by APRIL ASHEIM
"You!" he said, setting down his beer and leaping from stool. Trevor. Her Trevor. He was even more beautiful than she remembered. Rocky Road ice cream after a month of dieting. When he reached her he took her hand, helping her up. "My fucking God. How the hell have you been?"
Two and a half years,” Spring shook her head in disbelief as she sat in the passenger seat of Trevor’s car. She had her seat pushed back and her legs propped up on the dashboard as Trevor fiddled with the radio, settling on a station that was playing old British punk music.
"Yeah, crazy huh?" He turned to face her, lazily stretching his lightly muscled arm with the beautiful dark hairs behind her head. His jade eyes took her in. "You look great, by the way. Really, really great."
"Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be in town?" Spring demanded, pulling her legs back and placing them on the floor. "It’s not like you don’t know how to reach me."
"I figured I’d give you a call when I got here. Wanted to surprise you." Trevor took her right hand in his, and put it to his lips. "Besides, a girl like you must have a boyfriend. Didn’t want to make the old man jealous."
Spring lowered her eyes. He was right, of course. Sam would have flipped out.
"I’ve thought about you a lot," Trevor said, the warmth of his breath still on her fingers. "Every day in fact."
Spring met his eyes. Mere mortals should not possess eyes like these. It was the sexual equivalent of a nuclear bomb. "You could have written. An e-mail. A letter. Anything." Her lips pushed out, and she fought for control over them. She would not be a drama queen in this moment. When she had brought them back into submission she took a deep breath and continued. "I would have waited for you. I would have done anything for you."
The song on the radio ended and another, even more obnoxious tune, began. Something about frequent masturbation and pissing on authority. Trevor lowered the volume and pulled Spring closer to him. She breathed in his familiar scent, taking her back to a kiss two years ago. "I’m here now. And unless I miss my guess, you aren’t married. Yet." Trevor leaned over, his warm breath falling on her face, stirring a wisp of her hair. He kissed her softly on the tip of her nose. "I missed you, babe. I missed you a lot."
Spring cupped her hand over Trevor’s chest. The thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat flooded her with almost-forgotten memories. Lying in bed with Trevor on a Sunday afternoon as they planned their day ahead. Him telling her he loved her. That they would never be apart. Until...she swallowed the thought. She wasn’t going to let it ruin this moment. "How long are you here for?"
Trevor’s brow furrowed. He had three new lines etched in his forehead since last she’d seen him. "A few weeks, maybe a month. I’d love to see you some, if you have the time."
"I will make time," Spring said. Trevor went to kiss her and she fought every instinct she had, scrambling out of the car before she did anything else she would regret.
"How will I find you?" Trevor asked, rolling down the window.
Spring glanced at the Paradise Pub sign. It blinked at her with its fluorescent green scroll. It was lit up even in the daytime. "Don’t worry. I know where you will be."
"What do you mean Trevor’s in town?" Lanie furiously shuffled her deck of tarot cards as she sat cross-legged across from Spring. She laid out the cards before her in the spread of a Celtic cross.
"He’s here. I talked to him. I sat with him in his car."
"That’s great, honey. Now you can leave the spud dud and get on with your life."
"Mother. He’s here. That doesn’t mean he wants me."
"Oh, he wants you. I know it."
Lanie turned over the first card. The Fool. She sighed and patted Spring’s hand.
"Well, that’s you. Now let’s see what, or who, crosses you at the moment.” Lanie flipped over the next card: The Devil. She laughed.
"Too bad there’s not a Mr. Potato card. But this one is easy enough."
"Just read them, mother. We don’t need your comedic interpretations."
"Fine. Say, whose the man that lives behind you. The attractive, mature man."
There’s a mature attractive guy behind me? Where have I been?"
"He’s thin. And doesn’t have much hair."
"Sounds like Sam." Spring snickered and stopped. She really had to stop making fun of her fiancé like that.
"Definitely not Sam." Lanie scolded her. "An older man, with a less lumpy head."
