At 21, Part 5

1992


Elisa smiles. That’s all it takes. Those full, upturned lips. Be strong, Ervin. Don’t give in. It’s after midnight and the store is closed and locked. No more pizzas to make tonight. The store lights are out. The parking lot is brightened only by one dim street light. We’re in our uniforms and we surely stink of grease and sweat, but we hardly notice the smell. Bits of processed meats, vegetables, sauce, and spices are stuck to my clothes, jammed under my nails. We’re alone. It’s cool but not cold, a gentle breeze against my skin. Elisa is smoking, blowing perfect, fragile rings as she stares into my eyes. She winks, sends her silent Siren’s Song my way. It’s the flirtatious Elisa. The horny Elisa. The Elisa who unbuttoned her shirt a few extra buttons just before we sat our asses down on the dirty cement. The Elisa who knows I’ll look at her exposed bra. At the flesh, the cleavage.

We haven’t been with each other in nearly a month. I haven’t eased my moist tongue slowly down her firm stomach. Haven’t wet the fine trail of hairs on her belly. Haven’t slipped that tongue beneath the cotton of her panties. Haven’t made her moan and arch her back as I dampened her dark pubic hair. Haven’t made her gasp and whisper, "Oh, God, don’t tease me like that..."

I’ve been avoiding her. Well, avoiding her as much as a person you work with four or five nights a week can possibly be avoided. I’ve tried not to be alone with her, because I am weak. I haven’t returned her calls. I’ve turned my head when she’s attempted to kiss me. I’ve stood limp as she wrapped her arms around me. I’ve made her angry. I’ve made her cry. But here we are. Just the two of us. And damn it, why won’t she stop smiling at me? I’ve spent a month pretending as if I don’t care for her. Pretending I couldn’t care less. Sending a message. It’s either him or me. I will not be with her until she breaks off her engagement. She’s written me angry notes. Left bitter phone messages. Begged me to speak to her. But I’ve shown no sympathy. No emotion.

Here we are. Alone. And she won’t quit it with that fucking grin.

"So, what, you don’t like me anymore?" she asks.

"No, I like you plenty. I just can’t be with you. It hurts too much. I’m done sharing you. I want you all to myself, and if I can’t have that, I’ll find someone else to love." I make it sound so simple. I’ll just find someone else. Right. There is no one else for me. It’s Elisa I want. Only Elisa.

"I’m sorry I put you through all this, but I can’t lose you."

"I think we should just be friends," I say, in a cold, emotionless tone. With every word, it’s a struggle to keep my voice from cracking.

She wrinkles her nose. "No, I don’t think I like that arrangement."

"You’re engaged to another man."

"I have the perfect solution," she says. Elisa sucks on her cigarette, then blows a cloud of smoke into my face. She giggles. "Pretend I’m not."

I shrug. "Can’t."

"You have no imagination, Ervin."

She rubs my knee. Moves closer. Shoulder to shoulder. She feels good pressed against me. It’s a feeling I’ve missed. Soft, warm, a bit of a tingle. I want this feeling all the time. Every second of every day. Her against me. Her heat charging me like I’m a dead battery needing new life. Fight it. Be a man.

"I miss you, Ervin. I miss spending time with you. Like, just hanging out and watching bad movies together. I miss lying on your floor with a blanket underneath us, your arms around me as we watch television. I sat through Frankenhooker with you. That has to count for something. And the fucking Toxic Avenger! I just want to see you, Ervin."

"We spend eight or nine hours a day together at work. Isn’t that enough?" I want to fool her into believing that I can take her or leave her. I want our lack of physical contact to hurt her. I want her to ache just thinking of me. Not being with her has hit me like withdraw. Shaking. Chills. Sleeplessness. I want her to hurt like I’ve been hurting.

"That doesn’t count. We don’t spend time alone anymore. I miss...being with you." A sudden moistness covers her eyes. "Be with me again. Tonight. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything. Just ask. I won’t turn down any request."

