by Cara Coe
“I brought something, it’s okay,” he murmured, kissing my neck. His middle finger joined in and I pushed away again.
He pulled back at little and looked at me curiously. “You know I love you, right?” he asked. “I hate that I have to leave tomorrow.” He smiled sweetly and planted a small kiss on my lips. “I want a piece of you to keep with me while we’re apart.”
Well, fuck.
Not even five minutes later, Brock had a condom on and was pumping away inside me. It hurt but I closed my eyes and bit down. He loved me. The realization made my chest warm and I soaked in this knowledge.
“You okay, baby?” he asked breathlessly and I opened my eyes and nodded. He leaned forward and kissed me while he moved. When he came he squinted his eyes shut and let out a groan before rolling onto his back.
“So are we going to stay together while you’re away at school?” I asked, propping myself up on one elbow to look at him.
He smiled. “Yeah, sure. I mean, it’ll be busy. Basketball practice is on weekends too so I won’t even be able to come back for a while.” He rubbed my cheek as my face fell. “It doesn’t mean that’s it, baby. Let’s make a homecoming date right now. I would have settled in at school by then. I’ll take you to your senior homecoming and we can see where things are at. Who knows? You might already be madly in love with someone else by then.”
My expression was one of horror. “I’m not going to date someone else while we’re together!”
“Well, neither am I. I heard the coach is a beast, there’ll be no time for dating. Don’t look like that. Homecoming, okay? You and me.”
I smiled tentatively. “Okay. It’s a date.”
He kissed me again, deeper, sealing it. “I have to go now. I haven’t finished packing.”
“Will you call me later?”
“Yeah. You bet.”
He did call me later, but the calls got fewer and further between until they were just random texts. Practice was brutal today! or Studying, can’t talk now!
By the time mid-October rolled around, I hadn’t heard from him in three weeks. I knew we were done. We were done the day he left. His was only half present for the phone calls and he talked around homecoming plans until I didn’t hear from him altogether. I accepted this and went with a friend of mine, Mike. Mike was in love with a girl on newspaper who had a real boyfriend, not like mine. They had been dating all four years of high school. In other words, Mike didn’t have a shot in hell.
“We’ll make a fine pair,” he’d said with an amusing lilt to his voice. “Two sad people on a pity date.”
“There’s no one I’d rather pity date than you,” I’d returned with my own smile.
The dance was fun despite our disappointments. I’d let go of Brock’s rejection and just attended and took it for what it was. No expectations, no remorse. I danced. I drank crappy punch. I squealed over my friends’ dresses and accompanied this one or that one to the bathroom when wardrobe malfunctions demanded it.
On one such occasion, coming out of the bathroom, I was greeted by Mike in the hallway.
“This dance blows,” he said. “Let’s jet. We can go get some pancakes or I heard Kurt’s having a bonfire at his uncle’s place.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “What? No, I’m having fun. I thought you were too.”
“Well I’m not,” he responded flatly.
“It’s not enough half over, Mike. Come on, it’s our last homecoming. We’ll get pancakes after and Kurt’s bonfires go on all night. We knew we were going to be pitiful,” I finished with a grin, grabbing his hand but he didn’t return my smile. He tugged on me.
“Let’s go,” he said.
I shook my head. Something in his expression scared me. He looked concerned. There was something he was hiding from me. “No.”
I pulled my hand away and went back into the gym.
“Please!” he said behind me, moving to catch up. I felt his hands on my shoulders but they wrapped around me into a hug when he realized it was too late. I’d seen.
Brock was here. And he was dancing with Rebecca Carter. And they were kissing.
I could barely breathe.
Wonderful World by Louis Armstrong was blaring. I loved this song. It was one of my favorite songs. His voice was so raspy. The melody was so entrancing. The love beating inside the swells of music was almost tangible.
That’s what was playing as I watched Brock smile and kiss and dance with Rebecca. Another girl standing close to us saw us watching the spectacle and sighed.
“He still looks amazing, doesn’t he?” she asked.
I didn’t answer.
“Rebecca’s so lucky. She got to date him all summer and everyone told her he’d forget her when he went off to school but he didn’t. He comes home almost every other weekend and he didn’t turn his nose down at a high school dance. Just to make her happy.”
I turned to face her. Red curly hair, freckles, a pudgy face. “All summer?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. They were at the pool all the time. That’s where she lifeguarded.”
“Shut. Up,” Mike snapped and the girl’s face grew angry at the sudden outburst. She turned and stalked off.
All summer. It made sense now. I only saw Brock sometimes. After that first date at the mall, our meetings were usually walks around my neighborhood or light hearted hoops at a pavilion not too far away. He never loved me.
I turned to Mike.
“I need pancakes.”
He nodded and we left without saying goodbye to any of our friends. I didn’t really need pancakes. What I needed was to get Louis Armstrong’s voice out of my head. This was not a wonderful world. It was a shitty world. What I didn’t know was just how shitty the world was going to get.
What I did know was from that point on, I hated that song.
