door. He moves slowly, leaning down to greet another cat lounging on the back porch. “We don’t have much money,” he says as he opens the door and steps into the kitchen. “Don’t expect much.”
I laugh. “I don’t care about that.”
He walks me through the small kitchen and den and up stairs that are carpeted with brown shag. “Come on,” he says when I stop to look at pictures of him and his sister as little kids. There’s a hint of anger in his voice. We go up another flight of skinny stairs leading to an attic room. Half of it has a twin bed and fish tank. His clothes are scattered on the floor. The other half has an easel splattered with paint, rags, and a card table covered with tubes of oil paint. He explains his mother paints on one side, but the other is all his. I sit on his bed and smile, wanting him to join me. He’s acting weird and distant. I need him to touch me, to get close, inside me. I need to know he’s still mine. He starts to pick up his clothes from the floor.
“Forget those,” I say. I take off my shirt and dangle it over the floor. “I’m only going to mess it up again.”
He hesitates, but he looks at my chest. I straighten my back a little, pushing out my breasts. I smile again. He drops the clothes on a chair and comes to me. It’s so easy like that sometimes to get what I want. We have sex, using a condom. When it is over we lie together a moment. I bury my nose into his neck, smelling his scent. A car beeps, and Heath jumps up, pulling on his boxers, and looks out the open window.
“Denny,” he yells. “What’s up?”
“We’re going to Riverside,” the friend yells.
“I can’t, dude,” Heath says. He gestures back toward his bed, and me. “I’m busy.” He laughs, and Denny laughs too.
“Ah, OK, dude. I got it.”
I smile, liking this, being the object of Heath and his friend’s attention. Being the one Heath has sex with. When his friend leaves,
•
75 •
L o o s e G i r l
though, Heath doesn’t come back into bed. He starts pulling on his clothes. I get up and do the same, figuring it’s what he wants.
When we get down to the second floor, I ask to use the bathroom.
Heath points to it.
“It’s small,” he says uncomfortably.
I go in and close the door behind me. The bathroom is indeed tiny and cluttered. There’s a brown stain in the sink. But I don’t care about that. Why does he think I care so much? I pee quickly and flush, then run the water and wipe my hands on a damp bath towel.
He’s in his mother’s bedroom when I come out, but when I join him he quickly makes for the stairs again. He waits at the door.
“You better go,” he says. “My mom’s going to be home soon.”
“I’d like to meet your mom.”
He grimaces. “Maybe another time,” he says. “I’ve got a bunch of homework.”
I nod. “OK.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.
“I’ll miss you,” I whisper.
He pulls away first. “I’ll catch you later, OK?”
In the car, I try to shake off the feeling he’s going away. His words echo in my head. Maybe another time. There will be another time. He said it himself.
K
s i n c e i c a n ’ t be with Heath as much as I would like, I fill the rest of my time with friends. I go to one of the Jennifers’ houses and do cocaine or we sit in the smoking sections of diners and drink coffee for hours. Jennifer B and I, it turns out, have many of the same interests. We drive together up Route 9W to Nyack, New York, a small, artsy town that has cute little shops full of goods made by local artists. We buy beads and handknit hats. We gossip about people at school. She has a boyfriend too, a cute Filipino boy a grade below us, and we exchange stories from our relationships. She’s been seeing
•
76 •
A H o u s e w i t h N o M e n her boyfriend for close to a year, so her stories are more dramatic, funnier. They have a lightness to them I can’t get to with Heath, aware as I am of this constant
I laugh. “I don’t care about that.”
He walks me through the small kitchen and den and up stairs that are carpeted with brown shag. “Come on,” he says when I stop to look at pictures of him and his sister as little kids. There’s a hint of anger in his voice. We go up another flight of skinny stairs leading to an attic room. Half of it has a twin bed and fish tank. His clothes are scattered on the floor. The other half has an easel splattered with paint, rags, and a card table covered with tubes of oil paint. He explains his mother paints on one side, but the other is all his. I sit on his bed and smile, wanting him to join me. He’s acting weird and distant. I need him to touch me, to get close, inside me. I need to know he’s still mine. He starts to pick up his clothes from the floor.
“Forget those,” I say. I take off my shirt and dangle it over the floor. “I’m only going to mess it up again.”
He hesitates, but he looks at my chest. I straighten my back a little, pushing out my breasts. I smile again. He drops the clothes on a chair and comes to me. It’s so easy like that sometimes to get what I want. We have sex, using a condom. When it is over we lie together a moment. I bury my nose into his neck, smelling his scent. A car beeps, and Heath jumps up, pulling on his boxers, and looks out the open window.
“Denny,” he yells. “What’s up?”
“We’re going to Riverside,” the friend yells.
“I can’t, dude,” Heath says. He gestures back toward his bed, and me. “I’m busy.” He laughs, and Denny laughs too.
“Ah, OK, dude. I got it.”
I smile, liking this, being the object of Heath and his friend’s attention. Being the one Heath has sex with. When his friend leaves,
•
75 •
L o o s e G i r l
though, Heath doesn’t come back into bed. He starts pulling on his clothes. I get up and do the same, figuring it’s what he wants.
When we get down to the second floor, I ask to use the bathroom.
Heath points to it.
“It’s small,” he says uncomfortably.
I go in and close the door behind me. The bathroom is indeed tiny and cluttered. There’s a brown stain in the sink. But I don’t care about that. Why does he think I care so much? I pee quickly and flush, then run the water and wipe my hands on a damp bath towel.
He’s in his mother’s bedroom when I come out, but when I join him he quickly makes for the stairs again. He waits at the door.
“You better go,” he says. “My mom’s going to be home soon.”
“I’d like to meet your mom.”
He grimaces. “Maybe another time,” he says. “I’ve got a bunch of homework.”
I nod. “OK.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him.
“I’ll miss you,” I whisper.
He pulls away first. “I’ll catch you later, OK?”
In the car, I try to shake off the feeling he’s going away. His words echo in my head. Maybe another time. There will be another time. He said it himself.
K
s i n c e i c a n ’ t be with Heath as much as I would like, I fill the rest of my time with friends. I go to one of the Jennifers’ houses and do cocaine or we sit in the smoking sections of diners and drink coffee for hours. Jennifer B and I, it turns out, have many of the same interests. We drive together up Route 9W to Nyack, New York, a small, artsy town that has cute little shops full of goods made by local artists. We buy beads and handknit hats. We gossip about people at school. She has a boyfriend too, a cute Filipino boy a grade below us, and we exchange stories from our relationships. She’s been seeing
•
76 •
A H o u s e w i t h N o M e n her boyfriend for close to a year, so her stories are more dramatic, funnier. They have a lightness to them I can’t get to with Heath, aware as I am of this constant
Similar Books
