Punk Like Me

by JD Glass

  “Whew!” She pulled the bottle away and made big gestures of wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “That was amazing. Your turn,” and she shoved the poor misused plastic in my face.

  Well, hey, no problem. I’m always up for a challenge. Grinning wickedly back, I took it from her, circled the rim with my tongue, and started to chug. I was watching Kerry watch me out of the corner of my eye, when all of a sudden, she clapped her hands over her face, her eyes watered, and she began to cough and splutter—the carbon gas was making the return trip back through her sinuses.

  I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh before I could even stop drinking long enough to swallow, and I began to choke. Cough. Splutter. Urgh.

  “Oh my God, Nina!” Kerff. “You okay?”

  Cough. Wheeze. Distance spit.

  “Oh shit,” kerff, spit, “shit!” And she started to pound my back.

  Slap, cough, hooie, spit. I tried to reach into a pocket for a napkin or a tissue for me and for her, but I wasn’t doing too well between the slapping, the laughing, and the choking. “Ha, ha, gurf!” I held a napkin out.

  “Shit—Nina!” She just kept slapping my back.

  “Erruf, ’keg?” I spluttered and, Þ nally, cleared my throat. “Enough.

  I’m okay, really. Here,” and I Þ nally handed her a napkin, “use this.” Soda must have gotten into her hair, and she must have stuck her head against my back or something, because it was sticking out at odd angles, and not the ones she’d chosen, either. I’m sure I didn’t look much better.

  Our faces red from choking and laughing, our hair soda-sprayed and reconÞ gured, and noses burning from the acid, we sat and stared at each other. Then, of course, we burst out laughing again.

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  PUNK LIKE ME

  “Dude, you should have seen your face!”

  “No way, man, how about you making like a fountain? I’m surprised no one threw coins at us,” she teased in return.

  “Yah, that’s ’cuz you were in the way, acting like a rabid squirrel!” I laughed back. “I think the ß owers are all crushed now. We should smell nice at least.”

  “Just shut up,” she ordered, exasperated, “just shut up, sit with me, and let’s sleep till we get there,” and she readjusted herself on the bench and patted the space next to her.

  I laughed quietly to myself this time. “Yeah, sure, Maggie, sure,” and that’s exactly what I did—lean against her, stretch my legs out on the bench, and fall asleep, very comfortably, too, I might add. Girls are nice that way.

  We arrived back on “the Rock,” as we sometimes called the borough, without further incident, and I grabbed my bag, what remained of the bottle of soda, and what little was left of my dignity, not that I really cared too much one way or another, and got ready to get off the boat.

  “Wait a second!” Kerry called out. “I’ve got to do something!” And quick as a wink, she pulled out a small penknife, traced out a valentine, and cut “Hopey ’n’ Maggie” and “11/16” under it into the wooden bench. “There,” she said, “what do you think?”

  “Beautiful.” I smiled and held out my hand for the penknife, which Kerry handed over. I added “4-E” and then next to it traced out the symbol for “New York—Hard Core.”

  “Now that’s perfect!” Kerry said, and rubbed my shoulder. I closed and returned her penknife, and we walked off the boat.

  Oh, and by the way, I’m not condoning random acts of vandalism, but if you’re ever downstairs on one of the really old boats, somewhere near the front, you can still Þ nd the “New York—Hard Core” symbol I traced and, faintly, to the left of it, “11/16.” We silently walked over to the train station that would take us back home, paid our fare, and found ourselves a couple of seats. We didn’t actually sit next to each other this time. We sat in the L-shaped seats instead, so we could look at each other and talk without yelling across the car, but not be too close. It was a little weird, because I could tell we both wanted to be near each other, but we also needed just that

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  JD GLASS

  tiny bit of space.

  “Got any more of that kiss left?” Kerry asked me about three-quarters of the way into our trip, getting me out of the blank daze I had been in as I stared at the scenery passing by.

  “Yeah, sure.” I straightened myself up and dug into my bag.

  “Here,” and I uncapped it and passed over the magic bottle.

