Thinking About Dad
Coming home early
reminds me I’d better
give him a heads-up.
First I click up the furnace.
As always, it’s freezing
inside when I get home.
“Get comfy,” I tell Monica,
“while I call my dad and
tell him about the car.
Otherwise, he’d probably
freak out if he saw
it in the driveway.”
Okay. But do we really
have to eat pizza rolls?
Is there anything fresh
in the ’frigerator?
I can cook, you know.
“Not sure. But my fridge
is your fridge. If you find
something to whip up, I’ll
eat it. I trust you know how.”
Bueno, pero primero . . .
Yes, but first she positions
herself so close to me there
are barely molecules between
us. She lifts up on her toes
to match my height, and . . .
I’ve Dreamed About This Kiss
For days.
For weeks.
For months.
And, just maybe,
for the entire part
of my life
that had any
clear notion
of what a kiss
could—or
should—be.
Oh.
My.
Serious.
God.
Our mouths fuse.
Tongues converge.
But there’s more.
So much more.
And, yes, there’s longing,
upwelling from places
we’ve yet to explore,
but that’s not the genesis.
Because the bond between
us begins heart to heart.
This, My Third Kiss
Takes my literal breath
away. I so want to tell her
I love her, but I know if I do
I’ll jinx us, and this duality
we’ve merged into.
But Monica doesn’t hesitate
to declare, Te amo más que
la vida misma. Tú eres
mi amiga y mi corazón.
She loves me more than
life itself. I am her friend
and her heart. That draws
my smile. “A chef and poet,
too. How lucky am I?”
Luck isn’t random.
It’s something you create.
You call your dad and I’ll
go see what I can create
in the kitchen. I’m starving.
I watch her go, try not
to think too much about
where the rest of this night
might lead us. Temptation
is a powerful force. Succumbing
to it scares the hell out of me.
It Also Excites Me
Because, as scared
as I am that Dad will find
out, and try to beat
that sex demon out of me,
or disown me for it,
or both,
the need to embrace
this part of myself
is escalating.
Lately, my dreams
are inhabited
by lust-infused images.
Feminine.
Masculine.
Both.
Right. Left.
Up. Down.
Over.
Beneath.
Sometimes I wake
to find myself touching
the most intimate
parts of my body,
satiating a hunger
so deep, so vital,
to my well-being.
The sensation is incredible,
but I could never find
the courage
to do it consciously.
My programming insists
it’s wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
So why
does it feel
so right?
Right?
Right?
Now I need
to know what it’s like
with someone else.
Someone I trust.
Someone I care about,
and believe they care about me.
I think it could be tonight.
I’m terrified.
Thrilled.
Determined.
But First Things First
I locate my phone, dial Zelda’s number
and, still caught up in the tempest
of carnal confusion, when Gabe answers,
a serious outbreak of guilt erupts.
It feels almost as if he’s been peeking
in the windows. “Oh, hey. Is Dad there?”
No. He and Aunt Zelda ran into town
to pick up some groceries. They should
be back soon, though. Should I take
a message or do you want to try his cell?
“I should probably talk to him.
You won’t believe this, but—”
Wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.
Hillary Grantham gave you her car.
I just found out myself less than
an hour ago. “How do you know?”
Her father told me. I didn’t get a car,
by the way, but he did offer to pay
for bodywork, paint, and an all-new
interior for the GTO. Pretty cool, huh?
I agree that it’s totally cool, then
ask, “So, Dad knows about the car?”
Actually, yeah, he does. He answered
the door when Mr. Grantham came by.
Oh, I got to meet Hillary’s aunt, too.
Believe it or not, she’s kind of attractive.
Why does the remark sting a little?
“Is that so? Well, maybe on the outside.
Anyway, what did Dad say about
the car? Was he pissed?” Bet he was.
Not that I could tell. He was nice
enough to the Granthams, and after
they left, all I heard him say was,
“Huh. Can you imagine that?”
That doesn’t sound too bad, but
I’ll have to wait until he gets home
to know for sure. Dad’s squirrelly.
“So, are you going to fix up the GTO?”
Does a duck quack? Hell yeah!
