by Foxx, Gloria
“Why do you live in the dorms?
“I spent a lot of time alone as a child. Then in the military I experienced community life and decided I liked it.”
“You served? Which branch?”
“Army. I had to pay for college somehow.”
“Hmm.” I’m not sure I believe him either, but I don’t challenge, instead changing the topic as I trace the raven’s talons peeking from below his shirt sleeve. I wonder if he worked in military intelligence.
“Tell me about the raven.” My fingers follow the flaring wing.
“The raven symbolizes change.”
“I suppose that’s why some people call him the trickster.”
Boston grunted, not commenting.
“Why do you have a raven tat?”
“I like it.” I pause wondering if he’ll say more and he doesn’t, pushing the topic away. “So, how’d you end up tending bar?”
“It pays the bills and it doesn’t interfere with classes.” I know full well that the only reason I have a job is because Lyla offered it.
“Oh.”
“What?” I’m suspicious now.
“I got the impression that Lyla looks out for you.”
“I guess she does, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get a job tending bar.”
Boston laughs at my defensiveness. “Easy now Sterling, I’m not judging, just wondering. I’m on my own too you know.”
Taking a deep breath, the air flowing in and out of my lungs audibly, I calm down and take advantage of the opening to find out more about him. “Why don’t your parents help?”
“I don’t want anything from them.” His eyes go fuzzy, his lips flat, and his features settle to bleak.
He doesn’t say why, but he’s already said enough. Boston is a kindred spirit. I recognized it before I even knew him and now I know why. Like me, he’s trying to make his way in the world using an instruction manual that’s short a few pages. We’re struggling through as if directions were doled out like assignments in class and we’d missed a couple days, or maybe twenty.
We’re searching for something as elusive as treasure but so much more valuable and we haven’t figured out what it is yet. We battle the snarl that is our life looking for help that never comes or paying no mind to possible solutions when they arrive because we’ve no earthly clue what we’re doing or where we’re supposed to be going.
Boston understands me as Brock and Logan never did, or maybe I understand him when Brock and Logan proved elusive.
Silence settles around us like dread. I crack my wrist again.
“Looks more like habit than need,” he says, taking my hand in his and wrapping the fingers from his other hand around my forearm to gently tug on my wrist. He circles it and cautiously bends it without pushing far enough to crack.
“Maybe.”
“How’d you break your wrist?”
“It’s nothing I want to talk about.”
“Okay, then tell me about your family.” It sounded like a command, but it came out softly with honest interest.
“I was an only child.” Our eyes catch and I look away self-consciously, afraid that he might catch on to the past tense, might see I’m not being completely honest.
“I’m sorry. It’s hard to grow up alone.”
“You already know my mom never met a drink she didn’t like.”
“Yeah,” he responds cautiously as if uncertain about where I’m going.
“She never met a man she didn’t like either.”
“What does that mean?”
I clarify, my voice halting and shallow. “I never knew my dad and I never got a chance to know the guys my mom paraded through my life. I guess I don’t really know what a relationship looks like.”
“It sucks when the people who are supposed to care the most don’t act like it,” Boston commiserated.
“Yeah and fair warning, I haven’t done very well with men myself and I don’t drink, so it can’t be all about the drinking.”
“A woman with a past I see.” He smiles, waggling his eyebrows and lightening my dismal mood.
“Don’t you dare!” I hit him with a pillow. “You don’t get to hear about my exes yet.”
“Don’t want to scare me away, huh?”
“What about your family?”
“Changing the subject just as we get to the juicy parts? You’re a tease Sterling. That’s what you are.” He smiles when he says it, eyes sparkling as he leans into me, nudging my shoulder with his. My feet fall from the coffee table with a thunk.
My cheeks are hot as I turn toward him on the futon, pulling my knees up and tucking my feet under my butt. I collect my wits, “Don’t avoid the question. I told you about my family, now do you have any brothers or sisters?” I push, but I know better than to ask about his parents.
“I have an older brother.”
“Oh … I thought you said you were an only child.”
“I said it’s hard to grow up alone.”
“Where was your brother?” This is like pulling teeth.
“He’s a lot older than me and he died just before my fourth birthday.”
“I’m sorry Boston.” It’s my turn to reach out. I squeeze his forearm where it rests against his thigh, his hands dangling limply between his knees. “The raven?”
“Yeah. It reminds me of him. It’s been a long time now, so no big deal.”
For some reason, I didn’t believe he’d put it behind him. “Long time ago or yesterday, it’s still part of who you are. Why did he die?”
“First he had leukemia, then aplastic anemia. He was sick all the time, from before I was born until the day he died. He spent most of his time in hospitals and as much as I wanted to help, I turned out to be no help at all.”
“You were a child Boston.” I defend him, surprised that after all these years it still bothers him.
“You’d be surprised.”
“What could you do but be the best brother you could be.”
“That’s one of the nicest things anyone has said in a long time.”
“No way. Who would say anything bad about losing your brother?”