  She took a quick swig and held her hand out for the cap. “You’ve been holding it for a while, I’ll carry it,” she offered, and I passed it over. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

  “Don’t mention it.” I was just as quiet.

  Silence reigned for the next few stops until the train pulled into good old sleepy Eltingville, and we walked down the stairs from the platform to the sidewalk.

  “Got any more of that kiss?”

  She smiled up at me. “Yeah, I’ve got some just for you,” and she took the soda from her bag and passed it to me.

  I smiled vaguely at the streetlight on the corner and took a sip, then passed it back, and that’s how we walked back to my house, quietly sipping and passing that bottle back and forth until we got there.

  We stood in front of my door for a minute. Does it seem like a lot of things happen at that door, or is it just me?

  “I should go home, I think,” Kerry told me uncertainly, biting her lip, and as we looked at each other, that pressure between us started to build, more quickly and heavily than it had before. I reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

  “No, it’s early. Come on in, hang out with me a bit, and I’ll walk you home,” and I lightly tugged her toward me. Not releasing her, I pushed open the door to my parents’ home and walked in, Kerry faintly asking, “Are you sure?” behind me.

  “Yeah, of course.” I turned my head to reassure her. “It’s okay. Hi, Mom!” I called into the house and made my way to the kitchen, taking Kerry’s leather coat from her while she held her disheveled ß owers, taking mine out of my pocket, shedding my coat as well as Kerry’s onto the sofa as we passed, with Kerry trailing behind me.

  Ringo, the family dog, came over to greet us enthusiastically, and I rubbed his head as I walked.

  My mom was downstairs in the kitchen by herself, making a cup of coffee. “Nina!” she exclaimed, and gave me a hug and a kiss, which I returned. “Hi, Kerry,” she greeted my friend. My mom put her arm

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  around my shoulder and held me in a loose hug. “You’re home a little early. You girls have a good time? Those are very pretty,” she added, looking at the ß owers, then us, with a pleased and expectant look on her face.

  Kerry and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. My mom smiled indulgently at us, then let me go, pulled out two plates from a cabinet, and handed them to me. Kerry and I placed our ß owers on the counter.

  “Dinner’s on the stove. Why don’t you serve the two of you and come sit at the table? Everyone ate already. Daddy’s upstairs, he’s not feeling well. Nanny’s watching TV with him, and Nicky’s friend’s mother is bringing him home now. You can sit with me and tell me all about it.” And she Þ nished Þ xing her coffee and made her way to the table.

  I dished out the food, sautéed chicken in some great sauce, which is my mother’s own invention, and rice, and carried both plates to the table. We sat down and ate and gave my mom the edited version of the day’s events, skipping Ronnie Bouncer Boy’s commentary, the near mugging, and the chemical experiments.

  “I’m sorry you guys didn’t get to see Dayglo Contortions and Soldiers In Debt,” my mom sympathized as we came to the end of our escapades. “And that was so very irresponsible of Heebie Geebies, not to mention disappointing. The two of you should do something else next Sunday to make up for it,” she added.

  I looked at my mom with gratitude and surprise. “Thanks!”

  “Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” She smiled at m
e. “So what are you doing now?”

  “Um, just gonna go outside and have a smoke, and then I’ll walk Kerry home. Okay, Mom?” I got up with my empty plate, and Kerry grabbed hers as well.

  “That’s Þ ne, sweetheart,” and Mom got up from the table herself, taking her coffee with her. “I’m going upstairs to sit with Daddy and Nanny.” She walked to the stairs. “Tell Nicky to walk Ringo when he gets home?” she asked, pausing at the Þ rst step to see my response.

  “Okay.” I nodded in agreement. “No problem.” Well, you’re probably wondering why parents that were so strict with a curfew would let their kid smoke. It’s pretty simple, actually. When I was about twelve, a neighbor caught me and a friend “experimenting” with some of her mom’s cigarettes and, of course, told my parents.

