Naked Saturdays

It’s Saturday night, I am sitting in my computer chair, the room is spinning a little, the window is crooked, and the pillows are doubled, or maybe that’s how many pillows I actually had on my bed. That’s a lot of pillows; no wonder Evan throws them off my bed. This is thanks to the Strongbow that Rachel got me for my twenty-first birthday, and the bottles of wine Katie brought in the night I turned twenty-one. I look at Evan as he is unbuckling his belt, and starting to unzip his pants, which are too loose for his waist anyway. As the jeans slide down his perfectly round butt, and past his knees his red briefs fitting snuggly around each butt cheek, I can’t help but think, “dammit I wish we were having sex.” I find myself wanting to take off the rest of his cloths, strip him down to nothing so that when he turns around his dick is fully erect and hanging in my face waiting for my hands, or lips to slide right over it.

But instead of ripping off his cloths from behind, he turns around, placing his hands on the arms of my chair and leaning into my face he gently kisses me. My hands slide over his oblique’s and under his waste band, grabbing his ass with both hands, as he lets out a soft moan. I wriggle my wrists into his briefs more so they will slide off easier, and as I lift my arms, I slide my hands down his legs, leaving him completely naked in front of me, like I have already seen many times, in more ways than one.

One night we were laying on the couch and I was telling him what I would expect out of my husband. That he be a Christian, who comes to church with me, helps the kids study for Junior Bible Quiz, and prepare for Missionettes or Royal Rangers during the week. I know how to be a father. He retorted, and from there it just led to stifled tears and when the night ended I stood up and pecked him on the cheek. Goodnight, I said, with a sniff, sucking all the dripping snot back into my body. Want me to tuck you in? He asked, and trying to keep an unwavering voice, I said no, that’s okay. Goodnight, I love you. That night we were naked, and clothed at the same time. And when I went to bed that night, I sobbed, but quietly into his dark pillow, because I didn’t want him to hear me cry, and I could not help but picture him standing outside the door doing the same, and listening for signs that I was upset.

Another night, shortly before that, we were at the zoo for the lights before Christmas, and it was coldest night of the year. I was wearing my winter boots, with two pairs of socks, leggings, jeans, leg warmers, a bra, tank top, shirt, sweater, jacket, coat, scarf, gloves, earmuffs, and a hat. I even considered walking around with a blanket, I went that whole night knowing that Evan had something important to tell me, yet I carried on with a smile, and those serious conversations about how I don’t understand how people could believe that we came from apes. I mean, sure they are smart, and have thumbs or whatever, but it doesn’t make sense to me the bible does… I said trailing off, and I knew that he didn’t want to get into that conversation right there so I changed it. Oh hey, let’s go through the aquarium. From there, I explained my family; oh there was so much to explain. The fights, the family services scares, and visits that happened every year, I also told him about the day Bethany moved out. Kim, our social worker, showed up at the door, and as Bethany came down, she flaunted that every article of clothing she was wearing was mine. Yeah, and there’s nothing you can do about it, she taunted, and with Kim watching, the scene escalated, as Bethany called me Mom’s princess, saying that I get everything that I want, but yet I can’t get someone better than Tyler. Someone who doesn’t treat me better, or respect me, and as she passed, I grabbed her long blonde hair and yanked my fist angrily to the floor, as her body followed behind it. That’s it, are there any adults we could call to separate you two? Bethany can’t be left alone, and she can’t be left with you. So we called Pam and Andy, our Aunt and Uncle, and when they picked Bethany up, I left for work and didn’t see Bethany for over a month. We were naked then too, but that’s not why I was explaining this night, it was because after telling him all of that, after him being in my house, and hearing the fights first hand, and the crazy mutt, and the overly excited purebred that we rescued off the streets, he still smiled at me. We walked through a place at the zoo where the trees were a foot above our head, and every free inch of the trees were covered in alternating red and white lights, and Evan pulled me to the side, in a little divot that was meant for romantic moments, such as homecoming proposals, or marriage proposals. Instead he placed his gloved hand on my cheek, it was cold, but it was the gesture that mattered. His eyes smiled, and he bit his lip and his mouth followed his eyes, as he whispered, I love you... and that was the first time he said it.

