by Lazaro Lima
After that, I have to fuck her. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me going with a tall girl. I have to at least see her buck naked. I have to go down on her.
I take her home after the second date and it’s not what I expect. I mean usually I don’t get nervous. I’ve been a butch all my life, started dating girls when I turned twelve and I’m twenty-six now and I’ve never been nervous. But with Pegoña, it’s different. Maybe it’s the height thing. I stand there in my kitchen handing her a Corona and thinking: how am I going to pull this off ?
Or maybe it’s something else about her. The girl wears these low-cut blouses and the black pants are so tight on her so she’s definitely femme but she’s not girly. It’s like she’s about to kick your ass the way she walks. When she comes into my apartment, she starts thumbing through my CD collection and pulls out what she wants to play.
She makes the first move when we’re sitting on the sofa, which is just fine by me, and I’m cursing myself ’cause maybe I should have had more than one beer. I’m too sober. But then we’re kissing and it’s good. She kisses the way she walks: like she owns everything. And then home-girl just kicks back and takes off her blouse in one move. Here’s the crazy part: I don’t notice her porn star tetas. I mean I see them and the lacy maroon bra, but there’s this tattoo across the lower part of her belly.
“Fuck or fight,” I read aloud. When I look up, she’s just smiling. “What does that mean?”
“Why don’t ya find out for yourself ?”
I don’t remember what answer I gave ’cause next thing I know we’re wrestling on the Andean rug my mom brought back from Peru. And this ain’t like some fake wrestling. The girl’s strong and even though I can hold my own and beat her, I realize after a few minutes that we’re not going to have sex unless I give up. So I do.
Sex with a tall girl ain’t nothing like doing it with a short one. That’s what I tell Mari a few days later at the bar in Hoboken, where we go for happy hour on Fridays. “It’s like you can’t get enough.” I take another swig of my beer. “Every time you turn around there’s more of her. It’s fucking great.”
“You’re seeing her again?”
“Tonight.”
Mari shakes her head.
“What?”
“You always get like this,” Mari says, waving the bartender over to us.
“Like what?”
“Remember Great Adventure two years ago? You couldn’t hit the biggest roller coaster just one time. No. That ain’t enough for shorty. You weren’t satisfied till you’d gone on it five times and you’re so sick that you’re face down puking saliva and they gotta call paramedics. It’ll be the same thing with Cleavage.”
“Shut up,” I say, looking for the cigarettes in my bag and grinning. “And don’t call her Cleavage. Have some respect.”
Pegoña and I hang mostly at my apartment in Jersey because she’s not out to her family in Washington Heights and she shares an apartment with her sister, who, she says, sort of suspects but nothing’s been said, so you know how that goes. Now usually I wouldn’t put up with that shit. If you love me, you gotta love me everywhere. You don’t have to go down on me in public, but I’m not down with that “Let’s act like we’re hermanas in case your mom sees us.” And anyway, most people guess about me so it ain’t usually an option.
But this time, with Pegoña, I’m like, “Sure, that’s fine.” Actually I’m goddamned relieved. I mean the sex is good. Real good. But you know it’s one thing to spend all your time lying down in bed. You don’t really notice who’s short, who’s tall, and there’s just so much of her. But it’s another thing to be standing up. The first time I tried to hold her from behind, I ended up with my face in her armpit.
It’s just weird. It’s bad enough being gay. My mom is cool with it but I still have a tía that won’t talk to me and … I don’t know. I guess I like looking normal with my girlfriends. Life’s hard enough so why make it harder?
My mom thinks we look like freaks. She told me so when I introduced her to Peggy. Mami just smiled and nodded and when homegirl was out the door, she was straight up. “That morena’s made for the Amazon.” She shook her head. “What are you doing? Going up a ladder each time?”
I roll my eyes at her. This is one of those times I wish I lived someplace else. But my mom and I split a house in Jersey. I got the basement, she’s got the top floor and we rent out the first level to eight Salvadoran guys. Usually it works. She doesn’t see who I bring home and I don’t have to know what loser she’s found. But on the downside, when she says stupid things, all I can do is go down to my place.