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  JD GLASS

  After the required lecture, my parents told me that if I really wanted to smoke, I’d be allowed to when I was sixteen—but no sneaking, and not before. So, I kept my part of the bargain—no butts and no sneaking—

  and well, now I was sixteen, so I was allowed. Easy, right?

  Kerry and I dropped our plates off into the kitchen sink, then I slid open the glass doors to the yard, and we stepped outside. We could have sat on the porch, but there was a bench along the side of the house that received most of the sun in the day and was the quietest, darkest, and, most importantly, least observable spot in the yard. Of course we sat there.

  I pulled out my cigarette, lit it, and sat back to inhale with a contented sigh, sprawling my limbs about in my usual fashion, legs stretched in front and arms across the back.

  Kerry lit her own and settled in next to me, and we smoked in contented silence for a while.

  “Hey,” Kerry broke into the quiet, “give me your cigarette.” Kerry twisted to face me and neatly took it from my mouth.

  I sat up. “Dude?”

  “Mine tasted funny,” she said, waving the offending cancer stick in the air. “I wanted to see if yours was better.” An idea hit me, similar to the Coke bottle. “Oh yeah? Pass that over here,” I told her and took it from her hand. We were now both sitting sidewise and facing one another.

  “Okay, Nina,” Kerry said. “We know for sure that neither one of us will die exchanging lip cells, either,” and she looked at me archly.

  Caught, I shrugged and grinned. “Okay, so we’ve established that the body is covered with skin, and we’re always touching. We’ve technically already swapped spit, and now we’ve exchanged lip cells.

  How hard can this be to do?”

  “Since we’ve already technically done it, you mean,” she drawled out, “except without the doing-it part?”

  “Right,” I agreed. “It’s just a matter of degree, in a way.” Kerry pursed her lips and scrunched her brow in thought for a few seconds. “Okay, then, let’s just do it. We’re both grownups here, right?”

  I shrugged casually. “Yeah, we are.”

  Kerry put her hands on my waist, and I did the same. Slowly, she leaned in and kissed my cheek, and I in return kissed hers. “We’ve done

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  that before, right?” she murmured softly, “so that wasn’t a big deal, right?”

  “Oh, no, not so big at all,” I replied just as softly. With my Þ ngertips I gently brushed away the hair that drifted on to her face and tenderly kissed the very outside corner of her mouth.

  Kerry reached for my face and did the same in return. We sat there for a bit simply tracing each other’s face, until the sound of a window being opened shocked us apart.

  “Nina!” my mom called out, “it’s seven thirty.”

  “Okay, Mom. Going now,” I called back up, and I heard the window slide shut again.

  “Where were we?” I asked Kerry, as we put our hands on each other’s waists again.

  “You were almost, but not quite, kissing me,” she answered with an impish grin.

  “Right. Okay. Well, here we go,” I answered, and we leaned in closer to each other, only to stop, less than an inch away. “I can’t do this,” I said, shaking my head. “I want to, but I can’t.” My voice shook, my hands shook, my heart felt like it was about to ß y free from its bony cage and fall to its doom. It didn’t matter how logically, technically, we’d done it. Mechanically, it really was a whole ’nother thing.

  Kerry reached up to touch my face. “It’s okay, Nina, really. Me too, baby,” she said in a shaking voice. “Me, too.” I caught her hands in my own and kissed them, then stood, pulling her up with me, and released one of her hands to dust off my back.

  “Let’s get going?”

  “Yeah, let’s,” she replied, dusting herself off, and we went out through the gate in the yard.

  As we walked to her house, we linked our pinky Þ ngers and kept bumping our hips into one another, jostling each other a bit, and just smiling, and Þ nally, as we turned off onto the side street she lived on, walking in the middle of it as was our habit (and I don’t know why, but everyone I know does that on quiet streets), I stopped underneath a street lamp to speak.

  “Kerry, I don’t know, this is like one of those stories people tell you about, where, like, the character tries pot for the Þ rst time and then becomes like that book Go Ask Alice or something, you know? There are some things that once you start, you know?” I poured out, confused

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  JD GLASS

  and scared.