I shake my head. "I won’t share you. We’ve had this discussion already. It’s getting old. I’m tired of it."

She flicks her cigarette. Takes a deep breath. Holds my left hand, lifts it to her mouth, kisses the scar. She goes to light another cigarette and I tell her to light two. We smoke together in silence. We stare at the nighttime sky. Bright and full-up with little stars. The universe looks like a video game, like Space Invaders. Tonight, the moon overwhelms the stars. I see the face on the moon. It’s always looked to me like the moon is screaming. A never-ending scream.

A tear rolls down her cheek. Then, in an exasperated voice, Elisa: "Okay, Fine."

"Okay, what?" I ask.

"You win. I’ll do it. You can stop torturing me now."

I smile. "How am I torturing you?"

I wipe away her tears with my thumb. Then I taste them. Salty, warm, delicious. Like sweetened rain. I want to remember this moment, our stink, our words, her taste, all of it. I like swallowing her tears. Her fluids. Like having her inside me. The liquid form of her. In my belly. In my blood.

She says, her voice cracking, "I want to be with you. I’ll do whatever it takes."

"You’ll break-up with your fiancé? You’ll make me your new boyfriend? We’ll be together, just the two of us? No leaving me every weekend to fuck some asshole. We’ll be a real couple?"

She nods. Moves her lips close to mine. "I haven’t even been with him in weeks. I've had some bleeding issues lately, and my doctor took me off the Pill. So I just haven't had sex this month. And I won’t. Not with him. I don’t even want to touch Dirk anymore. I want you."

More tears. This time, I don’t use my thumb. I lick her tears away.

Her hand slides between my legs. I’m instantly hard. I push her hand away.

"What?" she asks. "I said I would do what you want."

"This is for real, right? You’re not just saying all this so we’ll have sex tonight, right? You’re offering me a true commitment?"

Elisa says, "Yes, I am. I want you to be my boyfriend, Ervin. I love you. You’re sweet and kind, and you make me happy. I miss the smile that’s on my face whenever I wake up next to you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You know that, right?" She kisses me. Her tongue fills my mouth, her saliva hot and sugary. She pulls away, bites her bottom lip. "Can I get a little lovin’ on credit? I promise you I’ll end it with him tomorrow. But tonight we should go back to my place, have some wine, then screw our fucking brains out. I wanna fuck you so hard, you don’t even know."

I stand up, pull her up with me. Adjust my erection so it’s less obvious. I squeeze her as tight as I can without hurting her. "I’m down with that."

In the dimly-lit parking lot, we embrace. We kiss deeply, passionately, almost suck out each other’s tongues. We’re sloppy. Tears and saliva dripping off of us. Some jerk in a car speeding past yells, "Get a room!"

"Let’s go to my house," she says. "No one’s home, and if I don’t get your mouth between my legs soon I’m gonna burst."

Minutes later, we arrive at her dirty house. Her parents are gone for the night. We have the place to ourselves. We drink some wine. We drink some beer. She lights candles. Dances seductively in front of me. Removes her clothes. Gives me a prolonged, slow lap-dance as Sade’s "Sweetest Taboo" hums from the stereo. The song ends and she undresses me. She leads me into the shower. We scrub each other clean. We touch ourselves. I pull her close. Her back against the wall. Lift her leg. Slip it in. Just for a moment. Three quick thrusts. Take it out. Hear her beg.

"Let’s take this to my bed."

"Let’s go," I say.

She chugs some whiskey. She’s drunk and I’m almost drunk. We’re clean and naked and fresh and new, and we can’t keep our hands off each other. She feels right. This feels right.

"Since I’m so very clean, will you lick me anywhere?" she asks coyly.

"Of course," I say. I would lick her clean even if she was filthy. Especially if she was filthy.

"I want you to mark your territory."

She turns off the small lamp. The room goes dark. She lights a candle and a stick of blue lotus incense. Our skin looks orange in the candlelight.