* * *
“Brock sucks,” he said to me over the phone. Fast forward five years and I’m on a phone in a house I like to frequent because the front door and the downstairs backdoor are aligned in such a way that a nice breeze tickles my skin as it passes through the home. That, and the previous owners have a phone that will let me talk to my phone buddy.
Who just got me to talk about my first time. How does he do that?
“Enough about Brock. Your turn. I’m asking you the same question.”
“Okay, but I just wanted to establish that not all guys are like the specimen of scum you just described.”
“Established. Go.”
“Mine’s not much of a story. I was seventeen like you. We were hanging out at a friend’s house. His parents weren’t home.”
“Yeah, that’s a pretty crappy account.”
He sighed. “Her name was Melinda. We had math together. She was nice. We never officially went out or anything. Like I said, not much of a story.”
“Did you love her?”
“No. And I didn’t pretend to, either. She and I both knew where the other stood. It was just the right place at the right time.”
I rolled my eyes. “How romantic.”
“Okay, Judge Judy. It was what it was. We had fun.”
“You can’t change my nickname mid-convo.”
“Sorry, Malificent.”
He kept emphasizing the name. He booed when I told him our aliases for the day. He didn’t like saying so many syllables and he didn’t like that his counterpart was another random Disney villain.
“They barely match,” he complained. “That’s a thin relationship between the aliases. And Jafar has an eerily long face.”
But right now I didn’t care that he wasn’t fond of them. I’d poured my heart out about my first time including everything I felt about it and his recollection in return could fit inside a fortune cookie. Boy meets girl in math. Boy nails girl. Fun had.
“Have you ever been in love?” I muttered. The question was a jab at his nonchalance but I was surprised when his breathing grew still. A tiny jolt shocked my chest and caused my heart rate to pi
ck up speed. I had been doodling trees on a notepad, but my hand paused at his reaction to my question. Which he still hadn’t answered. I waited with prickling skin.
“Yes,” he finally said. “In college, I dated a girl named Jade.”
My chest pinched tight and I released a slow breath. Why had that stung? What did I think he was going to say?
I cleared my throat and resumed my doodling. I was the picture of casualness. “What happened with her?” I asked then winced at my tone. Maybe she’d died in The Sweep. He was in school when the epidemic took a turn for the worst.
“A simple case of unrequited love. I loved her. She didn’t love me back.”
“Jade sucks,” I offered and he laughed quietly.
“Thank you, my ever loyal cheerleader. But she actually was a very important part of my life. And it did suck that she didn’t love me, but it wasn’t her fault.”
I grunted. “Maybe. But it doesn’t make sense, so I still say it’s her bad.”
“What do you mean?” His tone was serious. Fuck. I didn’t mean to give away that thought. What did I even mean? My response had been automatic. I tried to sort through my mind to explain carefully but decided to go with raw honesty.
“You just seem like the kind of a guy that a girl does cartwheels over when she stumbles upon you. I don’t know. You listen really well. And I can tell because you don’t come back with a canned answer when I talk for a while. And you’re funny. I’m sitting in a city decimated by disease and I’m pretty sure I’m the only living thing with thumbs. There’s nothing happy here and yet I’ve smiled and laughed more in the past six weeks than I have in the past six years. Jesus fucking Christ, you better get rid of whatever bloated grin you have on your face right now.”
“I love talking to you, too. You are the best part of my day. Everyday.”
“That’s not what I said,” I mumbled, my heart speeding up again.
“But that’s what I heard,” he replied and I could hear his grin.
“I have to go now.”
“Uh huh.”
“I do. I have stuff to do.”
“Okay.”
“So…I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I hated the flustered feeling I had.
“I will most definitely be here tomorrow. Enjoy your cartwheels.”
“Ugh.” I hung up on him but I was smiling.
Chapter 13
Her
I never cared about how I looked. Not after The Sweep. When living becomes the priority, mirrors fall into the background. Today he finally asked the question I had been wondering myself about him. And yet I was still startled when he spoke it.
“What do you look like?”
We’d been talking for two months at that point. I had my reasons for avoiding it. Not knowing what he looked like meant that my imagination could run as wild as our aliases.
I sucked in a breath and touched my shoulder length hair. My fingers ran over scratchy knots.
“I’m tall for a woman,” I started. “Or used to be when there was a group to be compared to. I’m kind of a mishmash. My mom was black and my dad was white so I have a mix of features. I’m tan. All the time. My hair is a rat’s nest of frizzy black waves. My eyes are brown. I’m wearing a yellow AC/DC tank top I swiped from some girl’s bedroom. And combat boots because they’re easy to walk in and last longer than running shoes.”
“Did you paint the AC/DC girl’s life?”
“Yes.”
“How tall is tall for a woman?”
“Five seven.”
He was quiet.
“Hello?” I asked to check if he was still on the line.
“Shhhh. I’m picturing what you look like.”
“Uh, okay.” I felt a little awkward.