He shook his head in the negative. Leaning back, his head thumped into the futon behind him before dropping, his chin nearly reaching his chest as he said nothing. I didn’t think he would continue and then he did. “The last time it came up, some buddies and I had been driving for quite awhile. We were on an assignment and we talked about family to pass the time. I told them about Cody. They were mostly quiet, almost reverent, until one said, ‘more ladies for the rest of us.’”
“Seriously?” My gaze zeros in on his, testing the truth of his statement and finding honesty. “Some people are assholes.”
We’re out of conversation, he still in his boxer briefs and undershirt, me still in my yoga pants and tee. Noontime had turned to evening.
“I should probably get going.”
“Yeah. I have homework,” I say, awkward now.
I watch as he moves to the kitchen, his presence commanding attention in the tiny room. Muscular legs, long and lean disappear into jeans. Biceps skim into shirt sleeves, the raven disappearing. Abs surge and swell, partially hidden by his tee shirt, but the topography is still visible and peeking through with every movement. Bulges are separated by dark chasms like islands divided by murky waters. I am pensive, pulling my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around and settling my chin on my knees as I watch him preparing to go.
He sits to slide on his socks and shoes before pulling the sides of his shirt away to button his jeans and buckle the belt.
My eyes follow as Boston moves to the desk chair, something that feels like tension building within me and tingling through. I look away as he buttons his shirt and shrugs on his jacket. When his hand appears in my view, I look up, with reluctance.
“Come, say good-bye Sterling.”
I take his hand, standing from the sofa. His warm fingers envelope mine, his warm scent surrounds me.
“No. I think you’re a bit like a rabbit in the woods. If I sit quietly and don’t make any threatening movements, you’ll eventually come near. If I come after you, you’ll just run away.”
“I wouldn’t run.”
“Maybe not today, but you’ll run the minute you feel threatened and I don’t want to be the one who threatens you.”
He’s right and I’m not quite sure how he understands me so well.
“I’ll see you Tuesday,” I say.
My eyes blink wide as he pulls me close, one hand still holding mine, the other wrapped around my lower back, right where it curves out heading toward my shoulders. Time slows. His pupils flare as he leans close, my lips part, apprehensive and impatient at the same time. I can feel his belt buckle against my belly, right where my shirt and pants meet, the metal icy against the heat of my skin.
Our lips connect with a wisp of contact before pulling away. Our kiss brief and not nearly enough, but I’m apprehensive. I didn’t want to find Boston appealing, yet he is. My hand shifts up his arm and across his bicep as our breath mingles, our eyes unite. Boston leans his forehead against mine, our eyes still ensnared. His are questioning and I want to answer yes. His nose nudges my cheek, his breath now sighing across my jaw.
My hand pulls against the back of his shoulder, almost imperceptibly and we fuse together. He pulls me tight, not a lick of air between us.
I help, using his shoulders for leverage, his jacket soft and smooth under my fingers. His lips concentrate on my lower lip, tugging and nibbling, his tongue flicking before tracing the inside edge. My tongue meets him there, twisting and snapping and undulating as we strain closer, tumbling into one another.
Boston pulls away, suckling my slick upper lip gently. “I really … have … to … go,” he says between nibbles, but he doesn’t let go.
My thoughts are circling and random. I want to move away; I want to stay. I want to invite him in; I want to chase him away. I don’t know where we are, but I don’t want to be anywhere else. As my thoughts settle down, I know my feet are hanging free. The press of his body, strength of his arms and my arms clinging at his shoulders hold me suspended.
“Put me down.” I want it to be a command. Instead it sounds more like a breathless plea. I’d be giving away the store if I didn’t move away from Boston so I can think.
Of course he doesn’t drop me or just bend his knees so I can reach the floor. Instead Boston lowers me by degrees, my body slanted against his. My breasts squashed to his chest, my nipples scraping on the way down. His thigh pressed between mine taunts me as I slide to the floor with agonizing leisure.
“I’ll see you Tuesday.” He grasps my upper arms and leans in to press a quick hard kiss against my swollen lips. Then he disappears. I don’t remember the door opening or Boston going out. He may as well have vanished.
Boston walked me from logic to philosophy on Tuesday and Thursday. He never said anything about that day or that kiss or my plea that he “love me” from the night before. I didn’t bring it up either. Did I mention I don’t want a relationship?
Chapter 11
I locked the door behind me. It’s Saturday. The crisp lemon light makes everything it touches a little more bright and cheerful. Today is football day at Central and I’m going to the game with Boston. I’ve always enjoyed football. Logan played and I went to his games. One of my mom’s husbands watched football on Sunday’s like a religion, turning me on to a game of brute force and finesse, luck and strategy, individual performance and team success.
Parking near Boston’s dorm, I spot him waiting for me. He smiles as I approach, although it’s more like a grin. I recognize the wide and dopey smile and know exactly how he feels. I’m warm inside knowing his smile looks just like mine.
“Hey beautiful.” His eyes glimmer, brightened by the sunshine that makes everything a little more clear and sharp. We come together, our hands grasping like lovers in a movie.
