by Tim Sandlin
“My grandfather was from New York. I guess you talk more like your family than your neighbors.”
He eyed me over a snickerdoodle. “Kid’s name was Martin Symons. Said his grandmother could heal by faith, she smoothed over scabs with Coca-Cola. Is that something people talk about down there?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
“I thought Symons’s accent was fake until he stepped on a mine he’d set out only ten minutes earlier. He was screaming, ‘M’laig, m’laig.’”
“Daddy got a Bronze Star,” Maurey said.
“What for?”
Buddy popped the cookie in his mouth and chewed as he talked. “Killing folks. Army put a lot of stock in that talent.”
“Oh.”
“Lot of things they send you to prison for are considered heroic in the right circumstances.”
“Like murder?”
“I’d never let a son of mine join the army.”
Petey rolled on his back and did a “Pow, pow” bit with his thumb and index finger. I decided Buddy Pierce wasn’t such a jerk after all.
Maurey kicked me with her foot. “Let’s go for a walk.”
“But the game’s not over.”
She swung her legs off the couch and bent down on a sock search. “I’m hungry.”
Wrong thing to say about the time Annabel brought in our third tray of homemade junk food. “I made coconut kisses.”
Petey yippied and made a run for the whatever.
Maurey said, “I want a malt. Get up, Sam.”
“Navy might pull it out.” Texas was up 28-6.
“Sam, this book makes me think of other things.” She sent me a heavy-duty meaningful move-it stare and I caught on.
“Yeah, a malt’s just what I need.”
***
The sky was the same color as the ground and low clouds hid the Tetons so it made GroVont seem like a town in an envelope. I was getting tired of off-white, maybe because winter in Grotina only lasts two and a half or three months and my body knew time should be up.
“Don’t you ever miss dirt?” I asked Maurey as we walked up Alpine.
“Is Lydia home?” Whenever I say something a woman doesn’t understand or want to hear, she doesn’t hear it. It’s not like she ignores me, more like migratory deafness.
“She’s down with a killer hangover. Her and Delores went into Jackson last night and she didn’t come home till dawn. She’d lost her shoes somewhere and about had frostbite.”
“So she’s at your house.”
“Dead asleep when I left. Hank called a couple times. I think she didn’t feel like a wholesome New Year’s Eve so they had a spiff.”
“Maybe she’ll sleep through it.”
I knew what “it” was so I shut up. Ft. Worth drove by in his new Ford pickup truck and waved at us. Then Soapley came by. Otis rode inside now, with his two good front feet up on the dash. I’d taken meat scraps to him several times lately and played with him some in the snow. Whenever Otis saw me he would wag his short tail and jump around, which made me feel bad because he didn’t know what I’d done. Soapley said it was okay. Otis didn’t remember he’d ever had more than three legs.
“Dogs only know how they feel right now,” Soapley had said. “They don’t know nothing about before or after.”
Soapley gave us the Wyoming road wave of four fingers with the thumb under the steering wheel.
“Is the leg still on your desk?” Maurey asked.
“I went to Kimball’s for Lydia’s cigarettes Friday and it was gone when I came home. I guess either her or Hank got rid of it.”
“It looked kind of gross next to the typewriter.”
I shrugged. I hadn’t seen all that much difference between a leg on a desk and a moose head on the wall. “It was starting to smell some.”
Dot drove by on her way to the White Deck. She pulled over and rolled down her window to ask if we wanted a ride. Dot had put on five more pounds since I met her. It was strange that I’d been in GroVont long enough to notice changes. I didn’t really like the idea.
“We’d rather walk, it’s a nice day,” Maurey said, which was a lie. It wasn’t a nice day, it was drab, and I’d rather have ridden.
“Chuckette Morris is having a party next Saturday night,” Maurey said after Dot moved on down the road. “You’re coming to it.”
Maurey had on this dark blue parka thing that made her hair look nice, as if her face was in a frame. It had giant caves for pockets and looked warm. Her parents had given it to her for Christmas.
I asked, “Why?”
Maurey glanced at me and smiled. “Chuckette thinks you have a cute nose. Weird, huh?”
“Chuckette told you this?”
“She asked me if you and I liked each other.”
“What’d you say?”
“I told her that was silly. Don’t look at me that way. She meant ‘like,’ as in the right way, as in boys and girls.”
“You like me but in the wrong way?”
“I like you as a friend.”
I thought that was the point. “As a friend is the right way to like somebody.”
Maurey put both hands in her parka pockets. “There’s two ways I can like, Sam—as a friend or as a boyfriend.”
“And the two ways never overlap?”
She laughed. “Of course not. I couldn’t talk like this to a boy I liked.”
What could I say? I was strung out on the girl I was sleeping with but we weren’t allowed to connect except on a deeper friendship level. I’d of had to be a grown-up not to be confused.
Maurey went on as if she didn’t know she was addling me. “She’s inviting four or five couples. Her mom is making fondue, that’s where you dip food into melted stuff.”
“I know what fondue is. Who will you be there with?”
