of course, all curves and frothiness.
Cotton candy. Or cumulus clouds.
And when she turns
her focus on you, brother, you are king
and she is part lady-in-waiting, part
concubine. You want
to put her up on a pedestal, as long
as she’s naked. We have gotten
naked a time or two,
and Lord help me, that girl has shown
me things most grown women
would blush at.
All that stuff goes in the plus column.
In The Minus Column
Loitering beneath the sweet fluff,
the wide-eyed faux
innocence, is something hard. Maybe
even just a little bit scary. A fallen angel,
perhaps. A creature
of the heavens, surviving in earthly shadow.
I don’t see that part of her very often.
Just a bitchlike snap
at someone she might consider competition.
A misplaced remark, revealing under-
belly. But never directed
at me. At least, not yet. There’s something
else, too. Something harder to define.
It has to do with the way
she can shift between demanding total
attention to turning herself off to the rest
of the world. Blanking
out everyone else completely. Even me.
It’s A Small Price
To pay for spending time with her.
Because, despite
her few shortcomings, I think I’m in
love with her. It sure feels that way
when I’m with her.
I never want to let her go. She even
has me trying new things—crazy things
I’d never do on my own.
Today we’re going to the Ultimate Rush
Thrill Park at the Grand Sierra Resort.
Not sure what the rush
is in miniature golf and bumper cars,
but we’ll see. First Saturday in March,
the sun is out but
the air is still pre-spring crisp, so when
I pull up in front of Jenna’s house, I’m not
expecting to see her
dressed the way she is. Then again,
it is Jenna, so why am I surprised
that she has chosen
butt-clinging shorts and a low-cut
sweater that leaves absolutely nothing
to the imagination?
At least she brought a very small, very
tight leather jacket. “Damn, girl, you
sure you’re going
to be warm enough? Kind of chilly out.”
She shimmies into the passenger seat.
Smiles. Yeah, but
you know how to keep a girl warm.
I can’t help but admire what her push-up
bra is pushing up. “Not sure
who’s keeping who warm, but let’s go.”
The Ultimate Rush
Is more than a little obvious as soon
as we pull in and park.
I’ve driven past the Grand Sierra a few
times, and for some reason I never really
looked at what these tall
white towers were. Namely, truly frightening
thrill rides, especially for someone like me,
who is not especially
fond of heights. “I thought we were playing
peewee golf and driving go-carts.” A scream
pulls my eyes past
the windshield just as the backward
bungee jump yanks a couple in a small
cage some seventy feet
into the air. “Uh… that doesn’t look fun.”
Sure it does. And just in case you need
some liquid courage,
I brought this. It will keep us warm, too.
She pulls a flask out of her purse, offers
it to me. Cinnamon
schnapps. Careful. It’s got a little bite.
Alcohol and backward bungee jumping?
Sounds like a bad
combination to me. “I don’t know…”
Come on, she purrs, taking a sip herself
before urging the flask
into my hand. It will take the edge off.
Slow burn the edge off is more like it.
Cinnamon schnapps is
like cinnamon cough syrup. Thick
and too sweet, despite the signature
Liquid flame trickles down my throat.
“Lord, girl.” It comes out a raspy whisper.
And I can feel a sticky
smolder creep into my empty stomach.
Yet I help myself to another nip before
handing back the flask.
“Your mama should have named you Delilah.”
Huh? She takes a long pull and doesn’t
even cough as it goes
down. What a girl. A crazy, soon-to-be
drunk girl. “You know, as in Samson
and Delilah?” The rumble
in my belly tells me I really need to eat.
Jenna shakes her head. Samson is, like, in
Greek mythology, right?
We studied that in fifth grade. She smiles.
“Actually, the story is in the Bible and…
oh, never mind. You
hungry? I am. Let’s get food and then…”
Two people on a giant rubber band slingshot
past the window, shrieking.
It doesn’t look fun either. “Then we’ll see.”
Jenna Knows
A good burger restaurant inside the Grand
Sierra. We have to walk
through the casino to get there. I hook
my arm around her waist, claiming her. Not
to mention keeping her
a little more steady on her feet. She rocks
slightly, exaggerating the sway of her hips.
