Tenesa told me that she wanted to have her new boyfriend spend the night and pressured me to disappear. A favor, she said, for putting up with the creeps that kept coming around.
“Where am I supposed to go?” I asked, feeling obligated to kick rocks and sleep somewhere else for the night.
Miraculously her phone rang as if God himself heard me. It was Douglas, the Mediterranean, calling to see what she was doing. She boldly asked him without hesitation if I could stay at his place just for the night as a favor. He said yes and was on his way to pick me up in fifteen minutes. I ran straight to the showers to shave my legs, just in case.
Douglas’s room was physically cold but warm in the way he decorated it as if he was in some fancy Italian hotel room. I was shocked at the luxurious comforter neatly made up on his bed and lavish-looking tapestries hanging on the shabby barracks walls. This “white boy” had style. Displayed proudly on the desk was a photo of his family at a wedding, which reminded me of aristocratic portrait taken in Spain soon after the invention of the camera when only the wealthy could afford such things.
My family photos consisted of my dad, mom, sister, and me at JC Penny’s where, at five, I was smiling like Mickey Mouse with noticeable dirt behind my ear. My red-headed sister hadn’t gone through major eye surgery yet, so she was unaware of her severe crossed eyes behind Coke bottle glasses, but smiled despite that and her overcrowded teeth. My family, on both sides, had photos like this. They were typical for the decade, quantity over quality. Grandparents on both sides received huge eight-by-tens and wallet-sized pictures. Aunts and uncles had to buy five-by-seven frames and crop the two-by-fours to fit into their purses. Friends were given the credit card photos to pushpin to their bulletin boards at work. Everyone else had to squint to see the dirt behind my ear in the photos glued into cheap quarter-sized pendants.
Douglas’s family photos were beyond JC Penny’s pendants. His were printed on very expensive ribbed canvas and framed in a cherry wood embossed design. I was so impressed I never had time to take in the leather couch he had placed strategically to create space for a living room. The focal point was a large entertainment center holding all the electronics necessary to boom Tori Amos into the room.
He played a techno rendition of a familiar song on repeat just because I mentioned I was a fan of her music. He was a classy guy all right, but I know he was being a smooth operator and really just wanted to taste my rainbow.
He tried to be slick by letting me know that if I were to get too cold on the couch I was more than welcome to sleep with him on his very small twin bed. I smirked through the dark where I lay on the couch with one foot hanging over the edge.
I almost took him up on the offer. I felt that surge of energy needed to push oneself up from the cold leather but remained still, content that I was finally sticking to my proclamation. We didn’t say anything else as we fell to sleep in our own comfortable spaces.
The next morning, when I returned early to my barracks room, Tenesa’s new boyfriend had gone, but his smell remained. And I don’t mean his cologne. She was lying on her bed flipping through a magazine when I walked in. She turned her head when I opened the door, but she never looked over with her eyes. “Didja git lucky?” she said and licked her finger before turning another page.
As I tossed my keys onto my mattress and kicked my shoes off, I said, “I did. I slept on the couch.” The smirk on my face was that of achievement.
Every time I saw Douglas in the week following our sleepover, it was at the chow hall; he made military food taste good to me. I was excited to get up in the morning and be alive another day just to see him.
We sat together in our own booth. My group of guy friends looked on and nudged each other, thinking that this kid
“Where am I supposed to go?” I asked, feeling obligated to kick rocks and sleep somewhere else for the night.
Miraculously her phone rang as if God himself heard me. It was Douglas, the Mediterranean, calling to see what she was doing. She boldly asked him without hesitation if I could stay at his place just for the night as a favor. He said yes and was on his way to pick me up in fifteen minutes. I ran straight to the showers to shave my legs, just in case.
Douglas’s room was physically cold but warm in the way he decorated it as if he was in some fancy Italian hotel room. I was shocked at the luxurious comforter neatly made up on his bed and lavish-looking tapestries hanging on the shabby barracks walls. This “white boy” had style. Displayed proudly on the desk was a photo of his family at a wedding, which reminded me of aristocratic portrait taken in Spain soon after the invention of the camera when only the wealthy could afford such things.
My family photos consisted of my dad, mom, sister, and me at JC Penny’s where, at five, I was smiling like Mickey Mouse with noticeable dirt behind my ear. My red-headed sister hadn’t gone through major eye surgery yet, so she was unaware of her severe crossed eyes behind Coke bottle glasses, but smiled despite that and her overcrowded teeth. My family, on both sides, had photos like this. They were typical for the decade, quantity over quality. Grandparents on both sides received huge eight-by-tens and wallet-sized pictures. Aunts and uncles had to buy five-by-seven frames and crop the two-by-fours to fit into their purses. Friends were given the credit card photos to pushpin to their bulletin boards at work. Everyone else had to squint to see the dirt behind my ear in the photos glued into cheap quarter-sized pendants.
Douglas’s family photos were beyond JC Penny’s pendants. His were printed on very expensive ribbed canvas and framed in a cherry wood embossed design. I was so impressed I never had time to take in the leather couch he had placed strategically to create space for a living room. The focal point was a large entertainment center holding all the electronics necessary to boom Tori Amos into the room.
He played a techno rendition of a familiar song on repeat just because I mentioned I was a fan of her music. He was a classy guy all right, but I know he was being a smooth operator and really just wanted to taste my rainbow.
He tried to be slick by letting me know that if I were to get too cold on the couch I was more than welcome to sleep with him on his very small twin bed. I smirked through the dark where I lay on the couch with one foot hanging over the edge.
I almost took him up on the offer. I felt that surge of energy needed to push oneself up from the cold leather but remained still, content that I was finally sticking to my proclamation. We didn’t say anything else as we fell to sleep in our own comfortable spaces.
The next morning, when I returned early to my barracks room, Tenesa’s new boyfriend had gone, but his smell remained. And I don’t mean his cologne. She was lying on her bed flipping through a magazine when I walked in. She turned her head when I opened the door, but she never looked over with her eyes. “Didja git lucky?” she said and licked her finger before turning another page.
As I tossed my keys onto my mattress and kicked my shoes off, I said, “I did. I slept on the couch.” The smirk on my face was that of achievement.
Every time I saw Douglas in the week following our sleepover, it was at the chow hall; he made military food taste good to me. I was excited to get up in the morning and be alive another day just to see him.
We sat together in our own booth. My group of guy friends looked on and nudged each other, thinking that this kid
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