Her House
Is fairly close to mine. Good
thing. Hanging out in my room,
I didn’t notice how buzzed I was.
I’m definitely feeling it now,
though. It’s hard to drive a straight
line. Thank God I can take side
streets. If I actually had to talk to
a cop, he’d haul my ass in, no
doubt. Gonna be hard enough trying
to say a few coherent words to
Ronnie. Even this late at night,
it’s really warm—probably pushing
eighty. I drive with the windows
down, letting air movement fight
brain blur. Every street in Vegas
is well lit, and everywhere you
look at night, bursts of neon
color the obnoxious skyline.
I cruise slowly, tripping on a tall
turquoise tower, how it seems
to weave in and out of the breeze-ruffled
palm trees lining the street.
Suddenly, something—someone?—
dashes into the road right in front
of me. I punch the brakes, honk
the horn, barely manage to miss
the dimwad, who skids to a halt
on the far side of the street.
Then he turns back toward
my car. What? Who? Cory!
He rips around to the passenger
door, jerks it open, jumps inside.
Go! I shake my head, try to make
some sense of what just went down.
Did I almost run over my brother?
Fucking hurry up, okay?
The Tone of His Voice
Is enough to make me comply.
I punch the gas pedal, no tangible
clue why, almost overwhelmed
by the smell of cheap booze clinging
to my little brother. “What the hell
is going on, Cory?” As the question
sputters from my mouth, I get
a sickly feeling I don’t want to hear
the answer. But hey, he’s not exactly
dying to give me an answer. Nothing.
Not a goddamn thing. So why
are his hands shaking? And how
is it obvious, in the murky half-light
inside the car, that his face is
approximately the color of dirty cotton?
Whatever. He’ll tell me when he feels
like it—or maybe he won’t. I’m not
the type to pry. As I turn the corner,
I hear his small, tortured exhale as
he scrunches down in the seat. A patrol
car comes cruising up the block toward
us, spotlight sweeping sidewalks,
yards. Looking for Cory, no doubt.
What has the dumb shit done?
I Try Not to Think
About that as I fight a sudden
explosion of fear. I’m driving in
a straight line, under the limit, at
least the speed limit. As for blood
alcohol, there is a very good
possibility that I’m well over
the .08. And should this cop decide
to pull me over, just in case he
really ought to take a look (and hey,
apparently he should!), exactly
what charges might I have to face,
for no more reason than having
a certain passenger in my car?
Whatever Cory has done, I want
to wring the little prick’s neck.
“What the hell did you do, Cory?”
My hands are slick with sweat
against the sticky steering wheel.
I keep glancing in my rearview
mirror, sure I’m minutes away
from a trip to juvie. But the cop
keeps driving up the block, likely
positive in his little pea brain that
whoever he’s looking for is on foot.
Or maybe he’s just too lazy
to worry about possibilities
(and viable possibilities at that),
driving by in the other direction.
Speaking of driving by, I just
motored on past Ronnie’s.
The house was dark, except
for a light in a single window.
A bedroom window, where
I have no doubt a gorgeous,
well-built girl sits waiting to
do me, after she’s finished
bitching me out completely.
Major butt kissing in order,
if I happen to actually make it
home without becoming a suspect
in a … what? What the fuck?
Suddenly my head is clear.
I turn another corner. Drive away
from home. Stay under the limit.
Find a deserted street, pull right up
against the sidewalk. “If you don’t
tell me exactly what’s going on, I’ll
knock your bony ass to the curb.”
His Answer
Is a couple minutes coming, like
he’s considering making up a lie.
Finally his shoulders sag. It will
be the truth. I kinda broke into
a house. They had an alarm.
He doesn’t look at me, just stares
out the window, into the night,
the same night I’m staring into.
“What do you mean, ‘kinda’?
You can’t ‘kinda’ break into
a house. You did or you didn’t.”
Jeez, I sound just like Jack, at
least just like Jack before …
Now I get to play dad to Cory,
not that it’s a role I want, or
do very well. Still, I can’t just
sit here and say okay to burglary.
Anyway, “Kinda or not … why?”
Zero hesitation. Why the fuck
not? Jesus, Cody, do you live
on a different planet? We need
the stinking money! Jack’s never
going back to work. You know that.