She turns on the TV in her kitchen. “You haven’t been with anyone since that other morena dumped you two years ago.”
“I been ’round.”
“Is this one Dominican too? ’Cause I never seen a Dominican that tall.”
I nod. “You think Pegoña and I look weird?”
She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know about that stuff. But I guess nothing matters when you’re lying down. Like my brother used to say, ‘Who cares what the girl’s legs look like? You just push them aside.’”
“Ma!”
“¿Qué?”
“I like this girl. Show some respect.”
Being tall doesn’t bother Peggy. It used to. She lived in Union City for a few years when she was young and the kids had names for her and jokes too. “I took it for two weeks,” she says, grinning. “Then I realized I could beat them up and it was cool. You just gotta get the respect.”
I know that too because I’ve always been the runt, even back in pre-K when you’re supposed to be small. The teacher almost didn’t take me the first day. She thought my mom was lying about my age. And then when I got into the school, the kids started on me. But I was tough. I didn’t take crap from anybody. By the time I was done with pre-K, I’d fought every kid, even a tall one too. When it came to time with the trucks, I had first dibs.
Peggy kisses my cheek and then my earlobe, which tickles the shit out of me. “You’re so cute,” she says, “I wouldn’t have beat you up.”
I roll my eyes and, in one move, flip her over and I’m on top and it comes out my mouth: “I love you.” She tells me I’m crazy, so I say, “I still love you.” She says it too and I forget what we were talking about.
The more time we spend together, the more often we go out. It’s crazy. I don’t want people to think we’re together, because … well, maybe we do look like freaks, but at the same time, I want people to know we’re together. And sometimes they need to know. Like the other day, we go to the mall and we’re standing in line waiting to pay for Peggy’s new jeans and this asshole just starts talking to her. Starts talking to her. Motherfucker doesn’t even look my way and when she ignores him, he just keeps kicking it to her.
I go to put my arm around Peggy’s waist, but she grabs me by the wrist and narrows her eyes at me. I think she’s about to say something to me, but she cuts into the guy. “Leave me alone, OK? I’m not interested.”
“Whoa, mamita,” the guy says, putting up his hands. “Chill. I just wanted to give ya some love. Damn, girl.”
The register lady is now waving her hands and I’m pushing Peg’s jeans on the counter. “Will this be all?” she asks but I don’t get to answer because Peg says, “Excuse me but do you have a store policy to let guys harass women while they’re waiting in line?”
The register chick apologizes but Peggy mutters “whatever” and pulls out her credit card.
Walking back to the car, she goes on and on about all the shit women gotta take from men. When we’re in the car, she’s done complaining about the guy and is on to me. “Are you crazy grabbing me like that? I told you my tía comes to this mall all the time. She could have seen us. What were you thinking?”
I grin. “That you were my bitch.” I’m hoping the joke will calm her.
She puts the car in park. We’re in line waiting to exit and the car behind us starts honking. “Are yo
u intentionally trying to piss me off ?” I stare out the passenger window. She can actually be such a bitch sometimes, making little shit into big arguments. But it’s cool. I’ve already figured her out. Just let her yell, agree with her, and then it’s alright.
Things are good between Peggy and me for something like three months. We spend every weekend together. On Sundays we stay in bed and watch movies from Blockbuster. We eat food ma makes and Peggy organizes my CD collection and takes over half the closet.
Life’s good.
But I know it’s going to fuck up sooner or later. I just don’t expect it to go down at the Javits Center.
I take Peggy there because it’s the gay and lesbian business convention and I’ve got tickets from a friend. I’ve been before and I know it’s a damn good place to drink free booze and stock up on free camisetas, water bottles, pens, and get entered into those prize getaway vacations nobody ever wins.