Heads turn and every old
pervert in the place looks at me with envy.
Jenna puffs up on the attention. Did you
see that guy? I thought
his eyeballs were gonna pop out of his head.
I should feel proud, right? So why does
my face flush, fever-hot,
and blood roar in my ears? “Do you have
to shake your ass like that? Those dudes
probably think you’re
a hooker.” Immediately, an apology
springs to my lips. But, schnapps or just
because it’s her, Jenna
couldn’t care less. Hey, you got it, flaunt it.
She’s so cute, I don’t want to argue and spoil
the day. But I really do wish
the only guy she played flirt with was me.
Instead she flaunts her way to Johnny Rockets,
exposes five-star cleavage
to get us a better table a little quicker.
If it wouldn’t be too, too obvious, the host
would probably walk
backward, to better enjoy the view.
Our order is taken in record time, although
the waiter lingers, making
suggestions, awash in Jenna’s sensual aura.
When we’re finally sort of alone, I can’t help
myself. “That kind of
attention could get a girl into trouble.”
Her Smile Dissolves
And her eyes ice over. She is silent for
several seconds, then
opens up. A girl can get into trouble
without doing a goddamn thing. Better
to know what you have
and how to use it to get what you want.
At least then, you’re in control. You
have the power. I never
want to be powerless again. She doesn’t
offer anything else, and though I know
there’s a lot more,
I’m not really sure I want to hear the rest
anyway. She leans forward, and my eyes
are drawn to the inhale-
exhale in the deep scoop of her sweater.
That makes her smile again, and I can’t
think of anything to
say. Thank God our food arrives.
Post Burgers And Fries
The day has warmed even more, and
it feels good to walk
in the sunshine, holding Jenna close.
I’m glad I brought plenty of cash. Each
attraction is a separate
cost. The big ones are major. “Holy crap.
Twenty-five dollars each to lose our lunch?
Are you sure you want
to do this? I mean, I don’t mind paying.…”
I look up at the rubber band thingie. Jenna
laughs. Let’s start with the
go-carts, see how we feel. She, of course,
outdrives me, and somehow I’m not amazed
when she convinces me
to spend fifty bucks to try the slingshot.
We climb into the cage, and as they strap
us in, I wonder if I am
more afraid of the ride or of my girlfriend.
Cara
Am I More Afraid
Of taking a chance and
learning I’m somebody
I don’t know, or of risking
new territory,
only to find I’m the same
old me? There is comfort
in the tried and true.
Breaking ground
might uncover a sinkhole,
one impossible to climb out
of. And setting sail in
uncharted waters
might mean capsizing into
a sea monster’s jaws.
Easier to turn my back on
these things
than to try them and fail.
And yet, a whisper insists
I need to know if they are or
aren’t integral to me.
Status quo is a swamp.
And stagnation is slow death.
Sunday Mornings
I usually sleep in, but today
I wake from a weird dream about
trying to extricate myself from quicksand.
I can’t quite shake the dread,
so I haul my butt out of bed,
force my blurry eyes to look out
the window. What a stellar day—
sun-washed, brittle blue sky.
No hint of wind. Maybe I’ll go
for a run. Now that I’m finished
cheering, I need regular exercise
or I’ll turn into a big tub of nerves.
I dress in sweats, a long-sleeved
tee, my favorite running shoes.
The house is quiet when I go
downstairs. Guess no one but me
had bad dreams last night. I swallow
a power bar, a glass of water.
Stretch a little, head out into the cool
brass morning. I swing onto the bike
path that snakes through
our neighborhood. The sun
slips warm fingers through
my hair, and I try to outrun
the demons nipping my heels.
Sean. Conner. Dani, who called
yesterday and asked when I was
going boarding again. She wants
to see me. I had almost convinced
myself our connection was all in
my head. That our kiss was a test.
One I failed. Then came her call
and the husky promise of her voice.
I push myself faster, engage
overdrive, tugging in air scented
with wet sage. At the three-mile
mark, I turn around, slow to catch
my breath. Jog until my muscles
start to relax. As the old song says,
“I feel like I’m a cog in something turning.”
