A Little Girl
Opens the door. She’s about six and looks
like an Irish doll—with bright green eyes
and soft red curls. Daddy! It’s Trey!
Trey reaches down, scoops her up.
How’s my little Devon tonight?
The affection between them is clear.
The doorway shadows. Brad is younger
than I pictured him, somewhere in his late
twenties, and there is a definite resemblance
to Trey. Okay, you get what I mean by
that. For an older guy, he’s really cute.
LaTreya stands behind him, attached like a tail.
Trey pushes inside, reaches around
Brad to tickle LaTreya under the chin.
She can’t help but giggle. Stop it, Trey!
Trey reaches for my hand, pulls me across
the threshold. Hey, everyone, this is Kristina.
He kisses my forehead. Isn’t she pretty?
The kids give dubious looks, and I suspect
a fair amount of jealousy. They want to be
his girls. [Tell them to get in line.]
Brad, however, gives me his instant stamp
of approval. She sure is. Lucky you. Go on
upstairs. Ladies, you can watch TV, okay?
Devon gives a little Aw, but LaTreya, who’s
older, knows enough to take her into the other
room and turn on the oversize flat panel.
I trail Trey up the stairs to a studio over
the garage. Like the rest of the house, this
room is nicely kept, with a quilted bed beneath
the window and a fluffy futon against the opposite
wall. Apparently, this is the party room. A faint
scent of crystal lingers above vanilla air freshener.
We settle onto the futon and Trey puts
his arm around my shoulders, pulls me close.
Brad looked like he wanted to eat you.
I do too. And I’ve got first dibs. Don’t
worry. I promise it won’t hurt, unless you
want it to. He nibbles my neck for effect.
Thankfully Brad’s footsteps interrupt,
or I might have let Bree throw Trey
on the bed right then and there.
Brad can’t help but notice the way
I’m blushing. Wow, cuz. What did you
do to the girl, in only three minutes?
Trey answers with a laugh. Three
minutes is a long time to wait.
We were getting bored.
I can fix that, says Brad. I’ve got
just the thing right here. He goes
into the bathroom, digs in a cabinet,
returns with a quart Tupperware
container. It’s filled to the brim with
the same crystal Trey had yesterday.
My eyes go wide and my mouth
starts to water. Just call me Pavlov’s
pooch. And within a few short minutes,
no way could we be bored. Despite
no sleep last night, I’m wide awake
and flying. And the higher I go,
the more I want more of the guy
sitting next to me. OMG. Maybe
Kevin is right about me, after all.
We Make the Deal
Exchange our pooled cash
for a spectacular stash,
one-quarter ounce for me,
one-quarter ounce for Trey.
We smoke several bowls,
climb higher and higher,
until it feels like my heart
might explode, drown
me from the inside out
with iced-over blood.
Damn, it feels great and so
do I. [Me too, me too.]
Why does feeling like you
could die any moment
give you such an incredible
rush? [Who cares? Go with it.]
Finally Brad glances at his
watch. Oops. Ten fifteen.
Better get the girls to bed.
You two make yourselves at home.
Trey walks with him to the door,
pokes his head into the hall behind
him, says something I can’t quite
make out, except for the words
“alone time.” He closes the door,
dims the overhead light,
walks to me slowly. Oh, God,
he’s so impossibly fine I can’t
believe I’m here with him.
His hands cover mine, pull.
I believe you said something
about our second date?
I should say no, know I should
say no. But I don’t. “Okay.”
And then we’re on the bed,
and our clothes are off and his
body is hard and smooth
and brown. He kisses me—
full on the mouth, hard
on the mouth, and when he moves
lower, I begin to tremble. Shiver.
Suddenly I start to cry.
He stops, rests his chin on my
belly, looks into my eyes. You okay?
I nod. “It’s just…it’s been a really
long time. I don’t know if…”
He grins. It’s like riding a bike.
Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.
And then he does things no
one has ever done, takes me places
I’ve never been, and my tears
turn to cries of indescribable joy.