Peggy and I walk in and find a bunch of white boys glued to the booth for vacations in Mexico. The guy behind the table is wearing khakis and a white T-shirt and saying, “The hotel will be closing down for a full weekend in February and opening itself to the gay community.”
I’m looking at a brochure, thinking maybe I should save up for this shit, when out of nowhere Peggy takes my hand. I don’t notice it at first ’cause she’s just dragging me away from the table. But then she keeps holding it and I look at her like “what the fuck?” and pull my hand away.
“Lou, I wanna hold your hand,” she says. “It’s OK here.” She gives me that “I don’t wanna fight—I wanna fuck you” smile and then starts walking and there I am getting my brown ass dragged down the aisle of gay and lesbian dot-com companies.
People stare at us. Actually, they stare at Peggy. She’s a looker, but I’m there attached to her like a small dog. I don’t know what to do. This hasn’t happened before. So, I do what I can to avoid holding her hand. I get us shopping bags and start filling them. Free Post-it notes, free key chains, free water bottles. “Why are you taking that?” she asks as I throw in a magazine of naked guys.
“It’s free.”
She laughs and hugs me. Usually I love her hugs, the way she grabs me up into her body and my face gets squished in that space between her tits, but this time I just pull away.
“What’s wrong?” Peg asks.
I point like an idiot. “Enter us in that contest.” She puts our names in to win face lotion, hand lotion, lipstick, a car, a Hawaii vacation, a new CD. She signs us up to get information on condos in the Poconos and bed and breakfast places in Provincetown. I follow her, holding the bags.
We get back to the stage where a black drag queen’s joking with the audience and introducing a band. Drag queens. At that moment, I wish more than anything to just be a drag queen. They get up on stage and because everybody expects them to be freaks, they ain’t freaks. Like here’s this six-foot-tall homeboy in stiletto heels and a long dress and nobody in the room thinks he’s a freak. But you know when that boy goes home, he goes home to a six-foot-tall boyfriend.
I tell Pegoña that I need a drink and go for the vodkas. They have this long-ass rectangular table with vodka in every flavor. We’re talking raspberry, strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, and still it’s all vodka. At first it’s Pegoña and me taking one shot of strawberry. I’m not a big drinker and it burns my throat. Pegoña says, “I’m going to the beer table.” I nod and tell the guy who has thick blond-dyed hair to give me a real shot, not these tiny-ass tasters.
“Testers all we got, hon,” he says, pouring me another.
I taste two more flavors of vodka, but when I get to the chocolate I can’t stop. I wouldn’t have stopped either if the tester fag hadn’t put up his hand and said, “I can’t serve you anymore.”
“C’mon man. Don’t be like that.”
“You’ve had enough.”
“I’m fine.” I get up and the room doesn’t spin. “See?”
“Then go for free hits at another table.”
Fine. As I walk away, I realize the room’s tilted and my head feels swollen. I try focusing on a group of white dykes at another stand drinking beer, but they keep moving, blurring almost. I’ve got bags in both hands when Pegoña grabs me by the shoulders like she’s my girl or like I’m her girl and I catch that group of dykes laughing at us. Laughing. They ain’t pointing. They’re just looking at me and Peg and laughing. Maybe I’m imagining it. I drank too much. But no, they are laughing. I can tell when somebody’s laughing at me. I pull away from Pegoña.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing. I’m tired. You wanna go?”
That’s the wrong shit to say. Pegoña lifts my chin. “Ay, pobrecita. ¿Estás cansada?” and she kisses me. Kisses me. I pull my head away and she asks in a loud voice, “What’s wrong?”
“Peg, lower your voice.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.”
“Since when have you been too tired to kiss me?”
“Lower your voice.”
“I’ll talk as loud as I want.”
Pegoña turns around and walks away fast. I mean that kinda fast that says “I’m going to fuck you up in a bad way the minute I calm down.” She walks past the white dykes and when I pass them, they pucker their lips and make kissing noises and one of them says, “Kiss and make up, shorty.”