She didn’t say anything for a few steps so I knew the answer wouldn’t be neat.
“Dothan Talbot.”
I stopped and she went on a ways, then turned back. “Don’t go all freaky on me, it’s just a date.”
“But he’s our mortal enemy.”
“He’s your mortal enemy.”
“Dothan cheered when John Kennedy died. He rubbed our faces in the snow.”
“He told me he’s sorry. He was jealous when he saw you sitting with me. He’s liked me since the fifth grade.”
“Do you like him, as in boys and girls the right way.”
She came toward me. “That’s not the point. Dothan’s sixteen and can drive a car. We could double with you and Chuckette sometime. You need to get out and meet people.”
“Me and Chuckette.”
“She’s got a lot of personality.”
***
In my room we undressed quietly so as to not wake Lydia.
“You remember when Delores was saying she gets wet just from talking about doing it?” Maurey asked.
“Kim Schmidt tore this T-shirt in gym a couple of weeks ago. Look at that.”
“I think I know what she means. I was reading Lolita and there was this part where a real old man and a girl went to the edge of doing it.”
“Perfectly good shirt. I look like a hobo.”
“Then the author skipped like they all do, but now I know what happened next. And I got kind of excited.”
“You’re wearing a bra.”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it, Sam. If you make a big deal I’m going home.”
“Do you need a bra?”
“A young lady of sexual experience must be aware of certain things.”
“If you’re doing it, you should wear a bra whether you need one or not?”
“I need one. Or I will soon. Look at that.”
“Where?”
“Don’t be a doof, Sam.”
“Let’s stand side by side next to the mirror and see if your chest sticks out more than mine.”
We tried and Maurey was right. She did have breasts. The one on the right was a tad bigger than the one on the left. We moved to the bed.
“What’s this?” Maurey asked.
“A mole.”
“You sure it’s not cancer.”
“If it turns black and falls off it’s cancer. Right now it’s just a mole.”
“Does it hurt if I touch it?”
“I don’t think so. It feels kind of neat.”
“Touch me there.”
“Can we kiss this time? It seems weird to learn all this stuff about doing it and not learn how to kiss.”
“Have you ever kissed a girl? Move your fingers in a circle now.”
“Of course I’ve kissed girls. Loads.”
“I bet you haven’t. I bet you got screwed before you got kissed.”
“I have too kissed girls.”
“Let’s see if you can kiss. Only no getting syrupy. It’s only practice.”
I went in for what seemed like a Rock Hudson-Doris Day knock-your-socks-off smacker.
Maurey said, “Open your mouth, for Chrissake.”
“Let me try again.”
“Stick out your tongue this time.”
“Right.”
***
“Not like that. Move it around some. Softer, like a lick, not like you’re mad at somebody. Pretend you’re down there only the crack goes sideways instead of up and down.”
“Where’d you learn so much about kissing?”
***
“That one was better, only less suction and open your mouth even wider. Try to touch as much of me at once as you can.”
“I bet you’ve kissed Dothan Talbot lots of times.”
“It’s time for you to make me wet now.”
“But I’m enjoying this. Can’t you get wet this way?”
“I’m tingly. I want to see what it feels like with your tongue. Try licking your way down.”
I did Maurey’s neck and the little brown bull’s-eye tits, right first, then left. It was kind of fun, like feeding on a pool table. I played in her belly-button hole awhile until she pushed me down lower. Her breathing was different, faster.
“You’re gonna be good at this someday,” Maurey said.
“I’m good at it now.”
When I finally licked down to the taco shell, I went way to the bottom and deep for a few seconds, then up to the top where Mom had shown us the magic spot. By listening to Maurey’s breathing, I could tell what was what—when to go up or down or around, when to put on more pressure or less. I must have been at it a good while because I went into a neat Hayley Mills fantasy.
“Oh, Sam, you make me so wet. I’m nothing but a sponge under your lips.”
“Oh, Hayley Mills.”
“Oh, Sam Callahan.”
It sunk in that Maurey’s breath had jumped a pitch. Her back was arched against me and her fingers dug at my ears.
“Had enough?” I asked.
“Stop now and I’ll kill you.”
Then she went louder and moved into audible peeps. I put on some more pressure and Maurey went nuts. Made painful noises and scratched my one ear. Her spine came way up high, banged her magic spot against my teeth, then she fell back deadlike.
I stopped. “Did I hurt you?”
“Holy moley.”
“Maurey. I think we did something wrong.”
“Holy moley.”
“Can you move?”
“Come here, Sammy.”
I crawled up the bed and she put her arm around me. I lay in the hollow under her collarbone, next to her little tit. It felt nice, like maybe we were really dating now and not just practicing.
“What happened?” I asked.
“My body blew up.”
“That’s peculiar.”
“I wonder if I messed something up, like maybe I can’t have children anymore.”
“Maybe it’s the other way around, maybe we made you pregnant and that was the baby being made.”
Maurey went quiet. I put a hand on her tummy, where I imagined the explosion had created a new kid. “I better go talk to Lydia,” she said.