Evan breaks away from the kiss and whispers in my ear, “we are not having sex tonight.” I nod; no loosing our virginities would not be something to do when our bodies have consumed large amounts of alcohol, I can’t help but think about everything else though. Why I always have to pee when we are in the middle of these intense sexual encounters, or that I left my ballet flats under the coffee table, or the cards that I won in Cards Against Humanity. What will I have a hard time explaining to my children? Mufasa’s untimely death. What was the reason my last relationship ended? Auschwitz. (Blank) Kid tested, mother approved, the Oedipus complex. Hey babe, come over and I will show you (blank). Slide show presentations.

You don’t have a condom do you? I ask in a normal voice, no need to whisper with everybody dancing and screaming just outside the door. He shakes his head, no I promised you I never would, so I don’t. Right, I did make him promise that, at the very beginning of this thing, when we both realized what this relationship means to us, and how it would be so easy to just… slip. Which I am now questioning if I even care if it should happen to accidently slip in, I know I would after it happened, but during all of this, I hate saying no. Not for him, for me. It’s supposed to be this precious little gift that I get to save and keep for him, or someone like him, but I really hope it’s Evan. The reality though is that anyone could take it. I could get pulled into an ally on the way home and what was once meant for Evan I could no longer give him.

Sometimes I hate being a virgin. I say, crawling into bed, both of us now naked. I put the playing around on pause, and because of my own moral limits, and because Evan knows me I know this conversation won’t change anything, but he needs to know what I’m thinking. We aren’t having sex tonight, but part of me wishes we were.

They Gave

I recall a time where we sat here, in the same spots, on the nice blue floor, covered in sweat, snot, blood, chalk, and toenails. We laughed about body builders following us on Instagram, and how we pulled a cruel prank on Deshawn.

            He received a photo of me, or her, we, I’m not sure which, crying. We were saying that we needed to talk to him when he got home. So in the pouring rain, with his heart racing, he dodged cops, and sped home. He walked into the house, and there we were at the kitchen counter, sobbing. Our cheeks were red, our eyes were swollen, there were actual salty tears welling up in our eyes, and Michaela mouthed, “her and Evan broke up,” keep in mind this was about two weeks into us being together. When we looked at him, we probably looked like we had just watched our dog get hit by a car, because that is what we were thinking about to get ourselves to cry, but seeing the look on his face, we couldn’t keep it together anymore, and we just started laughing. Our dog was still in our mind, his shocked face, not knowing what to do, was still staring at us, and we laughed. After the incident, when we were all laughing, he settled down, but he was ticked, that’s not the kind of prank you pull on someone he said and left with his hood up. Evan knew about the prank, but once he watched the video, he voiced that he wasn’t happy about it either, that was like watching a depiction of my worst fears coming true he told us, and now we were laughing on this DNA covered floor.

            But that was someone else, someone whose hair was lighter because the new growth hadn’t grown in as much, and was slightly shorter from the chop that happened this last summer. She chopped it because of Ethan, and only because of Ethan. She was someone who sat in a circle with people she called friends and pretended that she trusted them, pretended that she wanted to hang out with them, and wanted to enjoy their company. I care about them, I do, but there was something missing in all of those friendships. It was like the loose wire that stopped my van from starting last year, on our way back from Miami, but now I am now in the effects of the loose wire. The van sat there for a month, in the cold winter, and me being a broke college student, she didn’t wash our van afterwards. So on the way to North Carolina, she looked for the plane that was landing when she came to stops, but we quickly realized that it was our breaks. Completely rusted, all rotors, all pads, and everything in between for the whole break system needs to be replaced. All because of a loose wire, and that is the club house, all rotors and pads need replaced, ASAP.

            We started out with late homework nights, such as tonight, sitting out in the living room, leaning on Evan, wondering what we were, laughing with people she lived with, but could not do life with. But slowly, as the semester dragged on, the essays of books that she did not, and could never care about piled up, the creative writing assignments got more confusing – I, you, anaphora, interpellation, politicization – I was keeping up creatively, but the reflections were failing, and she was suddenly behind. She, I, was cuddled up in my room with my MacBook Screen split between Netflix, for half, a reflection for a fourth, and electronic copies of the readings on the last fourth. The dark circles had grown under our eyes as we were up till all hours of the morning writing, just to hear our alarm go off at eight in the morning.