"You ready for this, boyfriend?"

I lick the back of her ear. Bite her neck. Hope to leave a mark.

"For what?"

"You know what. Get to lickin’, motherfucker," she says, with more sweetness than those words deserve. "I want your tongue everywhere. Don’t miss a spot, or I’ll be mad."

She’s on all-fours in front of me. Her fingers waving me on.

I start at her shoulders. Work my way down. I lick. I bite. I suck. I nibble. I rub. I press. I fill. I kiss.

She tells me what to do, where to stick my tongue. She’s freer than I’ve ever seen her. Demanding. Savage. Reckless. And so am I. There’s nothing we won’t do tonight. I’ve got two fingers inside of her, in separate places. She tells me she wants me right now. I give her everything she wants. Anywhere she wants it. In positions that can't possibly work but somehow do. But I can’t hold back. It’s too much. I’m on top of her, unmoving. Another thrust and it’ll all be over.

"Should I take it out?" I ask.

"No. No fucking way."

Then it’s over. It takes several minutes for our panting to subside. We fall asleep. We spoon. We smile.

We don’t care that we were stupid. That we took chances.

I wake in the middle of the night feeling strange. Melancholy? Numb? Not sure. Maybe because I’ve never had a better night in twenty-plus years of living and I know there’s no way I’ll ever be this content again. I know it’s all downhill from here. Like a great high that’s beginning to wear off and you already miss its peak. I’ve wanted Elisa to be mine and only mine for months. She says I now have her all to myself. She says she’s mine. Now what do I do with her? Sometimes the anticipation is all the fun. Now that I’ve gotten what I wanted, is it really what I wanted? I don’t know. Also I wonder, If Elisa was willing to cheat with me, will she hesitate to cheat on me? Maybe I was just in it for the challenge. To see if I could steal her away from her boyfriend. No way. This is true love. Isn’t it?

I flick on the television and watch a "Happy Days" marathon until the sun the comes up, while Elisa snores beside me, a large circle of drool on her pillow.

I sigh.

At 25, Part 4

1996


I come home from work and see Dave sitting at the kitchen table. My night is already ruined just from having to look at him. It’s gotten to the point where I can’t stand the sight of him. I open the refrigerator, grab a can of soda, and I’m mid-guzzle when I do a double-take. I turn back to Dave. He can’t be doing what I think he’s doing. No way. My eyes are surely playing tricks. Oh, he’s doing it, all right.

Dave, my nightmare of an older brother, is smoking crack. Casually. In the kitchen. As if it’s no big deal. As if he’s just reading the fucking newspaper. He’s sucking in the drug through a small crack pipe. The pipe looks like a clear piece of plastic, burnt at one end, shaped like a cigarette. Knowing Dave, I’m sure it’s a half-assed crack pipe. It’s probably not even what you’re supposed to use to smoke crack. But I wouldn’t know. I haven’t done any hard drugs in about seven years, since that last bit of cocaine went up my nose during those crazy nights with Manny and Vito and the rest of the gang at Pizza Tent. Part of the reason I stopped doing drugs is sitting right in front of me. I didn’t want to turn out like Dave.

He’s coated with a thick layer of perspiration. His armpits are wet, the T-shirt stained, sweat droplets falling from his stubbly chin. His wavy brown hair is dirty; I can see bits of grass and leaves on his Brillo-like mane. He’s been running from someone, maybe hiding. I’m standing in the kitchen, in shock, trying to process all of this. My brother is smoking crack at the kitchen table while my mother is at work. My little brother is nearby, watching cartoons in the living room, feigning obliviousness; maybe he feels like it’s not really happening as long as he doesn’t look.

"What the hell is going on here, Dave?" I ask. I’m already shaking. Tensions have been building. I know the violence is coming. If not today, soon. Someday, there will be blood. Will be pain. When all of this comes to a head, it’s going to be me or him. The house isn’t big enough for the both of us. But I don’t want to bleed today. I also don’t want to live in a crack house. He’s disrespecting my mother. Mom’s done nothing but try to help him, and Dave’s done nothing but shit all over her.