It’s like an early Christmas present.
I Tell Him
A gently used car
is like making up
for every Christmas
present, plus
every birthday
present, I never got.
There
were
lots
of
them.
Too often there
wasn’t enough
money for Dad
to buy them.
Of course,
there was always
enough cash
to cover his booze
and cigarettes.
Once I was old
enough to figure
that out,
disappointment
swelled into anger.
Not that it mattered.
My silent seething
rarely bothered Dad.
The few times
I mentioned how awful
it made me feel to be
ignored on the days
other kids celebrated
with parties and gifts,
Dad would shrug.
Sorry. I’m not much,
and I admit that.
But I’m all you’ve
got, aren’t I?
Take your pick.
Besides
, you know
you love your old man.
Despite all the bad,
I did love him. Still do,
though sometimes
I can’t figure out why.
Maybe I’ve always
been desperate
to love anyone at all.
I Don’t Offer Gabe
That extended
addendum.
We decide to hang
out on Sunday,
designated football
day at Zelda’s.
He wants me to help
him pick out
a classic GTO
paint color,
plus complementary
interior options.
I ask if he’ll give
the Focus a once-over,
not that I think
the Granthams
would keep it in less
than perfect mechanical shape.
I just want to spend time
with Gabe.
Because, whatever does
or doesn’t happen
with Monica after this,
I
care about
him, too.
The First Thing
That happens with Monica
is dinner. I can’t believe
what she’s put together
with the meager ingredients
we have available.
On the menu:
Homemade mac
(unburied from the cupboard)
and cheddar cheese
(one of the few things in the fridge)
with baby peas and pearl onions
(found in a freezer drawer).
She even digs up bacon
to add, crumbled,
to the main dish.
It needs to bake thirty or forty
minutes. She slides the casserole
into the preheated oven, then
turns back to me. What did
your dad say about the car?
I relate what Gabe told me.
“So, things could either be
A-OK, or totally not. You never
know where Dad’s concerned.
At least the car won’t be a surprise.”
She sets the oven timer. We’ve got
a little time. What you want to do?
I Hesitate
But not for long, because if I lose
my nerve now, who knows when
I might find it again? I take her hand,
lead her into the living room,
notice we both still have our shoes
on, something we’d better remedy.
“Shoes by the door in case Dad
decides to surprise us. Besides,
socks are sexier.” Did I just say that?
Monica laughs. I never heard
that one before, and you haven’t
seen my socks. They could be gross.
They’re not. They’re fluffy pink and
totally clean, at least until she has
to walk around the house in them.
Vacuuming is my Saturday job,
so there’s almost a week’s worth
of dust on the floor. Oh well.
“Okay, this is the very first time
I’ve ever asked anyone this, but
you wanna make out or what?”
Pensé que nunca lo preguntarías.
She thought I’d never ask, and
before I can change my mind
she pulls me over to the couch,
gently sits me down. Oh, wait.
She goes over to the window, closes
the blinds. This is a private show.
Wouldn’t want your neighbors
to see. Recostarte, novia. Lie back.
I like that she’s taking charge,
mostly because I have no idea
what to do next. I close my eyes,
accept her lead. It begins with
the expected kiss, except this one
moves quickly beyond invitation,
all the way into the danger zone.
Just as I think my heart will pound
out of my chest, the tip of her tongue
traces the outline of my mouth
before her lips kiss the excited pulse
beneath my right ear, then move
to the matching throb under the left.
When she kisses down my neck,
to the small cleft between my breasts,
my instinct is to protest. No!
she commands. ¡Déjame hacer
esto! She says to let her do this.
And “This”
Might be something
I’ve thought about,
dreamed about, but
had no clear idea about
how it would look,
how it would feel,
how it would happen to me.
How it looks is beautiful.
When she rises up over me,
I can see she is a creature
not of this world, an angel—
half-dark, half-light—fallen
to earth from the autumn sky.
Flawless but for the barely
perceptible blemishes
I am privileged to see.
How it feels is unlike
anything my imagination
could have invented.
She fumbles the mechanics
of clothing and positions,
but I don’t mind because
if she isn’t practiced
we can learn together;
there is discovery to share.