After We’re Through
He holds me, strokes
my damp hair, softly
kisses my face. And in
a moment
of weakness, I confess,
“That’s the first time.”
He doesn’t understand.
“The first time
I ever had a…a…” I
can’t bring myself to
say the word, so I try,
“…you know.”
Realization dawns and he
smiles, dimple to dimple.
Really? Want another one?
His touch
is like the perfect wave,
one you can surf but just
barely. It lifts me,
thrills
me, nearly engulfs me
as we crest together and
he knows I had another
“you know.”
And he knows he’ll never
have to take it by force,
never have to insist You know
you want it,
because he knows what
he has just given me
is something I’ll lust for
forever.
We Drift for a While
Wired and tired and toasted.
We touch and kiss and talk
about where we’ve been,
where we might go
from here.
Back to work.
Back to the valley.
Back to freaky Kevin.
Back to my mom, Hunter.
Back to you…but when?
Back to school.
Back to Stockton.
Back to freaky Robyn.
Back to my apartment.
Back to you…but when?
I know it
won’t be that long.
After all, I’m here, and
I’ll be waiting. And if that’s
not enough, his connect is here too.
All Evidence of Our Tryst
Soaped and watered
away, hair neatly combed,
makeup completely gone,
Trey takes me [and a whole
lot of crystal] back to my car.
He kisses me one more time.
Careful driving home. It’s pretty
late. The cops will be on the prowl.
He guides me into my c
ar.
I’ll be in touch soon, okay?
I look up into his eyes, hoping
to find honesty. But I realize
I’m not completely sure what
honesty is. Not honesty between
a guy and a girl, anyway. “Okay.”
I drive home, thinking about
honesty. I drive home, thinking
about possibilities. I drive home,
thinking about rediscovery. I drive
home, sifting thoughts of Trey.
Always, in the Past
I’ve measured the seasons by holidays,
how we spend them. This year, so close
on the heels of the birthday/baptism
fiasco, and with Hunter still too young
to care, Halloween was a non-event.
We stayed home, no trick-or-treaters
in sight. Never are up here on the hill.
Still, Mom always
buys candy, just
in case.
It’s been a little over three weeks since Trey
and I were together, and I can’t get him
out of my mind. At work, at home, amidst
Thanksgiving preparations, he’s all I can
think about. Well, Trey and ice. Every
morning before work, I get high.
Every day after work before I go
home, I get high. Not too high, just
maintenance high. I’m at the point
where that’s enough to stay semisane,
but not so much that I can’t eat.
A little.
Sleep.
A little.
I know I’ve got to sleep a lot soon.
Suffer the crash-and-burn. Come down
all the way. But with a fabulous stash
within easy reach, I don’t know how to
make myself do that. I’ve heard after
a while your body will just shut down,
speed or no speed. I’m almost looking
forward to that. Today is Thanksgiving.
I’ve got to work, so Mom is planning
the feast for after four. Turkey and all
the trimmings.
Ugh! How
will I do
that?
At Least Kevin Won’t Be in Today
Apparently even perverts
celebrate Thanksgiving.
And oh, is he ever
the pervert.
I hate when he comes
into the store, all steamy
and leering. Hate that he
won’t leave me alone.
His back room “chats”
now include touchy-
feely games.
But I don’t
know how to make
him back off. I need
the paycheck, don’t
want to piss him off
by telling him he makes
me want to hurl. I think
he knows I’m high, think
he’s high himself,
and that makes him even
more determined to back
me into a corner. Literally.
So far I’ve managed
to extricate myself without
getting physical, relying
on what’s left of my brain
to use a little humor,
crack jokes about my baby
fat or how Mom always warned
me against storeroom sex.
So far, I’ve managed
not to let him kiss me or
touch me under my green
smock. So far I’ve managed
to keep him at bay.
It Being a Holiday
And the Sev actually being open,
we’re getting a lot of customers.