"You mean Mr. McClure? Mother, he is not attractive. Have you had your eyes examined lately? He looks like a pod person."
Lanie sighed. "I was just wondering. Okay. Your past. The Lovers Card. You with the higher arcana. Can’t you ever stay out of the higher Arcana?"
Spring shrugged. Though she had watched Lanie read cards her entire life, she had little more than a basic grasp of the art. She did know that the tarot deck was divided into two distinct parts, the higher and lower arcana. The higher arcana cards were supposedly more important or pressing. "I don’t know. I have no idea how these things work."
"Well, you know what The Lovers card is, too. I don’t have to go explaining it. It‘s obviously referencing you and Trevor."
"Can't we skip to the end? Do we really need to know what my thoughts and feelings are, or what I was eating for breakfast last week?"
Lanie leaned over, studying the cards and Spring noticed she was remarkably limber for a woman of her age and girth. "Would you skip to the end of the book without hearing the story?" Lanie flipped more cards over, muttering to herself. Spring saw several she was familiar with, and a few she had never seen.
"Well, Jason is in the picture. The Moon. Might give you a bit of trouble as usual, but nothing you can’t handle. But still, I’m not sure what this all means. You have plenty of men around you. But nothing is really happening."
Spring exhaled. "Sounds about right."
"Must be bad karma from another life," Lanie scolded her.
Spring watched as Lanie turned over the last card. Lanie gasped and clapped her hands. "Finally. A minor arcana card. But since it’s in the final position it’s a big one."
Spring looked down at the spread. The Knight of Cups.
"Looks like there’s another man in your life now, Spring. And I‘d say from the looks of things, he is here to shake things up a bit."
"But I don’t know any other men."
"Doesn’t matter. He knows you."
Thirteen
Sam and Spring had taken the boys to Chuck E. Cheese and Lanie had the house to herself. She put on some music, some good music, not that classical crap Sam listened to. Santana‘s Black Magic Woman.
"God, I miss the 70s," she said as she gyrated around the living room. "Those were the days."
She twirled, liberating her body from her dress and underwear, kicking her clothing into Sam’s recliner.
"Woooo!" She let the music take her, rolling her head and swinging her hair the way the girl did in that movie about strippers she had watched the night before on pay-per-view. "Mama needs a drink." She danced her way towards the kitchen, past the large glass door that led to the back yard.
And there he was. Her peeper! His little head hovered between the slats of the fence. He saw her, blinked, and scurried away.
Lanie’s smile snaked across her face. "Like what you see, big boy?" She fanned herself and shimmied. "Yeah. You know you do. You know you do."
The sound of the car pulling up in the driveway sent Lanie running to her muumuu and scampering back to her room. Didn’t anyone stay out late anymore?
Sam held the door open and two little blond boys wearing T-shirts that said Wasting Away in Cabo and Miss Pac Man for President tumbled inside. Spring followed, shaking her head.
"How the hell does anyone get kicked out of Chuck E Cheese?" Sam demanded, slamming the door behind them. The boys disappeared down the hall as Spring hung up their baseball caps.
"I don’t know. They are special I guess." She smiled at him, trying to lighten the mood, but
he wasn’t going for it.
"Only your kids could turn Whack-A-Mole into a felony offense. Have you thought about what a good paddling would do for them?"
"Spanking? Sam, are you crazy? They’re a bit rambunctious but not worse than the kids I grew up with. I don’t think they need to be spanked. It’s not in their best interest."
"Well, it might be in mine." Sam walked over to the sofa and flopped down. Picking up the remote control he scanned the channels, settling on the Shark Week Marathon on the Discovery Channel. He smiled and folded his arms behind his head.
"I could make it up to you," Spring said. She walked towards Sam, obscuring his view of the TV. She rolled her hips and touched her lips with her fingertip the way the lady did in that movie Lanie had her watch last evening.