Down The Home Stretch
I approach the Sanderses’ house
and slow even more. In the driveway
is a moving van, and now I notice
the FOR SALE sign staked in the lawn.
Men hustle in and out, carrying boxes
and wheeling furniture-laden dollies.
I watch for a minute, absurdly
feeling like I am somehow responsible.
No. Not me. And not Conner. This
is my mother’s doing. Well, okay,
Emily Sanders has to take some
of the blame, but it bothers me
that my mom not only got her fired,
but also strong-armed her into
selling her house and moving away.
That is wrong on so many levels.
The most messed-up thing about
it is that Conner’s warped need started
the whole thing. Yes, it takes two
to dance. But somebody has to lead.
I Run Home
Blow through the door, down
the hall. Mom and Dad are drinking
coffee. At the same table, even.
It’s all so civilized, so domestic,
I can hardly believe it and almost
forget what upset me to start with.
Almost. “What have you done?”
I glare at Mom, and she responds
with an amused stare. I’m sure
I don’t know what you mean.
And are you dripping sweat on
the tile? She is always so measured,
sometimes I wish I could make
her yell. But I can barely get her
to frown. “How did you manage
to make the Sanderses sell their house?”
We have a restraining order in
place. I pointed out the obvious—
it would be easier if she and Conner
simply never came face-to-face.
And anyway, their divorce is no
doubt imminent. It’s just as well
they think about how to divide
things up when the house does sell.
God, she is smug. “Oh, so you
talked them into getting a divorce,
too? Awesome, Mother. Who
knew you could be so persuasive?”
She levels me with her eyes.
I had nothing to do with that.
It was Emily Sanders’s extremely
bad judgment that got her into
this mess. No husband in his right
mind would stay with a woman
like her. Isn’t that right? Directed
at Dad, who dares not say a word
unless it’s the exact word Mom
wants to hear. Dad shrugs, goes
back to his paper. And all I can
do is quit dripping sweat on the tile.
I Turn The Shower Hot
I feel dirty, and not from my run.
Nothing Mom said was totally
wrong, but I just can’t get it out
of my head that she has taken
the Sanderses’ tattered lives and
made sure they could never be
sewn back together again. And
I think she would do the same
to me, if I ever gave her a reason.
All she cares about is being right.
Winning. And taking out anyone
who might tarnish her sterling
reputation. No wonder Conner
went to such an extreme. If you’re
going to make a statement, make
it a big one, not that I’d dream
of taking on Mom. Now that is crazy.
I wash my hair with coconut shampoo.
Scrub my skin with lemongrass soap.
When I’m through, I am almost clea
n.
The Afternoon Is Looking Long
I need to get out of here. I could
call Sean. He’d probably stop
lifting long enough to do something
with me. But we haven’t seen all
that much of each other since
the night I basically threw myself
at him and he left me still a virgin.
Not sure who was more embarrassed.
Instead I try Dani, who answers
right away. Almost as if expecting
my call. Was she? “I was wondering
if you had plans for today.”
Glad you called. No plans. What
did you have in mind? In mind?
“I don’t know. Just have to get out of
the house for a few.” Hours, that is.
Movie? No. I want to talk, get to
know her better. “It’s pretty out
today. We could take a walk.”
She agrees to meet me at Rock Park.
It’s A Twenty-Minute Drive
In my stomach is a tentative flutter,
moth wings against a muted light.
On the radio (some kind of sign?),
Katy Perry sings about kissing a girl.
And liking it. I take myself back
to that day in the trees. Kissing Dani.
And liking it so much it made me
turn feeble in the knees. Did kissing
Sean ever make me feel that way?
I don’t think so. Don’t think
kissing any boy ever made me feel
that way—like standing at the brink
of a very tall cliff, wind at my back
tipping me forward, the rock
beneath my feet starting to crumble,
but not afraid to go slipping into
the unknown. I could retreat
from this place. Instead I take
a deep breath, plunge into some
mysterious space. And I like it.
The River Is High
Winter-fed currents rush down-
stream, chew at the rocky banks.