Don’t you hear Mom jabbering
about too many bills, not enough
insurance and such? What do you
think’s gonna happen to her
when he kicks the freaking bucket?
What’s gonna happen to … us?
He stutters. Breaks. Tries to buck
up. But suddenly, like fragile glass
stressed beyond redemption,
he simply shatters. Fuck it!
Cory’s giant sobs fill the front
seat with booze-infused exhales.
He probably wants to cry like a man—
alone within his pain. This may
be the wrong thing to do. But as
I watch him, my own fear hiccups
to the surface. I pull my tough,
break-and-enter little brother
into my arms, and we cry together.
Headlights Turn the Corner
Flooding us with halogen blue
light. Cop? No, but it comes to
me that we probably look like
gay dudes making out or something.
Cory must think so too, because
he jerks like he’s been shocked.
Sorry. That was totally lame.
Let’s go before we get arrested.
He withdraws across the seat, gaze
again drawn to the neon-spiked
night. Too bad Jack isn’t here,
ready with some witty remark
to make everything okay. Too
bad Jack isn’t here, period. “No
worries. But don’t ever do anything
like that again. Shit, Cory, if you
get busted, you’ll just make things
worse. We’ll be okay. I promise.�
�
I start toward home, chewing on
how I could have promised such
an unlikely thing. Now I’ve got to
find a way to keep my word.
One way comes to mind. All
I need is a little investment capital.
A Poem by Eden Streit
Need
Need is a curious thing.
Until you plant the seed,
nurture it, encourage its
awakening,
you’re not even sure
it’s there. But once it
germinates, nudges up,
breaking ground,
you can no longer deny
it has always lain dormant
inside you. And now,
blossoming
with every kiss, every
touch of his hand, this
new kind of need is
growing,
sprouting shoots,
tendrils of desire
threading you,
consuming you.
Eden
Six Months
Since Andrew and I first started seeing
each other. Almost a month since
we took our relationship all the way,
clear over the top, dropping me eye-deep
into a bottomless pit of obsession.
That’s pretty much how it feels.
Like I’m in so deep I’ll never climb out,
not that I want to. So okay. I’m obsessed.
Whether or not God will forgive me remains
to be seen. But I have absolutely no clue
how I could un-obsess myself if Andrew
ever decided he didn’t want me in his life.
So far, though, Andrew seems every
bit as obsessed with me as I am with him.
We have learned a lot about each other.
How to touch. Where to kiss. When to let go.
Before this month, I didn’t really believe
I was his first. But I was. Am. I have taught
him as much as he has taught me, all
through mutual experimentation. Mad
sex scientists, that’s us. There have been
clumsy moments, yes. But they are rare. Few.
The worst was when it suddenly came to us
that, swept downstream by a flood of desire,
we hadn’t used protection the first time.
But either I’m sterile or the timing was right,
because three days later I started my period.
We’ve been careful ever since. I wish
I could go on the pill, but I know for certain
if I showed my face at Planned Parenthood,
word would get back to my parents. A trip
to the pharmacy would yield the same result.
Meaning birth control—condoms, not the best,
but better than nothing—is up to Andrew.
With or Without Condoms
(Because after all, we don’t have to have
sex every time we see each other, do we?)
I’m hoping to see Andrew today. Saturday,
so no school, and I’m done with my chores.
I’ve just got to come up with the right little
white lie. Or big black lie. Whatever.
Mama seems kind of suspicious lately.
I think what they say about being in love
is true—some inner glow becomes obvious
to everyone around you, even those
you most want to keep solidly in the dark.
“So, Mama. Shania and I are doing
an English project on The Lord of
the Rings. She invited me over to work
on it. Would that be okay?” Shania
is, like, my only friend. I’ve known
her since she moved here in second grade
and her family joined Papa’s church.
Once in a while we do stuff together,
and the English project is for real.
If I really go over there before meeting
Andrew, it will be a big white lie.
Mom is busy paying bills. She barely
glances my way. That’s good, because
when she says, Um. Guess so, I can
actually feel the love flicker ignite.
I hurry out the door before she changes
her mind. The day is warm and scented
with spring blooms. Shania is watering
the yard when I get there. “Hey, girl.”
A fair amount of surprise fills her eyes.
Eden. What are you doing here?
“Mama let me escape for a while. Just
thought I’d drop by and say hi. Why?”