"Pookie, you are in the way," Sam whined, straining his neck to look around her. Spring took a sudden step forward and snatched the remote control from his lap. With one quick click, the shark and scuba man disappeared. "They were about to eat the guy in the wetsuit," Sam moaned.
"You know Sam, call me crazy. But isn’t it strange to you that we never have sex?"
"We have sex. Remember Easter?"
How could she forget? He had come to bed dressed in bunny ears and a cottontail, fastened to his bottom with safety pins.
"Sam, I can count on my two hands how many times we’ve had sex over the past year. Nine times. That’s less than once a month. Doesn’t it bother you at all?"
Sam looked around, his eyes widening. "Shhh. Lanie and the boys will hear. Do you want that?"
"Lanie is the one who brought it up to me, if you want to know the truth. She wonders why she never hears anything coming from our bedroom. I tried to ignore her, but she is right."
Sam stood his ground. "Damn it, Spring. There are a million other more pressing matters in the world than food and sex...the only two things you seem to care about." Sam surveyed her waist as if to point out that her vices were beginning to show.
Spring gaped. Sam’s face softened and he patted the couch beside him, beckoning for her to join him. When she crawled up beside him he tenderly pushed the damp hair from her face.
"Sweetie, listen. We need to talk," he said reassuringly, as she sipped on the diet soda Lanie had left on the coffee table. "Lately, I’m getting the feeling that the only reason you are with me is for my body."
Spring choked, spitting soda all over herself and Sam. "I’m sorry you feel that way," Spring said, holding back the laugh. Sex, even at its best, was lukewarm with Sam. He was so fussy about the way it was executed and he had so many rules.
Rule 1: One must always wear a condom, maybe even two. They did not even have to be the good condoms, such as those that were lubricated or ribbed for her pleasure. In fact, the less money spent on the quality of condoms, the more money that could be spent on important things like mochas and books.
Rule 2: Foreplay is a myth created by a matriarchal society to enslave men. Those days have passed. Get used to it.
Rule 3: One must never kiss one’s partner anywhere below the neck. Ever. You could touch someone below the neck, if you must, but your hands must not linger on any one body part for more than say, 30 seconds. You were being timed.
Rule 4: The missionary position is your friend. Learn to love it. Experimentation is bad. Woman on top is heretical. God might come and smite us right in the midst of lovemaking for even thinking of this maneuver.
Rule 5: The bed only. Enough said. Refer to rule 4.
Rule 6: Forget any semblance of after-play either. Or snuggling. Immediately after sex the male must rise, steal the blanket, and shower profusely until all evidence of physical intercourse has been washed away. Then the male deposits blanket back down on the bed for the female, and sneaks quietly into the study to read before going to sleep.
"Spring, honey, are you understanding what I’m trying to say?" Sam was waving his hand before her eyes, trying to bring her back. She had gone to that place she went whenever he was trying to explain anything important to her.
Spring nodded.
"What did I say, then?" He quizzed her.
Spring knew the answer by heart, even if she hadn’t heard the speech today. "That lately you think I just want you for sex. And that makes you feel dirty and disgusting and demeaned. That I should be focusing my energies on more important matters. That sex is trivial and only for people with no will power and no ambition. And should only be used for procreation." Spring tilted her head and looked at him for confirmation.
Sam tightened his lips and smiled. It was strained. "Well, most of what you are saying is true Spring, although I may have said it differently. The Lord wants us to have sex but only when we are married, and we are not married yet. If you do not have sex within the sanctity of marriage then you are saying to God that He did not know what is best for us when He laid down the laws of marriage."
Spring thought for a moment. "Do you think there’s any chance that God might be a She, Sam?"
Sam seemed taken aback as if she had said the most blasphemous words that had ever been uttered. Then, slowly he smiled. "You are so funny, Pooks! You almost had me. Give me a hug!" He took her in his arms and patted her head reassuringly. "There, there, it will be okay. We will get married soon. I have a date picked out now: July 21. Then you can use my body whenever you want!"
