she’s blushing, I’m busting on crushing.
I brush my fingertips across the smooth convexity of her forehead; in her sleep she winces, swats my hand away, a refusal.
“What day is today?” she whispers, pulling awake.
“I don’t know,” I murmur into her hair. I roll closer to her. I extend my leg, bending it over hers. Her hand rests on my thigh. She extends her other leg across mine; our legs twin boomerangs, interhooked, splayed like two clocks’ hands. I wrap my extended leg around her back, pulling her in, belly to belly, where we remain for a minute, finally seeing the whites of each other’s eyes. It’s like, I’ve always known this world was mine, but then Rowie came along and found the door, and stood there until I heard her breathing on the other side, 25 until I opened it and let her all in, let myself all spilling out on a sleepless black-haired girl. She rises to her knees and lifts herself over me, forcing me onto my back as the hand behind me acquiesces. Both of her hands are spanning my waist, holding her up as she regards me sleepily from above.
25. SiN:
I hear you. / I hear you. / I hear you.
“Do you ever get that feeling like you’ll never have enough time?” I ask.
“Every day,” she answers.
I nod. “That’s how I feel when I’m with you.”
“You too. I mean, me too,” she says, leaning down to kiss me. My heart begins to thunder as I cross my ankles behind her back.
“Tessie! Hustle!” Marcy yells with her head out the Jimmy window, leaning on the horn. We see Darlene’s vexed face poke between the living-room curtains. She puts a bony finger to her lips; Marcy relents on the horn.
“Where is she? We still have to get Rowie and be at the LocoMotive by nine,” I say.
“Do you think the stick up Darlene’s ass is actually from a tree, or do you think she had it specially hand-carved?” Marcy says.
“You’re a little harsh on Darlene,” I say. “So she’s a Botox queen. She’s not, like, evil.”
“Yo, my first memory of that woman is her refusing to take us to the grocery store before Tess had makeup on after we slept over that one time. We were, like, twelve.”
“I know,” I say. “That was when we found the TrimSpa in her bathroom and tried it. We were up all night. No wonder we looked like shit in the morning.”
“She’s just ugly to me. I mean, you definitely freak her out, but you’re still parent-friendlier than me. Try showing up to dinner at Darlene’s in a men’s undershirt and a Twins hat,” Marcy says. “Watch the feathers fly.”
“God, how’d you get to be such a little butch?” I say. “Has anyone else noticed I’m surrounded by pseudo-queers? My dad builds fairy houses. My best friend dresses like Fiddy Cent.”
“Maybe we’re all queer, you know?” Marcy asks.
“What does that mean?” I ask, cracking up.
“Just means that ain’t none of us ever gonna fit in, so I do what the fuck I want. Sexuality spectrum!” Marcy gives a fist pump.
Just then, Tess finally bursts out of her house, tripping like a vixen in vicious heely boots. Ignoring Darlene in the doorway, we hang out the windows and catcall like heathens.
“
Daaaaammmnnn,
girl.” I reach over and slap Tess’s legginged ass as she climbs in the back. “This is, like, some Debbie Harry shizz.” Tess’s wearing a red minidress with gold polka dots, shiny black leggings, and the skank heels. Tess is the kind of beautiful that makes you wonder if that much beautiful ever gets in her way.
“Naw, dude.” She grins. “This is, like, some Con-Tessa shizz.”
We’re on our way to play at the LocoMotive, a grungy little Minneapolis club with an open-mike night. And come to think of it, we’re all kinda pimped out to the teeth for our first real thing: Marcy’s added chains and brass knuckles to her standard beater-and-jeans ensemble, and I could swear
I brush my fingertips across the smooth convexity of her forehead; in her sleep she winces, swats my hand away, a refusal.
“What day is today?” she whispers, pulling awake.
“I don’t know,” I murmur into her hair. I roll closer to her. I extend my leg, bending it over hers. Her hand rests on my thigh. She extends her other leg across mine; our legs twin boomerangs, interhooked, splayed like two clocks’ hands. I wrap my extended leg around her back, pulling her in, belly to belly, where we remain for a minute, finally seeing the whites of each other’s eyes. It’s like, I’ve always known this world was mine, but then Rowie came along and found the door, and stood there until I heard her breathing on the other side, 25 until I opened it and let her all in, let myself all spilling out on a sleepless black-haired girl. She rises to her knees and lifts herself over me, forcing me onto my back as the hand behind me acquiesces. Both of her hands are spanning my waist, holding her up as she regards me sleepily from above.
25. SiN:
I hear you. / I hear you. / I hear you.
“Do you ever get that feeling like you’ll never have enough time?” I ask.
“Every day,” she answers.
I nod. “That’s how I feel when I’m with you.”
“You too. I mean, me too,” she says, leaning down to kiss me. My heart begins to thunder as I cross my ankles behind her back.
“Tessie! Hustle!” Marcy yells with her head out the Jimmy window, leaning on the horn. We see Darlene’s vexed face poke between the living-room curtains. She puts a bony finger to her lips; Marcy relents on the horn.
“Where is she? We still have to get Rowie and be at the LocoMotive by nine,” I say.
“Do you think the stick up Darlene’s ass is actually from a tree, or do you think she had it specially hand-carved?” Marcy says.
“You’re a little harsh on Darlene,” I say. “So she’s a Botox queen. She’s not, like, evil.”
“Yo, my first memory of that woman is her refusing to take us to the grocery store before Tess had makeup on after we slept over that one time. We were, like, twelve.”
“I know,” I say. “That was when we found the TrimSpa in her bathroom and tried it. We were up all night. No wonder we looked like shit in the morning.”
“She’s just ugly to me. I mean, you definitely freak her out, but you’re still parent-friendlier than me. Try showing up to dinner at Darlene’s in a men’s undershirt and a Twins hat,” Marcy says. “Watch the feathers fly.”
“God, how’d you get to be such a little butch?” I say. “Has anyone else noticed I’m surrounded by pseudo-queers? My dad builds fairy houses. My best friend dresses like Fiddy Cent.”
“Maybe we’re all queer, you know?” Marcy asks.
“What does that mean?” I ask, cracking up.
“Just means that ain’t none of us ever gonna fit in, so I do what the fuck I want. Sexuality spectrum!” Marcy gives a fist pump.
Just then, Tess finally bursts out of her house, tripping like a vixen in vicious heely boots. Ignoring Darlene in the doorway, we hang out the windows and catcall like heathens.
“
Daaaaammmnnn,
girl.” I reach over and slap Tess’s legginged ass as she climbs in the back. “This is, like, some Debbie Harry shizz.” Tess’s wearing a red minidress with gold polka dots, shiny black leggings, and the skank heels. Tess is the kind of beautiful that makes you wonder if that much beautiful ever gets in her way.
“Naw, dude.” She grins. “This is, like, some Con-Tessa shizz.”
We’re on our way to play at the LocoMotive, a grungy little Minneapolis club with an open-mike night. And come to think of it, we’re all kinda pimped out to the teeth for our first real thing: Marcy’s added chains and brass knuckles to her standard beater-and-jeans ensemble, and I could swear
Similar Books
