Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice by April Sinclair

growth. I want to be a catalyst for change. That’s what I want.”
    I couldn’t help but be impressed. If a man were saying this stuff, he would probably be full of shit. No “probably” to it; he would be full of shit. But it sounded beautiful coming from a woman. I had to admit that I was attracted to Traci’s mystical style.
    â€œI’ve never met anyone who wanted to do all that before.”
    Traci smiled and reached her hands out and grasped my cold fingers. Our faces moved closer to each other as if by osmosis. My knees buckled as I sank my mouth into Traci’s soft lips. I felt my heart swell; I was scared by the intensity.
    â€œThat was nice,” Traci breathed after our lips parted.
    â€œYeah,” I agreed. “Well, I’d better turn in now,” I said, afraid that Traci might get ideas. The kiss was nice, but it was enough for one night.
    â€œI’ll get you some sheets for the bed.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief.
    â€œStevie, just wait until you see how the morning light shines on the stained glass hanging in Kate’s window.”

5
    I was still half-asleep when I felt something heavy against my thigh. I stiffened. Traci had promised that she wouldn’t try anything.
    I opened my eyes and stared into the face of Artemis, sitting on top of me.
    â€œHow did you get in here?” I yawned.
    I sat up on Kate’s firm mattress and opened my arms to the cat. I could hear loud music with a strong beat. I glanced around the room in the sunlight. The floor was covered with a straw mat. There were a lot of books, big pillows on the floor, candles, and a poster of a yogi with his legs crossed, wearing swimming trunks. I got a good laugh out of the poster of Prime Minister Indira Gandhi that asked, “But Can She Type?”
    I was sitting up in the bed petting Artemis when Traci stuck her fuzzy head in the door. “You up?”
    I nodded, pulling down on the big T-shirt she’d given me to sleep in.
    Traci walked in the room wearing a faded blue terry cloth bathrobe. I’d always been a sucker for terry cloth.
    â€œYou could wake the dead with that loud music,” I said smiling.
    â€œDon’t you like reggae music, mon?” Traci asked, dancing and popping her fingers.
    â€œI s’pose, but I’m not that familiar with it.”
    â€œThat’s Jimmy Cliff, mon. Did you catch the flick The Harder They Come ? Well, this is the sound track.”
    I shook my head. “I’ve been in the boonies for the last four years. We had to drive to Peoria just to see The Exorcist .”
    â€œWell, you’ll just have to make up for lost time.”
    â€œCan I take a shower first?”
    â€œSure, I’ll get you a towel.”
    â€œThanks, mon.”
    Traci had been right, I thought, staring at the stained glass image of a lotus with the sun shining through it. It gave me a warm feeling. And so did she. I decided to stay the week.
    The airlines had let me change my flight, and Today and Sharlinda had bought my story, lock, stock, and barrel about staying an extra week to be with Mr. Goodbar. It had been easy getting my brother Kevin to tell my parents that I was extending my vacation to check out graduate schools. All he was interested in was an autographed Oakland A’s baseball cap for his eighteenth birthday.
    The Castro had really been a trip. I’d never seen so many good-looking men who didn’t want women before. Traci informed me that the slim, alligator-shirt and jean-clad replicas were called Castro Street clones. A T-shirt in a store window had said it best: “San Francisco, my favorite city, where the women are strong and the men are pretty.”
    After a brunch of quiche and fruit in the Castro, Traci dropped me off near the hotel. She would return in an hour, after my homies were gone.
    Today and Sharlinda sat on the beds with their mouths open. I slumped down across from them in the boxy