"What I’m doing ain’t of no concern to you, nerd."

His sweat is thick. Looks gooey and kind of green under the light. Like he’s recently been swallowed and spit back out. Like snails have been crawling all over him. Like he’s been slimed.

"You’re doing drugs in Mom’s house. That makes it my business. I live here, too."

"This is my house now," he says arrogantly. "I’m the boss. Fuck you. Fuck Mom. Fuck all y’all."

He takes a hit, smiles, forgets that I’m even in the room. His rigid body loosens. He moans softly. The drug fills him with ecstacy. He’s gone. Somewhere else. Drifting away. Head back. Eyes closed. Visibly Euphoric. I wonder where he’s gone. I wonder where the smoke takes him. His mouth falls open. A thin line of drool leaks out. He wipes away his dripping saliva without opening his eyes.

I walk into the living and tell my little brother to go upstairs. He nods, glances at Dave, sighs with disgust, then runs up the steps. William is a good kid. He’s seven years younger than me. Mom’s baby. No matter how old he gets, William will always be Mom’s baby boy. I wouldn’t want to be anyone’s baby. I’m glad I was the fourth of five. William reads philosophy books and likes to think that he’s smarter than the rest of us. I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s wrong. We’re all the same here, under this roof; we’re all just white trash children; we’re just brothers who grew up poor and had to have our heads scraped with a metal comb to remove the head lice every so often, brothers who’ve killed our fair share of cockroaches, who’ve had to suffer the embarrassment of flashing our Free Lunch Cards in front of our friends. Someday, William may indeed make something of his life; I might do the same; but at this moment we’re all just prisoners in Dave’s makeshift crack house. Our home is a drug den. Our brother is no longer our brother. He’s something else entirely. I don’t know what. But it sure isn’t pretty.

I walk back to the kitchen. The room stinks like barbecued dirty socks. Like burnt hair. Like melted plastic. With every hit off the pipe, Dave’s shirt grows more damp. If he keeps this up, he’s going to drown. His eyes roll up in his head when he inhales the drug. The crack cocaine is his best friend. I am not his friend. I think right now Dave hardly even recognizes me. I’m just a guy trying to kill his buzz. He has three little girls, and his girlfriend is about to give birth to a fourth. His lady is ready to burst. She’s a big girl naturally, but with-child she’s positively enormous. Last time I saw her, she looked like she was about to explode like something out of a Monty Python film. He should be buying his girls clothes and toys, should be giving them a wonderful life; instead, all of his money is spent chasing that high.

Dave rises from the chair, walks to the kitchen, pulls out a small, sharp knife, then sits back down at the table with the knife now resting by the crack pipe. He takes another hit, the last, I’d gather, since the product seems to have run out.

"What are you planning on doing with that knife?" I ask. My heart beats against my chest with rapid fury. My hands are shaking. I want to be a superhero. I want to save the day. I want to throw Dave’s ass out onto the street and show him who’s boss. I want to prove my manhood. It would be a lot easier to do that if I didn’t feel like such a scared little boy. If I didn’t want so badly to run and hide in the closet.

"Say another fucking word to me and I’ll show you what I’m gonna do with the knife."

"So now you’re going to stab me with a knife?"

His hand creeps toward the knife. Caresses the wooden handle. He smiles. Dave is treating the knife like some beloved pet.

There’s a knock at the door. Loud, urgent.

Dave grabs his drug supplies and shoves everything into his pockets. Pipe, baggy, lighter, tin foil, paper clip, all of it. "Shit," he says. "Tell ‘em to go away, Erv." He gets a solid grip on the knife, as if ready to strike, in case he needs to stab a motherfucker, I guess.

