The You I've Never Known(46)

them.

Too often there wasn’t enough

money for Dad

to buy them.

Of course,

there was always enough cash

to cover his booze and cigarettes.

Once I was old enough to figure that out,

disappointment swelled into anger.

Not that it mattered.

My silent seething rarely bothered Dad.

The few times I mentioned how awful it made me feel to be ignored on the days other kids celebrated with parties and gifts, Dad would shrug.

Sorry. I’m not much, and I admit that.

But I’m all you’ve got, aren’t I?

It’s me or foster care.

Take your pick.

Besides, you know you love your old man.

Despite all the bad, I did love him. Still do, though sometimes I can’t figure out why.

Maybe I’ve always been desperate to love anyone at all.





I Don’t Offer Gabe


That extended addendum.

We decide to hang out on Sunday, designated football day at Zelda’s.

He wants me to help him pick out

a classic GTO

paint color,

plus complementary interior options.

I ask if he’ll give the Focus a once-over, not that I think the Granthams would keep it in less than perfect mechanical shape.

I just want to spend time with Gabe.

Because, whatever does or doesn’t happen with Monica after this, I

care about

him, too.





The First Thing


That happens with Monica is dinner. I can’t believe what she’s put together with the meager ingredients we have available.

On the menu:

Homemade mac

(unburied from the cupboard) and cheddar cheese

(one of the few things in the fridge) with baby peas and pearl onions (found in a freezer drawer).

She even digs up bacon

to add, crumbled,

to the main dish.

It needs to bake thirty or forty minutes. She slides the casserole into the preheated oven, then turns back to me. What did your dad say about the car?

I relate what Gabe told me.

“So, things could either be A-OK, or totally not. You never know where Dad’s concerned.

At least the car won’t be a surprise.”

She sets the oven timer. We’ve got a little time. What you want to do?





I Hesitate


But not for long, because if I lose my nerve now, who knows when

I might find it again? I take her hand, lead her into the living room,

notice we both still have our shoes on, something we’d better remedy.

“Shoes by the door in case Dad

decides to surprise us. Besides,

socks are sexier.” Did I just say that?

Monica laughs. I never heard that one before, and you haven’t seen my socks. They could be gross.

They’re not. They’re fluffy pink and totally clean, at least until she has to walk around the house in them.

Vacuuming is my Saturday job,

so there’s almost a week’s worth

of dust on the floor. Oh well.

“Okay, this is the very first time I’ve ever asked anyone this, but

you wanna make out or what?”

Pensé que nunca lo preguntarías.

She thought I’d never ask, and

before I can change my mind

she pulls me over to the couch, gently sits me down. Oh, wait.

She goes over to the window, closes the blinds. This is a private show.

Wouldn’t want your neighbors to see. Recostarte, novia. Lie back.

I like that she’s taking charge,

mostly because I have no idea

what to do next. I close my eyes, accept her lead. It begins with

the expected kiss, except this one moves quickly beyond invitation, all the way into the danger zone.

Just as I think my heart will pound out of my chest, the tip of her tongue traces the outline of my mouth

before her lips kiss the excited pulse beneath my right ear, then move

to the matching throb under the left.

When she kisses down my neck,

to the small cleft between my breasts, my instinct is to protest. No!

she commands. ?Déjame hacer esto! She says to let her do this.





And “This”


Might be something

I’ve thought about,

dreamed about, but

had no clear idea about how it would look,

how it would feel,

how it would happen to me.

How it looks is beautiful.

When she rises up over me, I can see she is a creature not of this world, an angel— half-dark, half-light—fallen to earth from the autumn sky.

Flawless but for the barely perceptible blemishes I am privileged to see.

How it feels is unlike anything my imagination could have invented.

She fumbles the mechanics of clothing and positions, but I don’t mind because if she isn’t practiced we can learn together; there is discovery to share.





Driven by Instinct


Fueled by solid lust we are skin to skin tongue to tongue

and tongue to skin She kisses in circles the arc of my neck the curves of my breasts the smaller circumferences of my nipples.