it. There were teams all over the nation, and it was growing in popularity internationally, too. Since Austin was the re-birth place of derby, the leagues of the city would probably always be a dominant force.

  He watched the team move on to another drill. One woman stood shouting as they moved around the track. She must have been the captain. Mariah was focused and following instructions. A team player? Probably not, but the desire to win probably overrode her independent streak.

  After thirty minutes of ogling her backside as it rolled around the rink, practice was done. The women now stood around, talking and glancing at him. Mariah stood in the middle, studiously avoiding his gaze. He sat there waiting, letting her finish up. He’d catch her on her way out.

  * * *

  Mariah sat, pushing her skates into her bag. Yes, she’d seen him, and had spent the whole night wondering what to do. She knew what she wanted to do—go back to his apartment after she cleaned up, just like the last time. This could become habit-forming, and probably not the best thing for her.

  Ten minutes later she was done. She stood up and made her way to the door. As she got closer to him, he stood up, closing the distance between them.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey.”

  “Good practice?” he asked, falling into step beside her, opening the door for her to walk through, out into the night air. It was dark.

  “Not too bad,” she said, slowing down in her trek to her car. “So…” she said, stopping next to her car, noticing his parked next to hers.

  “Want to grab something to eat?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Come over to my apartment?” he asked, choosing to ask for what he wanted, and that wasn’t anything to eat.

  “Yes,” she said, surprising him again. She could tell. “Let me go home and shower, and I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “Sure,” he said, watching as she unlocked her car, threw her bag into the passenger seat, and slid in. She started her car and drove away.

  “That was efficient,” he said into the dark. And a little impersonal also, but if she didn’t mind, neither did he. He walked the few steps to his car.

  * * *

  “Okay Mariah, what are we doing here?” she said to the empty seats in her car as she drove away, looking at him standing there in her rearview mirror. “I want more, and that’s it. And that’s okay. I don’t have to provide a list of the reasons why. I like the way he feels underneath me. It’s as simple and as basic as that. I’m going home, changing, and returning to his apartment. And I might do it again or I might not. We’ll see.”

  She gave enough of herself to others, wanted something different for a while, something other than work, work, work. What was wrong with that? She’d decided that derby and now Adam would be for her, until she decided different. Not everything in life had to be long term or planned.

  * * *

  “Why the derby and not some other sport?” he asked, lying underneath her later on that night.

  “I wasn’t that big into sports in school. I didn’t do the group stuff. Casper hounded me, and it fit with my personality more than the others, I guess. A way to use up frustration.”

  “Frustration from what?”

  “Life sometimes, people’s attitudes, treatment of my students, my brother,” she said.

  “So you’re the new Batgirl, corrector of societal ills,” he said, running his fingers through her still-wet hair. She was cute lying on him, her chest on his, resting on him as if his body was her new mattress, his chest her pillow.

  “Sometimes. Can’t seem to help myself. I don’t like to see others mistreated. Plus I’m not a joiner of groups, so the derby works for me.”

  “You do know that the derby is a group. There are other people on the track beside you. Tell me you noticed that,” he said, smiling.

  “I noticed. Okay, it’s a group, but more of the anti-group group. Or it began that way, anyway,” she said, leaning into him for a kiss that lasted for a minute or two. “I love the way you kiss—like you’re not in any hurry.”

  “I’m not in any hurry,” he said, running his tongue along the seam of her lips. “Did you try out any other sports?”

  “Nope,” she said, her gaze searching, for what he didn’t know.

  “What sport did you play, I wonder?” she asked, her gaze searching. “You look like the football jock all-around athlete type of guy. The cute cheerleader your arm candy of choice, I bet.”

  “You think so?”

  “What was that like? Everyone at the birth of the new baby Adam. The wise men, the halleluiah chorus all singing the praises of the young dentist come to save the world,” she said, laughing. “Bet the angels live on your shoulders still, intervening at every opportunity, smoothing out life’s bumps and bruises for you. Can’t have the wee one hurt,” she said, laughing more. “What do you know about difficulty?”

  “I know a thing or two. Sometimes the angel took a night off.”

  “Like what…when?”

  He shrugged. “So the derby started up again in Austin?”

  “What’s this fascination with the derby?”

  “Just trying to learn the sport,” he said, putting his arm underneath his head, his own pillow. He ran his free hand down her back, over the smooth contours of her body.

  “Enough with that subject for today then. Let’s put some time in on another subject,” she said.

  “What subject?” he asked.

  “You know what subject.” Her smile was all about the sex.

  He grinned and dumped her off his chest, watching her fall over onto the bed. He grabbed her wrists then, quickly forcing them outward, rolling her over onto her stomach, extending her arms outward while he covered her, his front to her back, his mouth near her ear. “Okay, then, ready for your next lesson?” he whispered into her ear.

  “Which one?” she asked, trying to look over her shoulder at him. He was sexy beyond anyone she’d known, black hair tangled, a decadent-
looking smile on his face, spreading her legs with one of his own.

  “I love your ass,” he said, running one hand over it. He pushed her legs further apart, and he now between them. He grabbed her hips and pulled them up until she rested on her knees, arms spread-eagled, holding her up before he placed his hands over hers, to hold her in place, his face near her ear again. “Lesson number one,” he whispered, pushing slowing into her. She groaned and he laughed.

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Second week of May

  Mariah waved to Adam. He sat in his usual spot, waiting for her to finish. She was so ready to go, but it would be a while. Dee, their team co-captain, had that you’re-not-doing-enough-to-win look in her eye.

  “We have got to get better. You all have got to do more work outside, focus on building up your endurance. You can’t expect to receive enough training two days a week. You have to supplement, work on your weak spots. Don’t know how many ways I can say that.”

  “We do. We are?” Reagan said. Dee shot her a glare, continuing on as if Reagan hadn’t spoken.

  “I don’t need to tell you all where we are in the rankings. Last place. This is not where we wanted to end up,” she said. “The Divas will kick our asses if we’re not prepared.”

  “They’ll kick our ass if we are prepared,” Reagan said, under her breath this time.

  “Tonight I need the blockers to step up their game. We’re working on blocking skills tonight. Basic blocking. Mariah, line up!” Dee barked out in the drill sergeant style she favored.

  “Blockers,” she shouted, turning to face them. “Let’s try and keep Mariah on her butt. Then will give our little catholic school girl a try,” she said, sending a glare Lisa’s way. “Okay, think you can do that? No moaning, bitches,” she added after taking in their expressions. Mariah glanced over at Adam, who sat with his back leaning against the wall, observing, his tennis-shoe-clad feet stretched out before him. She’d give quite a bit to know what was going through his mind.