“Hi.” That’s all I got out before Boston’s lips devour mine. His tongue traces the inner edge of my lower lip before plunging deep. He holds me close while I try to get even closer, my tongue seeking out his, twining in dance, yearning for fulfillment.
I lose myself in his kiss without shame although I’m usually embarrassed by public displays, but I can’t think about that right now.
We stand in place, absorbed in each other and the sensations we create together while time moves on without us as it does every time we kiss. A horn honks, breaking into our intimacy. I watch Boston as we pull apart. His eyes are cloudy and his brow puckered as he looks around.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask interrupting him.
His eyes clear when they land on me. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Smiling and lacing my fingers with his, I pull Boston along behind me.
“There’s plenty of time you know. Student seating is never full until the first quarter and my roommate went home for the weekend.” He wiggles his eyebrows with suggestion.
“First quarter? Pfft,” I say waving my hand in dismissal. “I don’t want to miss kickoff or even the coin toss.”
“Football fan huh?”
“Kind of. One of my mom’s husbands really enjoyed football and I sort of got hooked.”
“One of her husbands? How many does she have?” He pulls a face while asking, with eyes wide and a leer that tells me he’s teasing.
We’d touched on this before and I laugh at what he’s implying. As far as I know my mom always divorced before marrying the next man. “Had is the operative word. Mom has had five husbands.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of step dads. Do you keep in touch?”
“Nah, but Mel and I were close. He taught me about football. The rest weren’t very memorable.”
“Didn’t they help to raise you?”
“Not really. Most split when they found out Mom couldn’t stop drinking. A couple who drank as much as she did found another woman as quickly as they’d found her. They moved on, leaving her behind.” I push on my hand, tension bursting from my wrist although I can barely hear it with so many people around.
“Mel told me once that in football the ball is the most important. Keep your eye on the ball, protect the ball and everything else will take care of itself.”
“Seems like a pretty simplistic explanation,” said Boston, not yet grasping what took me another stepfather to understand.
“That’s the thing. At ten years old I thought Mel wanted to keep football simple. Later I understood he was trying to tell me something more.”
“We should focus on what’s most important.” He grins like he’d just passed a test.
My heart jumped. “He told me that during the last game we watched together before he moved out and my mom found a new husband.”
A sibilant whistle came through Boston’s front teeth as he exhaled.
“Right?” I said. “So now you know my mom’s dark secrets, what about your parents?”
We slowed, ambling along, others passing us by on the sidewalk. Finally I stop, pulling Boston over to the side, out of the flow of people heading to the game. His eyes had lost focus and he didn’t answer my question. “Boston? Are you okay?” I shook his arm, his body jiggling and loose.
“Huh?” His eyes finally come to mine and focus again.
“Where did you go just now?” I wrapped my arms around his bicep and pushed off to begin walking again. The soft, cool leather of his jacket soothed and comforted as my mind raced through the possible reasons why Boston might have zoned out like that.
“Go? Nowhere.” He shook his head as if clearing his thoughts, a frown between his brows. “I’m just thinking that my parents’ lives revolved around my brother and nothing worked out.”
“Maybe he needed them more than you did.”
His voice is distant and soft, “Maybe.” Boston’s eyes stare straight ahead as he walks fast now with fis
ts jammed into the pockets of his jeans.
I cling to his arm rushing to keep up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He slows to a more normal pace as if finally remembering I’m walking along beside. “I don’t usually talk about it. I guess it’s still hard.”
I didn’t know what to say so I didn’t say anything.
We arrive at the stadium, passing from the bright, warm sunshine to the cold dank concourse. A chill floods over me like a premonition. The flow of people moving like cattle usher us along. Boston knows where we’re going. He leads the way, keeping his fingers laced with mine so we don’t become separated.
When we step back into the light, the crisp air and warm sunshine wash away the tension. We find seats in time to watch the captains head out for the coin toss and then stand for the national anthem. Boston stands tall and rigid, saluting the flag. For some reason that made me proud.
Central focused on the ball and scored first. We cheered, sang, jumped around and enjoyed every moment of the game. Undercurrents still flowed and we did our best to ignore them.
Boston got hot dogs and soda at halftime. We tried to sing Central’s fight song along with the marching band, but ended up laughing. Central won, bringing their record to five and one for the season.
On the way back to Boston’s room I asked, “Did you play football?”
“Not competitively, just to pass the time.”
“In the Army?”
“Early on, then later there wasn’t time.”
“What did you do later?”
“Ordinance. The Army figured out I can follow wiring like a roadmap.”
“Wiring?”
“Defusing bombs.”
“Oh my God. That’s dangerous.”
“There was a time I didn’t much care. I suppose that made me even better.”
“I’m sorry Boston. Is that where you got this?” I paused to trace the scar near his ear.
“No.” He grinned with a fond memory. “A friend and I were playing with some black powder we found in his dad’s garage. It didn’t always explode as we expected.”