I throw both bags at them but miss and the shit just goes all over the floor. Who cares? I’m too dizzy to run after Peg, but I can see the top of her head. She heads straight for the bathroom and goes in one of the stalls. The glare of the lights is crazy in there and makes me wince. My head feels bloated. How much did I drink?
Pegoña comes out and washes her hands. She checks her eye makeup, wipes the corner of her lips, and walks past me like she doesn’t know me. I follow her. “Peggy, stop walking away from me.”
She spins around outside the bathroom door and points her hand to her chest. “You talking to me? I know you ain’t talking to me till you ready to explain to me what bug is up your ass.”
“Just calm down, OK?”
“This is calm. You ain’t seen nothing if you think this is not calm.”
“I’m just tired. I drank too much. I just want to go home. Can we do that?”
“I ain’t going home with you when you just stand there in public and diss me like that. What was up with that?”
“Baby, look, I didn’t mean it that way. I drank too much.”
She narrows her eyes at me and I can tell she’s thinking that one over.
“You’re full of shit,” she says. “I’ve seen your ass drunk. This ain’t it.”
I cover my face and listen—along with every other homo that walks by—as she says, “You haven’t wanted to hold my hand since we got here. What the fuck’s up with that and you’d drunk nothing then. So how you explain that? And you haven’t wanted to be anywhere near me. What’s up with that? You think I’m blind?”
She had a point. Bitch had a point. In private I’m always hanging on her. I can never be near her without touching her.
“What’s going on, Lou?”
I shrug my shoulders. My mouth still tasted like chocolate and vodka.
“Are you messing around?” she asks. “Do you got another girl that’s here?”
“No. No, I’m not cheating.”
“Then what is it?”
“I just wanna go home.”
I see a look on her face I haven’t seen before. I can’t tell if she’s gonna scream again or what, but she mumbles, “Let’s go,” and starts walking.
In the car, I kick back in the passenger seat. It feels good to rest my head, which is still feeling like it’s full of water. Shit. I hate getting drunk. You just end up wasting a day. Like now. It’s six thirty on a Saturday but the night’s shot.
And Peg’s still angry. I try holding her hand but she puts it on the steering wheel, curling her fingers and acrylics. As
we’re going through the tunnel, I know she’s not going to stay tonight. She just stares at me when we pull up in front of my house. She doesn’t say anything.
“Look, baby, I just wasn’t feeling well.” At this point, it’s not a lie. The vodka is fucking with my stomach. “C’mon inside. Let’s just forget today.”
She looks at the car stereo. “You know I don’t do that. I don’t go kissing girls in public like that, not even in gay places. That took a lot for me today.” She looks at me now. “And you fucked it up.”
I lean back, put my foot on the glove compartment. Shit. “I’m sorry. I fucked up but I’m sorry, alright?” When she doesn’t say anything, I add, “I just felt weird. I mean didn’t you feel weird?”
Her face softens and I think, I’m winning her over to my side. “Peggy, people were looking at us the whole time. It’s just a little uncomfortable when you’re in a gay place and even the gay people are staring at you.”
She doesn’t say anything and I think, keep going. She’s getting it. “Peg, it was like people were staring and going ‘look at that short girl with the tall one.’ They were laughing at us. I’m sorry. I just felt weird.”
She frowns but nods her head and stares straight ahead. “People were looking at us because you’re short and I’m tall.” She repeats it then. “Because you’re short and I’m tall.” She says it a little louder that second time. And then, she repeats it again. “Because you’re short and I’m tall.” She says it another two times until finally I’m like, “Yes. Will you lower your voice?”
“Get outta my car,” she says.
“Peg, don’t be like that.”
“GET OUT !”
“C’mon, don’t—”
She closes her eyes. “You are such a freak.”
She’s joking. Either she’s fucking with me or I drank too much and ain’t hearing her right.
“You’re a freak, you know that? You are the only person on this fucking planet that gives a shit how short you are. You are so full of yourself to think that your five feet matters to anybody but you. You need to get a life, you know that? And you need to get out of my car.”