you look like him—he
points toward Pretty Boy,
then he turns and his eyes
scan my face—or you,
it isn’t hard at all to find
someone who’ll take
care of you. Sometimes
they’ll set you up in your
own place, or move you
into theirs. Sometimes
you live like a movie
star, even. The price
tag is regular sex.
He waits for my reaction.
“Regular sex, with someone
like that?” I take a deep
drink of minty bourbon,
actually enjoy the burn.
“I could never do that!”
Loren shakes his head.
Never say never, dear.
You might be surprised at
what you can do, should
circumstances dictate.
A Poem by Whitney Lang
Circumstances
Create our conception,
how we live, what kind
of person we manage
to grow
into. Another day,
a different hour, take
a left and not a
right,
you’d wind up a whole
different being. Knowing
if that would be better
requires
a realm of experience
only decades can build.
Roses? Lilies? Moonlight?
Sunlight?
Which do I prefer? Ask
me again in thirty
or forty years.
Whitney
The Best Thing
About my mom being such
a bitch is not worrying
about trying to make her
proud of me. Smoke it
up, drink it up, and if
I happen to get caught,
well, wouldn’t it just slay
her if the news got around?
Kyra, too. Oh, she’d pretend
that her concern was all
about me, rather than her
precious reputation,
but that would be total
toad crap. “Total toad
crap.” TTC. Hey, I like
that. TTC, my new spew.
Kyra’s Home
From Vassar. Normal
college geeks go to places
like Florida or Mexico
for spring break. Not Kyra.
She comes home to spend
time with Mom, who actually
rescheduled a tennis game
to take her into the city.
I sooooo need some new
clothes, Kyra fished.
The styles back east are
sooooo not me, you know?
Like jeans aren’t the same
beyond the Mississippi.
Like you can’t find angora
in Manhattan! TTC, for sure.
Mom swallowed the bait.
We’ll run up to Sacramento
Street. There’s a new boutique
I’ve been dying to check out.
Then maybe Daddy can take
time to have lunch with us. New
York seafood can’t possibly
compare to San Francisco’s.
Sounds fun, said Kyra. Give
Daddy a call and see if he can
make it. I’ll go take a shower.
Unless you want it first. …
Directed at me. “No, no.
Go ahead. I’m not planning
on going anywhere special
today, just hanging out here.”
Mom just shook her head, but
Kyra sputtered, You’re not
coming? But you have to! It will
be so much more fun with you.
Like they really wanted me
to come. Talk about TTC!
“No, you guys go. I don’t feel
so great today, anyway.”
Kyra might have argued
more, but Mom decided,
You should stay home then.
Last thing I need is a bug.
Last Thing
Any of us needs is Mom
with a bug. She’s bitchy
enough totally healthy.
Weird, but I can’t remember
the last time she was sick.
Too freaking mean, I guess.
She probably scares the bugs
away. Anyway, Kyra and
she continued their mutual
butt-kiss fest all the way out
the door. I have to admit
I half wanted to change
my mind and go with them.
If I believed they really
wanted my company, I just
might have. Instead, knowing
I’ll have the place to myself
most of the day, I called Lucas
as soon as the door slammed
behind Butt Kissers One and Two.
After the Last Fiasco
Lucas was just a bit hesitant.
Are you sure? Man, last time
was a way close call. I definitely
don’t need that kind of trouble.
What a wuss! But that’s not
what I said. What I said was,
“They won’t be home until
three at the absolute earliest.
Come over right now. Please?”
Then I made my voice all
breathy, hoping that was sexy.
“I really, really need to see you.”
Need to see him, to melt like candle
wax against his heat. Need his heat.
Any heat. Need to feel warmed,
wanted. For a change.
But I didn’t say any of that,
either. No use letting him know
I’m needy. Anyway, it worked.
He should be here any minute.
I Did Shower
Even borrowed some of Kyra’s
way expensive ginger-scented
shampoo and lotion. No wonder
she always smells so good!
The last time I went to the mall
with Paige, one of the few
investments I made was in
a sapphire blue satin nightshirt
with matching bikini panties.