Spring allowed herself to be hugged a moment more, and then released herself from his grasp in time to see a blur pass in the dining room. Two boys chasing each other using their fingers as guns and wearing their grandmother’s underwear as face masks.
Fourteen
It was John’s first outing to a real grocery store. Back home there had been only one place to shop, Earl’s Beef and Hardware. Where back home there had been a church on every corner, here there was a supermarket. It seemed these people had traded in God for convenience. John had driven around the city aimlessly until he finally settled upon this one. It wasn’t as newfangled and shiny as most of the others, which was why he chose it. He was getting darn tired of shiny.
Even this store felt overwhelming. The fluorescent lights gave shoppers a stark, zombie-like appearance. They stocked food here he had never seen before. He imagined his family would get a good laugh at some of it. Like pot stickers. That was a warning if ever he heard one.
Finally he found his comfort zone in an aisle filled with boxes of macaroni and cheese and canned chili. And then he saw her. The woman who smashed his truck. She was hard to miss. She ran past his aisle many times, dodging carts, skirting children, pushing through families. She reminded him of the White Queen from Alice in Wonderland...or was it the Red Queen? Running fast, yet getting nowhere. Her arms were full sometimes and empty others. He caught glimpses of her expression as she passed his aisle, a strange combination of panic and sweetness. He wondered what it was she was looking for. Finally, she ended up in the canned foods aisle with him. This time her arms were empty.
John tried to study her discreetly, his head bent over the cart while his eyes glanced up from time to time. She was scanning the aisle, her right arm raised and her index finger pointed. She seemed to be using it as a divining rod; it led and she followed, pulling her towards something, finally resting on a can of tomatoes.
"Ah, here it is," she said out loud, and John could see the smile on her profile. "I must have been planning to cook spaghetti for dinner."
John scratched his head and studied her more. Even beneath her sack of a dress he could tell that she was petite and curvy. The material hugged the roundness of her front and back yet fell softly away from her middle. Her arms and legs were tan, a natural tan, not like the girls who visited the salons back home. Her skin was clear. Her lipstick smeared out slightly over her full lips as if she had tried to apply it correctly but was in too big of a hurry to be bothered with precision, like a school child that refused to color in the lines. For some reason this appealed to his artistic nature.
"Spaghetti," she said. "I’m making
spaghetti." She turned to him and smiled.
"Yes, I heard," John replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t sure what the proper response to a statement like that was.
"You see, I lost my list," she explained, holding out her empty palm. "And I couldn’t remember what I had wanted to eat for dinner."
"Oh?" John lowered his eyes. She had not recognized him yet, and he wanted to keep talking to her before the realization struck. "Couldn't you have decided once you got here?"
"Hmmm," she pursed her lips together and her eyes drifted down the aisle. "I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe next time I will."
The woman looked in John's cart and gasped. It was a familiar sound from all the women he had ever known. His diet consisted entirely of hamburgers, frozen pizzas, strawberry milk and fruit cocktail. John waited for her to snicker or to point out the value of a vegetable. But she didn’t. She simply looked up at him and grinned. God, what a smile. He scanned her hands for a ring, and seeing none, reminded himself that he was angry with her for not contacting him about his beat up pickup.
"Well, it was nice meeting you, um..." She paused. "Did you tell me your name? I’m sorry. If you did, I forgot." A rosy color washed over her cheeks.
"I'm John," he said. "John Smith."
"Oh my God!" She dropped her can of tomatoes and John bent down to pick it up as she rifled through her purse. After several minutes she produced a piece of paper and read the name. "Fuck, me." She slumped back against the aisle behind her, sending three cans of ravioli crashing to the ground.
"I was going to call you. Honest. My life has been crazy. I’m so sorry. You haven’t called the police yet have you?"
"Well." John crossed his arms and shook his head. "...Where I come from, a person makes good on their word."
The woman continued to rummage through her bag. "I don’t have any money. I have a credit card. And two packs of cigarettes for Lanie. You don’t smoke do you?" She pushed the cigarettes in his direction and he nodded that he did not want them.