swooping up at the tips
as if to say,
“Ta da!”
The four of us work
through the long afternoon,
sprinkling the boughs with tinsel and
lights and these funny little ornaments
they’ve been making for years.
And the entire time,
we’re singing along with
these great old rock ’n’ roll versions
of all the Christmas songs,
and stringing popcorn and drinking eggnog,
and the only thing missing is
the chestnuts roasting on the open fire.
(Well actually,
they’ve got the fire,
they just don’t have the chestnuts.)
The whole scene is so incredibly Hallmark,
so totally Kodak,
so utterly It’s a Wonderful Life-ish,
that it’s absolutely
perfect.
And when Murphy hands me the star
for the top of the tree,
his fingers brush mine,
and this strange little thrill
shoots right up my arm
to my heart.
WHEN WE’RE DONE WITH THE TREE
His parents go out to do some errands.
And as soon as the door closes behind them,
I become acutely aware of the fact
that Murphy and I are
alone together.
And that we’re standing
dangerously close to some mistletoe
that’s dangling from the light
in the hallway.
But Murphy doesn’t seem to notice.
He just smiles at me
and asks me if I’d like to
come upstairs
and see his room.
As innocent as anything.
MURPHY’S ROOM
The first thing I see
when he swings open his door,
is that he’s got
one whole wall
done up like a huge bulletin board.
He’s covered it with sketches
and paintings that he’s done,
and all these comics
and photos and poems,
and images he’s cut out of magazines.
And these headlines from trashy papers,
that say things like:
PSYCHIC LOBSTER EARNS GAMBLER FOUR MILLION!
and TEN PEOPLE VANISH WITHOUT A TRACE
IN PORTABLE TOILET!
Then I notice
a postcard of Le Bal à Bougival.
And right there next to it
is a picture of me!
The one he drew that day in art class.
And somehow,
seeing it up there
right on Murphy’s wall like that,
makes me feel like hundreds of butterflies
are fluttering around inside of me.
I TELL HIM HOW MUCH I LOVE HIS WALL
Especially his psychic lobster headline.
Then we start joking around about pets
and we end up griping about the fact
that neither of us have any,
and Murphy sighs and says
that all he wants for Christmas is a dog.
But he says there’s no way it’ll happen
because his mom’s allergic.
And then I tell him my mom’s allergic too,
and so we marvel over this coincidence
and then we start commiserating about
our tragically dogless lives
and soon we’re plotting ways
to earn enough money to buy
a secret golden retriever together
and giggling about how we’ll name him Artie
and hide him from our parents
by disguising him as a kinetic sculpture.
And while we’re rolling around on the floor
laughing about this,
I come to the sudden
and very startling realization
that all I want for Christmas
is Murphy.
!!!
A few minutes later
we’re just goofing around,
drawing tattoos on each other’s arms,
when this
real slow song
comes on the radio,
and before I even know what’s happening,
he grabs hold of my hand, pulls me up,
wraps his arms around me,
and we’re dancing,
real slow,
like the song,
and suddenly
this shiver ripples
through every cell in my body—
whoa . . .
it’s him—
my masked man—
Murphy’s my masked man!
THIS TIME
When he asks me if I want to go out
to the movies with him tonight,
I say Yes, with a very capital Y.
Yes, I say, Yes!
And when he pulls me to him
and presses his lips to mine
it feels as if
our souls
are kissing.
And it’s
exactly like
I used to imagine it
only all that love,
all that need,
is pouring out of both of us.
And when we finally stop
to catch our breath,
and I open my eyes,
I notice this one dark curl
hanging down right
in the middle of his forehead
and I think how sexy it looks
and wonder why
I never noticed it before.
Then we press our lips together again,
and I can feel it
down to the tips of my toes.
WE HEAR THE FRONT DOOR OPENING
But we can’t stop kissing.
Maybe we’ll never stop.
Ever.
But then his mother shouts up the stairs,
“Robin . . .”
And then again, “Robinnn . . .”
We manage to pry our lips apart.
And for half a second I think that maybe
Murphy has a brother I don’t know about.
Then
I suddenly remember.
“You’re Robin!”
“Yeah,”
he says with a wry smile,
“I know.”
It’s been so many years since
the kids at school have called him that,
that I’d almost forgotten.
“I’m going to call you Robin
from now on,” I say,
“If that’s okay . . .”
And
he answers
with a kiss.
IN THE MOVIE THEATER
Robin whispers something to me,
and when his lips
brush against my ear,
all the atoms in my body
start vibrating,
as though I’m a harp
and every single one
of my strings
has just been plucked
at the exact same time.
I don’t catch what he says.
But it doesn’t matter.
And when our fingers bump
in the popcorn box,
a shower of sparks flies out.
HAIR PRAYER
His hand’s
in my hair.
May he leave it
right there
until April
or May,
near the nape
of my neck
just below
my left ear.
Let it stay
where it is,
right here
in my hair
and not go
anywhere
for a year
and a day.
Bett
er yet,
let it stay
till I’m gray.
DEAR GRACHEL AND RACE,
Merry Xmas! I hope you don’t mind that I’m e-ing you both at the same time, but I only have a nanosecond to write because I’ve got a date with this guy named Robin. Isn’t that the most beautiful name in the world? He is definitely my Mr. Right-and-a-half! He’s really into art like me and he’s funny and smart and when he kisses me, it’s so intense it feels like our molecules are practically fusing together!
Last night we went caroling in Louisburg Square. I sort of hummed through the parts about Jesus, but it was so fun. And today, Robin gave me these chubby little pads of paper and I gave him some fancy sketching pencils. So we ended up drawing this great flip book together. It’s so cool. Can’t wait to show it to you. And my sperm panties, too. (No. I have not shown them to Robin!)