            They gave me crap too, about my flight money. It’s coming, I told them. But they kept nagging, pulling me aside during practices, no wonder I don’t have routines; they kept asking me if I understood. Yes, I understand, I’m not in kindergarten. But then I would ask them; do you understand that once I am twenty-one I get all of the money I need to myself, without needing recites or reasons as to why I need the money. After that, you can have five hundred and thirty of it. But the flight wasn’t the last of it; it was shirt money, electric money, wifi money, threatening to change the wifi password if I didn’t pay Rachel the last six dollars of what I owed her for the wifi by January second, when nobody is even home to give the money to. The glares that I got when I bought snow shoes, with money given to me, at request from my trust fund. The excuses about rules and following rules, that left me in my bed, whining to Evan, talking him to tears, as he just stared at me, and heard me, not listened, which was what we needed because we wanted him to listen, not to solve our problems for me.

            That is when I realized that all they gave me was the nagging, the “yeah, but…” phrases, that never seemed to end, the quoting of the handbook, the questions, the swallowing my pride, knowing that I made a mistake using the flight money for Madagascar. I don’t regret it; they wouldn’t have let me on the plane if I hadn’t used the money. They gave me this semester, of walking to campus, holding my eyes open with toothpicks, scraping containers for the last few drops of left overs because wifi for homework was more important than food. They gave me a living hell, hating to walk in the door every afternoon, leaving passive aggressive notes on the refrigerator, bickering in whispers to each other over shared food, and backing down when I am mad to stop Rachel from sobbing like a baby.

            They gave,

            And they gave

            And they gave, and I took.

            At the cost of her.

Lines

I run past walls, bouncing back and forth from one foot to the next, running up ramps, ducking behind walls, looking through vents to kill teammates, our accuracy getting better with red visual aids, the lasers that meet our teams chest. Babe? I hear you whisper from behind. I turn around and with a sick smile; your line of fire meets my chest. The applesauce boils, and the speakers slam together. I will get you back, I say turning around to hide behind the walls of the maze.

Street Lights

On these nights, in the middle of the street or the middle of the sidewalk, whether we remember what happens on these nights, holding hands, who we accidentally made out with when we were drunk, how many headlights came at us, getting bigger and brighter the closer they got, the number of porch lights turned on when we passed, the songs we danced to but didn’t know, we find a bed somewhere in one of the three hotel rooms, but not the one we were assigned to, or maybe our own bed we place our hands under our heads, curl our knees up to our stomachs, blink once, blink twice, until our eyelids are too heavy to hold up anymore, we blink a third…

Bridges

In the mid afternoon, when the water starts to rise once again, we set out once more to get lost. Few people speak English, when we say sorry for bumping into someone, we are unsure if we are understood. We give a crooked smile, and continue our conversation. Our feet are sore, on our ways to Burano, and Murano, we sit when we can. Our heels are pinching themselves in our boots between the heels and our socks, but we keep walking, up the cobblestone steps of the bridges, up the concrete steps of the bridges, up the wooden steps of the bridges. The bridges that we drag our suitcase up, with each little thud, we are reminded of where we are. Ponte De La Cortesia – Calle de la Cortesia, is that a street sign? Thirteen hours of flying, finally breathing fresh air, hearing cars and not the beeping of the airplanes signals. I look at you and shrug my shoulders, I never thought we would be here, together, but we made it.

 The minor chords play from below as we cross one bridge, then another. Some are covered in flowers, that entangle themselves around the old Italian railings. Some are filled with locks, locks with initials on them, locks with short messages, ama la vita, or just a word, bellezza. What does it mean you suppose? I don’t know. We ask two young owners of a pizza shop for directions back, this happens more than once. We get lost, Salizzada De La Chesa O Del Teatro, do you see that on the map? Narrow canals, where gondola’s bumped together, the gondolier uses the walls of the buildings and the undersides of the bridges, to untangle themselves from the pinch. Dogs always roam free, walking beside their owners, taking the steps when they take the ramp, and the owners facial expression is unwavering as their dog ventures away, and then comes right back.

But we recognize the quaint little restaurant, the café that sold us pizza with “dog” on it, we realized it was “hot dog,” not dog. My hair turns the towels purple, we spray the bathroom floor with water. I peel a clementine, watching the peel fall onto the plate, settling into our night with The Bachelor, and this journal entry, and that picture.