Good thing my cute stalker,
Bryn, didn’t see me buy
this outfit. He would have
followed me home for sure.
I still have his card in my purse.
Not sure what for. Anyway,
all dressed down in sapphire
satin, damp hair, and smooth
skin perfumed with ginger,
I feel sexier than I ever have
before. Could I really be sexy?
Lucas Makes Me Wait
Almost two hours. It’s closing
in on noon by the time he decides
to grace me with his presence.
I’ve chewed three fingernails
clear down to the quick,
yanked several strands of hair
out of my head. Not great
ways to deal with nerves,
and I know it when I’m doing
them, but can’t seem to stop
myself, especially just sitting
in limbo next to the window.
By the time his Eclipse streaks
into view, I’m totally in need
of fake nails and my scalp
pulses pain. And I’m pissed.
But when I open the door,
see Lucas standing there, in
all his tanned hotness, anger
morphs back into neediness.
He checks me out, gives a low
whistle. You should dress like
that more often. Nylons and heels,
you’d be just about perfect.
The pout that pops up is not
&nbs
p; manufactured. “What do you
mean, ‘just about’? Not the right
thing to say to someone you
kept waiting for two hours.”
I let him in anyway, and he
rewards me with one of his
luscious kisses. Def perfect.
Too soon, he pulls away.
Sorry I’m late. But I wanted
to pick up a little something
to make the afternoon interesting.
He reaches into his jacket
pocket, pulls out a small metal
can. Inside is a miniature baggie,
a razor blade, and a short length
of drinking straw. All we need
is something to chop this up on.
Something glass, like a mirror
or maybe a picture.
I’m not sure what’s in the bag,
let alone if I want to try it.
So why do I jump to my feet
to go find something glass?
What’s in the Baggie
Is a half-dollar-sized chunk
of something yellowish white.
It sparkles in the sunlight.
Lucas slices off a thin section
and tells me, Cocaine, clean
as you can find anywhere.
My brother knows the importer.
Wait until you try it.
I don’t want to admit the idea
scares me. Weed is one thing.
Cocaine is another. I’ve seen
it waste people. Seen it waste
entire families, in fact, when
one parent or the other (or both)
invests everything they have
into staying buzzed on coke.
Lucas keeps chopping, but my
silence alerts him. You’ve done
coke before, right? No? Oh,
baby, you’re gonna love it.
You’re totally gonna fly.
Don’t worry. He grins like
a leprechaun. You’re safe
flying with me. Mostly, anyway.
I Watch Lucas
Suck two long, thin, sparkly
yellowish lines up his nose.
Then he hands the picture to me.
Not too hard or you’ll sneeze.
I inhale gently, one line up
the right nostril, the other
up the left. Immediately,
both sides of my nose go
cold and numb. Now, just like
that, my heart is racing and
the hairs on my arms rise,
sending little chills throughout
my entire body. OMG. No
wonder people like this drug.
I look at Lucas, who’s watching
me carefully. “More, please.”
He laughs. Careful now.
A little of this goes a long
way. But he indulges me,
and himself, with two more.
Every nerve jumps to attention.
I can’t feel my mouth or nose,
but other parts of my body
are begging to be touched.
Lucas indulges them, too,
with his hands and his mouth.
I love how he kisses, love how
his fingers move over my body.
Everything is hard. Everything
is warm. No, cold. No, warm.
I’ve never felt so alive. Never
felt so in love. I glance at the clock.
Not even one. We have plenty
of time. But I don’t want to
do it here on the couch. “Let’s
go to my bedroom, okay?”
I Don’t Have to Ask Twice
Lucas scoops me up into
his toned arms, carries me
down the hall, like a groom
clutching his bride. The thought
makes me blush, and I have
no clue why. I rest my head
against his chest for the entire
ten-second journey. Then
he lays me gently on the bed,
unbuttons my shirt, peels
back the blue satin, stares
at what he has uncovered.
I am totally exposed, totally
flying high, and yet I do, in
fact, feel safe with Lucas,
even as he lowers himself
over me. Every ounce of me
wants what he’s about to do,
and yet for just an instant,
regret stings and I say, “Wait.”