Seems everyone forgot whipping
cream or cranberry sauce.
We are currently out of both.
Personally, I am currently out
of cigarettes. I reach for hard
pack Marlboros, tell Midge,
“I’m taking a smoke break.”
It’s arctic cold outside.
They say a storm is moving in.
With luck, we’ll have snow
before Christmas. As I consider
hitting the slopes, my cell rings.
The voice makes me shiver.
Hey, you. You at work?
That sucks. Well, I’m in town
for Turkey Day. I want to see
you. When can we get together?
Trey wants me, I’m there.
I know we should wait until
tomorrow. But I can’t. “Will
you come pick me up after
dinner?” Mom will be livid.
But I couldn’t care less.
Livid Doesn’t Cover It
down the last bite of pumpkin pie.
I managed to eat a little of everything
Mom cooked, and even as “maintenance”
wired as I am, it tasted better than cardboard.
I help with the dishes, then turn to leave
the kitchen. Where are you going? asks
Mom. Hunter needs a diaper change.
I lift him from his infant seat, sniff
his lavender-scented head. “Can you
watch him for me tonight? I’ve got
a date.” I grit my teeth, anticipate the fall
of Mom’s ax. It’s a heavy swing.
You’ve got a what? Kristina, you can’t
be serious. It’s Thanksgiving, for chrissake!
This is supposed to be a family day.
“Mom, you don’t understand. Trey
is here for the holiday weekend. He has
to go back to Stockton soon. I have to see
him. I…” OMG! I’m ready to admit it
for the first time. “…I’m in love with him.”
How can you love him, Kristina? You
hardly even know him. And what about
your baby? Don’t you love him anymore?
Bam! Bam! That hurts, but not as much
as it should. “Of course I still love Hunter.
But I need the other kind of love too.
Anyway, I’m eighteen. I can do as I please.
You can’t stop me from leaving.”
She draws even, anger flickering in her
eyes. You have responsibilities, a child
who needs you. What if I refuse to babysit?
[Go ahead. Call her bluff. You know
she won’t let you do it.] “Then I’ll
just have to take him with me.”
As if intuiting what that might mean,
Hunter puckers up, starts to cry.
Mom snatches him from my arms..
Go on. Go out. Get out of my house.
But someday you’ll regret this.
She May Be Right
But I can’t worry about that now.
I go upstairs, clean up, dress hot.
I’ve got to be hot for Trey.
I’m in love with him.
That scares the hell out of me.
Love is the first step toward
breaking up. [Come on. Love
makes making love better.]
Trey calls to tell me he’s almost
here. I leave without saying
good-bye, wait for him outside,
feeling guilty. Anxious.
One thing’s for certain. I may
be in love with Trey. But I’m
not going to tell him so. He
just might make a U-turn and run.
Headlights. He’s here, and
I’m leaving, no turning back.
The Mustang purrs up the drive,
and the passenger door opens.
Trey leans toward me, smiles,
and there is no baby behind
me, no Mom, stepfather,
little brother. No lef
tovers.
There is only soft black leather,
classic rock on the radio (he
remembered!), the scent of crank-
tainted Brut, the taste of Trey.
The Freeway Is Deserted
Everyone still at their tables,
or catching a football game.
Trey drives over the limit
to Red Rock today, chancing
the odd cop, who doesn’t
materialize. Brad and the girls
are still at the family shindig.
We have the place all to ourselves.
We’re barely through the front
door and already kissing like
there won’t be a tomorrow, and
if there isn’t, this time together
will be worth every irate word
at home. Finally, Trey pulls away.
Do you know how much I want
you? Let’s go upstairs, okay?
And it’s more than okay. It’s
necessary. We indulge in a taste
of the monster, losing our clothes
before we’re finished. Then I’m
back in his arms and he’s doing
those things to me again, those
things I’ve only read about before
making love with Trey. They’re real.
He takes his time, shows me new
ways to make him feel good too.
Fueled by ice, it all takes a very