  Kerry turned to face me and put her hands on my shoulders.

  “There are some things that once you start, Hopey,” and she came in a little closer to me, “you just can’t stop.” Her eyes glowed underneath that light, and as her face came closer to mine, they seemed to explode into a million green and blue crystals as a tightness built around my chest with want and my head with dread, and the next thing I knew, the softest skin I’d never felt until that moment touched my lips, and I closed my eyes to revel in the sensation. Somehow, I’d always known that it would feel like this, that it felt just like I’d always imagined I’d felt like to someone else.

  I had a brief mental ß ash of the ocean, of storm-tossed eyes, but that disappeared quickly as I realized, Oh my God I’m kissing a girl!

  and I froze for a moment, but Kerry’s hands tightened on my shoulders, and my brain yelled, “Hey there, idiot, do something!” and I put my arms around her waist.

  The kiss deepened, and as her mouth began to move under mine, I was right there with her, my mouth full with this soft, sweet sensation, and over and over again I kept thinking that this was the kiss I’d always dreamed of, that I’d never had (and I’d kissed a lot of boys by then)—

  just so juicy and sensual and arousing, with all the overß owing promise of a ripe peach. At one point, the thought ß ashed through my head, “she kisses like me,” and then the thought was drowned in this overpowering ß ow.

  We broke breathlessly apart after some unknown length of time, and I had one hand tangled in her hair, the other across her back, while both her hands had a Þ rm grip on my ass. We rested forehead to forehead, panting, easing down.

  “Jesus, Nina.” Kerry looked into my eyes, with an amazed look on her face. “You kiss just like me!”

  “Funny,” I said with a little growl, “I was thinking you kiss just like me,” and I drew her in again to repeat the experience. Lost in her lips again, I eased under her jacket and traced the curves of her ribs, her spine, the solidness of her hips, while she found her way along my ribs and back, then rested along my sides, thumbs gently easing along the lower curve of my breasts. My lips started making their way down her neck to that beautiful hollow I wanted to taste.

  Hrrrooonnnkkk!

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  PUNK LIKE ME

  That fucking car had to decide to come down in our direction on its way to wherever. Granted, we were standing in the middle of the street, lit up like a stage, but still, there was plenty of room, and the driver could’ve gone around us, right?
Yeah, I thought so, too. Jealous bastard.

  Still wrapped up in each other’s jackets, we snuggled into one another and Kerry tucked her head into my shoulder, lips barely brushing my neck.

  “I love you, Hopeful,” she whispered with a kiss.

  “Love you too, Magpie,” I whispered back, kissing her head.

  By unspoken agreement, we separated and straightened ourselves up, linked hands and began to walk, or rather stumble, the remaining three blocks to her house.

  Why stumble? Because you know we just had to keep stopping every couple of steps to make out again, and I was in such a daze, I couldn’t even tell you my name if you had asked it (which is probably the original reason why people need ID cards, to remind themselves, or at least, I’d like to think so), and I couldn’t even tell I was walking because I wasn’t aware that I had legs. You hear people tell you, and you read and see it everywhere all the time, “Oh, it was like ß oating on cloud nine,” and “It was the most romantic thing in the world,” and I always wanted to know what in the many levels of hell they were talking about.

  I found out—they were wrong. This wasn’t like ß oating. This was gliding, whirling—this was being the magic center of the kaleidoscope, the stars, the wind, her mouth, her hands, all melting together into one gorgeously intricate whole.

  We Þ nally got to her front gate—a low, whitewashed, ranch rail type thing—and Kerry pulled and I pushed until we were both halfway over that damn railing and we could hear it groan, whether in protest or encouragement, we never stopped to Þ nd out—we were way too busy.

  A light snapped on in the neighbor’s front yard, and we froze in position.

  My mouth, having Þ nally tasted that lovely little hollow, had been trailing down the path her open shirt provided (when, no, wait, how did that happen?), and under my hand was the incredibly resilient softness of her very female curve, with that wonderful hard little bud between my Þ ngertips.