She shakes her head. It’s just that …
well, lately … I haven’t seen you much.
Guilt nibbles. “I know. I’m sorry. I guess
I’ve been kind of distracted.” By Andrew.
Can’t Tell Her That Part
Or can I? Should I? It would feel good
to confess something this special.
Shania saves me the trouble. By your
boyfriend? Does she know? Or is she
guessing? “I suppose you could call
him that.” I’m not telling everything.
Really? A big grin crinkles her eyes.
So okay, she’s guessing. Good thing.
But now that the cat has halfway escaped
from the bag, she wants to know all.
Come inside and tell me more.
Who is he? Is he cute? How old
is he? Does he go to our school?
She grills me all the way through
the front door. “Hang on a sec.
I’ll tell you all about him. …”
Well, not all. “But first, I need to
make a call. Can I use your phone?”
I say good-bye to Shania, who
is slightly wiser about Andrew.
I didn’t tell her he happens to be the very
cute guy who sits in the back at church
most Sundays, or that he is picking me
up just down the block in a few minutes.
As I start walking, I can, in fact, see
the Tundra, patiently lurking curbside.
The obsession thing quickens my pace,
but behind me I hear Shania’s Bye.
I turn to wave, and see curiosity has
drawn her all the way to the sidewalk.
But Andrew is parked facing away from
her. I hurry on past the Tundra, motion
discreetly for him to follow me around
the corner. Out of Shania’s sight, I fling
open the door, slide across the seat, and kiss
Andrew like I haven’t seen him in days.
Mostly because I haven’t. Every filament
of me shimmers. “We have got to stop
meeting like this, you know.” Then
I add, “Almost forgot. I love you.”
He rewards me with that beautiful
smile. And I love you. Where to?
I shrug. “Anywhere. But not too far.
I should probably be home by four.”
Gotcha. He starts the Tundra, and
as he pulls away from the curb,
a little white car slows its approach.
I can’t help but notice the driver—
Shania’s sister, Caitlyn. And she most
definitely notices me. Her expression
is an interesting mixture—one part
curiosity, one part disbelief, one
part … jealousy? Is this trouble? I know
I should probably have Andrew turn
straight around, drop me off near the house.
But he’s so close. And he smells so good.
I need to be with him more than anything.
And if this is trouble, it already is.
A
Quarter to Four
Andrew drops me off around the corner
from home. It has been an amazing
afternoon, filled with love and making love.
He kisses me. See you soon. Very soon.
Ten to four, I walk in the door. Mama
and Papa are sitting there, waiting for me.
Nine to four, I know I’m most definitely
in trouble. Likely the major kind. “Hi?”
Mama pounces first. Where have you
been? And who have you been with?
Then she assesses my semi-disheveled
state. And what have you been doing?
Guilt flushes my face, burns my ears.
But I’m going to play stupid anyway.
“I told you before I left I was going to
Shania’s.” Stop there. See what happens.
Papa shadows Mama as she stands, takes
a step in my direction, fists clenching.
You know very well what I’m talking
about. You were with that McCarran boy.
Five to Four
My life is over. At least the slender
wedge of it that holds happiness.
Denial is ridiculous. Still, the words
pop out of my mouth, “Says who?”
I already know the answer. It is Papa
who gives it. Caitlyn Curry. Your mother
called to ask you to pick up some butter
on your way home. Caitlyn said you had
already left. And that she saw you in
a truck with the young man. Now I want
to know why you were with him. And why
you lied. His face is redder than mine.
Deception impossible, defiance
flares. “I was with Andrew because
I’m in love with him. And why
I lied should be pretty damn obvious.”
At the very intentional curse word,
Mama gasps. Papa pushes her behind
him, advances. You apologize to your
mother this instant, you little trollop.
Trollop? Who uses that word for real?
Laughter dribbles from my mouth.
And I stand my ground. “But I’m not
sorry, Papa. I’m tired of you and Mama
treating me like a little girl. I’m old enough
to fall in love. Why won’t you let me?”
Mama’s turn. Her voice drips
icicles. I believe you’re confusing
love and desire. Do you really think
that man is in love with you? What
he wants … Once again, her eyes travel
over me, trying to look under my clothes
to the sin she intuits beneath them.
He wants your innocence. I will not