Oops. There’s the doorbell. Gotta run.
Love, Fee
BY THE CHARLES
The sun’s
a big gold coin
floating in an ocean of pink,
behind the lacy silhouettes
of the trees.
We’re watching the Citgo sign
splash its neon onto the water,
turning it red,
then blue, then violet,
then red again.
“I love that sign,” I say.
“I love you,” Robin says.
I feel my cheeks
turn the color of the sky.
“I love you, too,” I say.
Then we kiss
and kiss again
as swirls of the lightest snow
start fluttering down around us,
like tiny frozen feathers.
A FOOT OF SNOW HAS FALLEN!
We’ve been sledding
and making snow angels
and having snowball fights,
and building snowmen
and snowwomen
and snowdogs and snowmonsters,
and drawing huge hearts
in the snow
with our initials in them,
and everything’s twinkly
and gleaming
and soft.
And if this
was a scene in a movie,
it would definitely be the sappy montage.
WINTER KISS
our cheeks
burning with the cold
the tips of our noses
numb
our icicled lips
bump clumsily
then suddenly
melt together
warming us better
than any cup of steaming cocoa ever could
IT’S ODD ABOUT KISSING
When I first met Dylan
I wanted to kiss him all the time.
But the more I got to really know him,
the less I felt like kissing him.
And it was the same way
with Lou before that.
But with Robin it’s the other way around.
The more I get to really know him,
the more I want to kiss him.
And his kisses are so powerful
they’re almost like kisses
from another planet.
Maybe that’s just how it is
when your mind and your body
and your heart and your soul
are in total agreement with each other.
Maybe that’s how it is
when it’s real love.
HIS FOREARMS
It’s hard to keep my eyes off them,
hard to keep my mind off them,
hard to keep my hands off them
when his sleeves are rolled up.
The curve of them,
where they taper down to his wrists.
That incredibly warm skin,
sprinkled with the silkiest golden brown hairs.
It’s hard to keep my fingers from
brushing across them
on the way
to taking hold of his hands.
MORE E-MAIL
Dear Fee,
Hooray! Your bird boy sounds incredible. I’m coming home
Saturday (New Year’s Eve!) and I’m planning on having just
about the most delirious make-out session in history with
Henry . But I’m coming over to your house first thing New
Year’s morning. So you better be ready to tell me all the
juicy details!
Love, Grace
P.S. When can I meet him?
Dear Fifi,
Picture me fainting with joy, and then coming to and jumping up and down and shouting YIPPEE!!!! really loud, and then fainting again. Because that’s what I did when I got your e about Mr. Robin Right-and-a-half. I’m soooooo happy for you! Arriving home on Saturday afternoon. Breaking up with Danny New Year’s Eve. (Well, thinking about it anyway . . .) But, I’ll be beating down your door on Sunday morning. I want to know absolutely EVERYTHING!!!!
Love, Rachel
MY NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION
I, Sophie Stein,
hereby resolve to tell Rachel Ness
and Grace Brody
the true identity of my new boyfriend
on New Year’s Day.
No matter what.
And
to not spend one second
between now and then
worrying about
how they’re going to react.
(Yeah. Right.)
NEW YEAR’S EVE
My parents know I’m over here at Robin’s.
But what they don’t know
is that his parents have gone next door
And even if they did,
they wouldn’t be worried,
since they still think
we’re just friends.
Robin’s parents know
we’re more than friends,
but they said
they trust us implicitly,
by which
I think they meant,
“So don’t do anything
we wouldn’t want you to do.”
And we haven’t.
So far.
SHADOW PLAY
We’ve turned off all the lights
in the living room
to make hand shadows.
We’ve got this
big flashlight
aimed at the wall.
I make the silhouette of my hand
into a duck.
Robin makes his into a rabbit.
Now my duck kisses his rabbit
And—POOF!—it turns into
a turkey.
And for some reason
this strikes us
as hysterically funny.
But you probably had to be there.
MORE SHADOWS
I aim the flashlight straight up
at the center of the ceiling.
Robin raises his hand high above it.
Then slowly,
with his fingers outstretched,
he brings it down towards the light.
This makes it look like
the enormous hand of a giant
is clamping down over the room,
till we’re
alone together
under a tent of thrilling darkness.
AT MIDNIGHT
We toast each other
with Perrier
in champagne glasses.
We watch
the ball drop
in Times Square.
Then we sink back
into the cushions of the couch
and kiss the New Year in,
his body pressing
so tightly to mine
that I feel my breath quickening,
my heart
pounding
against his—
But suddenly
the key turns in the lock
of the front door—
and a second later,
when his parents walk into
the living room,
they find us sitting
at opposite ends of the couch,
utterly engrossed in the TV.
ON THE DRIVE HOME
Robin’s dad is giving me
a detailed list
of every New Year’s resolution
that he’s ever made in his life.
And I’m sitting here
watching all the Christmas lights
drift past the window,
trying my best to listen.
But it’s hard,
because I can’t stop thinking
about Rachel and Grace and about
how they’re both coming over to see me
just a few hours from now.
I TRY TO PICTURE IT
I try to picture myself
telling them.
I try to hear myself
saying the words.
“You’ll never guess
who Robin really is.”
I try to picture myself saying, “Murphy.”
I try to imagine them squealing
and leaping up to hug me,
telling me they always suspected
he was an amazingly neat guy
underneath that dull exterior.
But all I can picture
is Rachel’s face going white,
Grace’s eyes getting huge.
All I can hear is
Rachel’s nervous giggle
and Grace saying, “Oh. My. God.”
And all I can think about
is how sick I’m going to feel,
and how hard it will be