“She’s asleep, unless all that noise woke her.”
“She can tell me if anything like this ever happened before. Maybe it’s normal.”
“Maybe all women blow up when they fuck.”
“I don’t see how what I just did could be normal.”
“Mom’ll know, she’s experienced.”
Maurey started to slide off the bed. I sat up and grabbed her arm. “But I haven’t put it in yet.”
She friend-kissed my cheek and held my thing, “It’ll keep.”
“I’m ready to get off now.”
“This is important, Sam. Your thing will keep.”
***
The special that night at the White Deck was navy beans and hamhock with cornbread. I’d never had beans before we came to Wyoming. Lydia considered beans peasant food and worried about gas. The gas worry might have been for real. Personally, I was a kid, I looked forward to farts, except in class. Anyone who farted in class might as well commit suicide right there for all the bile that was heaped on him.
Lydia had a steak. She was trying to lose weight, although she didn’t tell anybody but me, and she’d decided to become a meatatarian. She went over a month on meat, Dr Pepper, and coffee—lost seven pounds, but gained it back again as soon as she returned to normal person’s food.
“Did Hank call?” she asked.
“You know he did. He called four times while you were pretending to be asleep.”
“I never pretend anything.” Lydia inspected her teeth in her knife. She was really paranoid about talking to someone with a chunk of meat hanging out. Dot came by to refill our coffee.
“I hear you’re going to Charlotte Morris’s party,” she said.
Lydia kind of arched an eyebrow at me. She’d never heard of Charlotte Morris.
I looked down at cold beans. “Guess so, I’ve never been to a party out West. What happens?”
“Same things as a party out East. Records and games where you get flirty with girls other than your date. You’ll probably end up in a closet with someone. That always happened to me.”
“Never happened to me,” Lydia said.
“That’s where Jimmy and me kissed the first time, Annabel Watkins’s front-hall closet. She’s Maurey’s mother now. Jimmy kissed me and I like to died. We went steady for seven years, then graduated and got married. You want pie, it’s lemon.”
I smiled and Dot took that as a yes. Lemon pie is good but I scrape off the meringue. I’m not into meringue.
Dot brought my pie while Lydia sipped on her third cup of coffee. No wonder it took a pint of Gilbey’s to put her under at night.
“So you got Maurey off today,” Lydia said.
I shaped the meringue into a little snowman with my spoon. “I guess so. We didn’t know what it was when it happened.”
“It was a female orgasm. Females who don’t get them lead sad and cheerless lives.”
“It seemed a lot different from a male orgasm.”
“As different as ice cream and gin.”
“Why do they use the same word?”
As with any question she can’t answer, Lydia ignored me. “Maurey’s life will never be quite the same again. It’s like hearing music for the first time.”
“Do you think she’ll like me now?”
Lydia did an eye squint at me, then went back to her coffee. “She’ll always have a warm spot in her heart when she thinks of you.”
“Is that the same as romantic liking?”
“No. Giving or
gasms will make you popular, but it won’t get you loved. You’re lucky. Being popular is more fun.”
“I’d rather have her like me.”
Lydia lit a Tarreyton. “Here’s the deal, Sam. If you sleep with a girl, and afterwards she still likes you as a friend”—Lydia did body language quotation marks with her hands on “as a friend”—“then she’s always going to like you as a friend and she’s never going to like you as a lover and there’s nothing in the hell-bitch world you can do about it.”
I considered this over my pie, which really was good, by the way. Good lemon pie goes to those front-of-the-tongue taste buds and dances. It didn’t seem fair that there are two ways of liking someone and girls have total control over which way things happened. Why didn’t I have a say in the deal? I didn’t know if I wanted to grow up and marry Maurey, but I wanted to hold hands with her on the street or buy her a Valentine card or tell the guys in gym class I had a girlfriend.
Unlike the books, fucking or not fucking didn’t seem to have any say in which of the two ways a girl liked a boy. Chuckette Morris liked me the right way and we’d never spoken over six words to each other, but Maurey didn’t and I’d given her an orgasm.
“What’s a female orgasm feel like?” I asked Lydia.
She took a lung-killer hit on her cigarette, as if she fully intended to smoke the whole thing in one big suck. When she exhaled I felt lost in a Hollywood fog machine.
“There are certain things one sex should keep secret from the other.”
“Come on, Lydia, Maurey first said her body blew up, then she said it didn’t. Is it a spaz thing like mine?”
“It’s more like being underwater and your body expands in every direction at once.”
“Is this literal or metaphorical?”
Dot came over to drop off the check and Lydia asked her. “Sam wants to know what an orgasm feels like.”
Dot went into Jell-O–jiggle laughter. “I swear, I never know what’s going to come out of you two’s mouths. Ya’ll are as entertaining as TV.”
Lydia took that as a compliment.
12
Jackie Gleason waddled up to the podium and blew into the microphone. The immense crowd at the Wyoming State Fair rustled and grew quiet as wind over the prairie. Mr. Gleason turned sideways so he could see the three women and speak into the mike at the same time.