Driven by Instinct
Fueled by solid lust
we are skin to skin
tongue to tongue
and tongue to skin
She kisses in circles
the arc of my neck
the curves of my breasts
the smaller circumferences
of my nipples.
She licks in lines
tracking contours
down my right side
back up my left and, finally,
straight from chin to belly button.
She touches tentatively
in lines and circles
show me what you like
gaining momentum
building intensity
She nudges me
closer and closer
right up against the brink
and, no way to hold back,
pushes me over the cliff.
It’s one hell of a trip.
Crash Landing
The buzzer goes off in the kitchen.
I smile. “Does that mean I made
my eight-second ride?”
Monica looks confused.
No, that means our dinner
is done. You must be hungry?
“Starving. But what about you?’
I reach out and stroke the cleft
that would be cleavage if there
was more flesh there, not that
I’d prefer it. “I think I owe you
one.” I wink and she laughs,
but shakes her head. Later.
We’ve got lots of time, not like
the mac and cheese, which will burn.
I watch her straighten up
and go into the kitchen, but
take my time following her.
Everything between us has
changed. This thing we have
is more serious now, and while
that’s not necessarily bad,
I wonder if Monica and I have
been irrevocably altered, too.
Maya
I’ve been at Fort Hood almost four months now. It’s been a long, hot, boring summer, nothing much to do but make plans for the baby. She’s due in about a week, and I want everything perfect before she gets here.
The house is a small two-bedroom, with a cute little kitchen and one decent-size bathroom, plenty for two adult
s and one infant. It’s not very modern, and looks almost identical to the one next door, but what do I care, as long as the appliances work and the toilet flushes? That’s critical, since I have to pee way more often than anyone should. I even get up a couple of times at night. It’s so annoying.
Jason thinks it’s funny. “Maybe we should be buying adult diapers, instead of stocking up on the baby kind. Do they make maternity diapers?”
Ha-ha.
I definitely need maternity clothes. I’ve kept my weight pretty well in check, but over these last few weeks Casey has grown exponentially. My stomach is stretched to the max.
Jason makes fun of that, too. “Girl, you get any bigger I’ll have to put you out to pasture till you drop that foal.”
Country-boy humor.
Speaking of country, Casey seems to love Garth Brooks and Clint Black. Play those boys, and she gets to kicking so hard I’m sure she must be line dancing. Thinking like that makes me homesick for Tati, who taught me most of the moves I know.
Tati calls to talk a couple times a week. I’d call her, but Jason gets mad. “What do you think I am, made of money? We can barely afford the phone bill without long distance charges.” He’s right, money is tight. My calculations neglected to factor in things like baby furniture and clothes. Most we managed to pick up “gently used,” but even so it was an investment.
Our finances make things like movies impossible, too, except the ones we watch on TV. If it wasn’t for the library, my brain would be mush by now. I’ve tried to make friends with the neighbor ladies, but theirs is a tight-knit sorority. Seems they’re not looking for new members.
I wish I could visit Tati, but I don’t have access to a car and even if I did, I don’t have a driver’s license. I’m going to get one, though. I’ve been practicing. Jason won’t let me drive, but when Tati visits—she’s been out here five times—she puts me behind the wheel of her Malibu, with her standing joke. “Let’s go cruising for soldiers.”
They’re not hard to find. But we’re not really looking. Even if I wanted to cheat on Jason, what man in his right mind would want to have sex with me? It would kind of be like having sex with the baby, too. The idea is cringe-worthy.
Truthfully, I have zero desire to even look at a penis, let alone touch one. But Jason insists. “I’m your husband, aren’t I? What good is a wife who won’t please her man? The least you can do is jack me off.”
Actually, it’s the most I can do.
Especially considering how hard it’s been to get Jason to cooperate with me. It’s not like I ask for much, but one thing I insisted on was him taking natural childbirth classes with me. I practically had to beg him to be my coach.
“Coach? What does that mean? Feed you plays?”
“Sort of, I guess. You stay by my side. Encourage me. Remind me to breathe, that sort of thing.”