He pauses. What? You
don’t want me to stop,
do you? Because I don’t
think I can. I need you. See?
He lowers my hand to feel
his need, and my heart screams,
“Hurry!” Still, my brain whispers,
“You can never take this back.”
I look up into Lucas’s eyes.
“I don’t want you to stop.
But please don’t go too fast.
I’m afraid …” Afraid it will
hurt. Afraid it will change me.
Afraid … afraid … the word
thumps in time with my heartbeat,
even as Lucas soothes, I’ll go easy.
And he does. And I’m ready.
And it does feel good, despite
the pain, because it also hurts.
And then, it’s just over.
Still Buzzed
And yet also drained, we lie
together for a while. I don’t
know if it was good for Lucas
or not. I want to ask, but I don’t
want to ask because if I do and
he says no, it will leave a scar.
I don’t even know if it was good
for me, because I’m not sure
what “good sex” is. Your first time
probably isn’t so good, right?
Because I didn’t exactly feel
fireworks. Maybe I was too
numb. Doesn’t matter. What’s
done is done, and I love Lucas
even more now because he is
my first. My ear rests against
his chest. I listen to the promise
of his heart, and suddenly
my mouth is moving and what
spills from it is, “I love you.”
I Wait for Him
To tell me he loves me, too.
I’ve been holding my breath.
I grab air as he rolls out of bed.
It’s getting late. Don’t want
to get busted. He stands, looks
down, at himself and the bed.
But not at me. Why won’t he
look at me? We’d better clean
up. And you might want
to wash your sheets. You’re
not on your period, are you?
“No, not for …” Now I notice
how the front of him is splashed
red, and the crimson stain
flowering on my bed. My face
burns. “It’s not my period.”
How could he not know that
the first time can make a girl bleed?
Or did he maybe not believe … ?
A Poem by Ginger Cordell
Bleed
Open a vein, feel
the rush, exodus,
delicious.
Don’t be afraid,
there’s no pain
in the letting,
delectable.
Watch the red
flow, let it go,
drip,
make it slow,
drip.
If you’ve done
it right, you won’t
wake from the night’s
indescribably peaceful
dream.
Ginger
You Would Think
The possibility of losing
a
child would be a wake-up
call. Not for Iris. No way.
Sandy is still in a coma,
wandering around some-
where deep inside his brain.
The doctors don’t know
if he’s going to make it.
They say we should pray.
Gram’s done a whole lot
of praying. She’s the one
who sits by his side, day
after day. Iris says it’s too
hard to see her little boy
that way. She’s only been
to the hospital two or three
times. Makes Gram mad.
Makes me mad too. Iris
doesn’t give two squirts
who she pisses off. All
she cares about is herself.
It’s Been a Month
A month of worry, of guilt,
of my having to play the role
of “Mom” even more, because
Gram isn’t there to help
me do it. A month of
Mary Ann, withdrawing
into a silent, blank-eyed
world where accidents
don’t happen, especially
not on her watch. I try to
help, but she isn’t ready
to quit blaming herself.
A month of mounting bills—
doctor bills, ambulance bills,
hospital bills—that Gram
is determined somehow
to pay. Where there’s a will,
there has to be a way.
A month of Iris diving
deeper and deeper into
bottomless bottles of numb.
She Has a New Boyfriend
A big-boned truck-driving
son of a bitch, with eyes
like a crow’s—black, dead.
I’ve seen eyes like those
before, on another of
Iris’s badass lays, one
I can’t forget. I do my best
never to think of him, what
he did. Try never to remember
that place in my childhood,
but sometimes it pops into
view despite all my efforts
to keep it hidden. I was almost
ten, and we lived in Pahrump,
the butthole of Nevada. Iris
worked at a cathouse, making
money her usual way, only
without walking the streets.
Walt was a miner, and though
he was a regular paying
customer at Mimi’s, he had
an appetite for younger
meat. Iris was younger then
too, but even at twenty-six,
she was way too old for Walt.
Still, he paid for her, then he
followed her home. She let
him move in for a while.
I remember his sour sweat,