“I’m five eight,” he broke in suddenly. “And a half.”
“Is the half necessary?”
“It’s a strong half.”
“So it’s my turn to ask a question…” I thought for a moment. “What’s your favorite mode of transportation?”
“I have a car I’ve been restoring for years. Even before The Sweep. It’s a 1991 z28 Camaro. I’ve collected quite a few spare parts to keep her running all these years. Also, I prefer motorcycles to get around. I have a pretty sweet ride I’ve been using for a couple years now.”
“Men and their cars,” I chide.
“I’m half Asian.”
“What?” I was taken aback by his sudden switch in topic.
“My dad was white. My mom was Korean. You can see it in my eyes. They have a hint of her slant. I wish I had more. They were the most beautiful thing about her. So expressive. My sister was lucky to inherit them. I did get her long eyelashes, though. I have dark hair, all black. I keep it short. I like to wear T-shirts and shorts most of the time. Houston is hot almost year round. Except in the hospital. No amount of tampering will stop the cold from blowing in here. I’ll wear jeans if I’m on my motorcycle. My lips are full, like my dad’s. And I got his large hands, too. I like using them. Probably why I love fixing cars. My skin has color to it but not as dark as yours from what you described. And as I said before, I’m an inch and a half taller than you so if we were standing face to face with our eyes closed, my lips would be brushing your eyelids. That’s why I told you to be quiet. That’s what I was picturing for a moment.”
It was hard to breathe. Every word he spoke, the visual pieces he stacked in front of me, and the sensual images he pushed into my mind with his eyes and his large hands and his lips on me stole more and more of my breath until I thought I would burst.
“I didn’t ask you,” I told him breathlessly.
“And you wouldn’t have. But I needed you to know.”
I took in a much needed drag of air, not sure how to respond.
“Today was another first round day for my set ups so I have to get back to the lab,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Okay.”
“Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.” My responses felt robotic.
“Or it doesn’t need to wait. I’ll be around tonight.”
I gulped. “Um, okay.”
We’ve never done a night time phone call.
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
A night time phone call? It seemed so…personal. What was happening?
The phone slid from my ear before it started doing that angry hang-me-up-damn-it beeping after a few moments of neglect. I replaced the receiver and flopped back on the couch. My mind was a mix of jumbled thoughts.
But I needed you to know.
The words sounded so intimate. I felt my pulse twitch when he spoke them. He used his faraway voice when he said it and I closed my eyes as I felt it. For a moment it seemed like we were in the same room. I had ached to reach out and touch him. Thanks to his blabbermouth, I could now imagine where my fingers would go. They could play with his dark strands. Or feather over his long lashes. Or pad his full lips.
I didn’t realize my hand was between my legs until I felt the warm liquid coating my finger. I squeezed my eyes shut like someone just caught me sneaking booze out of a water bottle. I peeked an eye open, feeling ridiculous. The only watchful stare was Baloo’s.
But it was too watchful. Like he knew I was doing something private. I’ve humanized these friends of mine way too much. Because I swear, he does know.
I scowled at him and removed my hand. It’s better that I don’t go down that path anyway.
Only, now that he described his face, I couldn’t stop myself from standing at the front of the path and peering down it. And then taking a small, tentative step onto it. And then digging my toe in the dirt, looking around over-innocently like I’m just hanging out on the path to pick a few berries or do a little bird-watching, no biggie.
I shook off the mix of feelings and busied myself with chores. The seeds I’ve been drying needed to be prepped for freezing. I was out of flea pills and Bagheera’s been scratching. I could use some new music. I�
�ve never raided Eastside Hills for their iPods.
But these chores only warded off the temptation temporarily. Three hours later, I was running down the path. I was sprinting. I had my underwear around my ankles, imagining his voice in my ear, his laughter tingling my spine, and his dark eyes locked onto mine as my hand rubbed furiously until I was yelling out incoherent praises to a god I don’t even worship.
Chapter 14
Her
I poked through the cosmetics aisle at the pharmacy. A rainbow of human colored powders was spread out before me. I chose one that looked like the tone on the back of my hand (that was the right way to choose foundation, right?) and took off the clear safety wrap. I swiped a streak down my cheek but the aisle was too dark to know if the streak left a line of improvement on my face. I threw it in my pack as well as two shades to the right and left of it as well.
I also grabbed mascara, eye liner, lip stick, and blush. Today I was going to experiment. On the way out, I walked down the hair products aisle and after a short muse I also grabbed a pair of cutting shears and some red hair dye.
Back at my cottage I studied the products warily. It had always been me and my dad so I never did much in the way of altering my looks. The few times I did get decked out, my friends had a hand in it. I played with the different powders until I ended up blending two of them together to match my color. They softened some of the rough lines on my face and added a glow to my complexion.
I tentatively swiped some mascara over my lashes. I didn’t see much difference so I grew a little bolder and applied more. I chose the darkest of the red lipsticks and stained my mouth a deep maroon color with brown undertones. The result was a dramatic look. A bit too much.