I walk to the door and open it. Dave’s girlfriend is standing before me, both hands against her enormous belly. Her eyes are nothing but blank, gray sadness. This is her lot in life. That’s her man with the crack pipe in his pocket. Her three children are flanked behind her, holding tightly to her thick legs. She’s all they have.

I feel very sorry for them, for the little girls, because their father is my brother. And my brother is the worst person I know.

"Is Dave in there?" Pregnant Mommy asks. "We gotta get to the hospital. I’m gonna have the baby now. I know he’s in there."

I look past her and see a waiting taxi.

I am not a man without fear, quite the contrary, but I do what must be done. When I take the knife from Dave, I’m trembling. He wouldn’t stab me, right? He’s my brother. Brothers don’t stab brothers, right? He gives it up easily enough, and I put the knife back in the drawer. I knew I had to take the knife from him, knew he wasn’t going to cut me. Someday, maybe, but not today. Still, I shake. I know I’ll be shaking for hours to come.

"She’s having her baby now, Dave. You’ve got to get her to the hospital."

"Eat shit and die, faggot," Dave says, shoving me aside.

He walks outside, slams the kitchen door shut behind him. Through the door, I can hear screaming. A minute later, Dave walks back inside.

"Can I borrow forty bucks?" he asks. "I need to pay the taxi driver and get her to the hospital."

I give him the money. Then I grab a can of air freshener and go about the task of turning this crack house back into a home.

"Sorry about all that," Dave says, his hand on the doorknob. "You knew I wasn’t going to hurt you, right? I’m your brother. I’m sorry, man. I was an asshole. Come on, brother, say something."

I refuse to look at him.

"You’re not even my real brother," I say. "You’re only my half-brother."

"Oh, so that’s how it is now, huh?"

"Yup, that’s how it is."

A second later, I hear the door slam. I look out the window and watch the taxi pull away. I’m hoping Dave never comes back. I don’t think I want him to die—I just want to make it so he never existed in the first place. Have him zapped out of existence. But that’s rather difficult to achieve, especially since I don’t know any wizards, mad scientists, genies, or megalomaniacal comic book super-villains.

At 21, Part 4

1992


Something odd is going on. I’ve got that chilling kind of feeling, that sense of quiet panic, like when I’m home alone in the middle of the night and I suddenly feel as if I’m being watched. That’s what I’ve got. That ghost-in-the-room feeling. Like I’m empty inside. Like I’m a hollow shell and someone is banging on me with my stolen bones. No one here wants to look me in the eye. A secret has been revealed and I’m the only one who doesn’t know it. How does that saying go? If you’re not sure who the asshole in the room is, it’s probably you. Well, I’m definitely the asshole.

I’ve been at work for an hour and Elisa has been avoiding me the entire time. Usually, when she returns home from a weekend with her boyfriend, she’s thrilled to see me; usually, she showers me with kisses in the walk-in freezer and tells me how much she missed me; usually, the tips of our tongues meet and a small jolt of electricity is shared. After days apart, she always tells me how much she would have rather spent the weekend with me. How wonderful and understanding I am. How one day soon she’ll dump the boyfriend and we can finally become a couple. But something has changed. I was not showered with kisses by Elisa when I arrived at work today. I wasn’t even trickled with kisses. She’s ashamed. I can see it in those big chestnut eyes of hers. Those eyes that won’t make contact with mine. Those wet, red-streaked eyes. The store is busy so I don’t have a chance to speak to her. All I get are quick glances. I drop a pizza in the oven and notice Elisa looking back, but she quickly averts her eyes as soon as she notices that I’m staring. Whatever is going on, I know it’s not good.

Maybe I should just remain blissfully ignorant forever. Maybe I should grab hold of Elisa’s shoulders and pull her into the bathroom. Maybe I should say, "I don’t care what’s going on. I don’t want to know. I just want to be with you. I really don’t care. Don’t tell me. Please, don’t tell. Nothing will ever be the same once you tell. Whatever it is you’re holding inside will be the death of us. Never speak of it." But I won’t do that. I need to know. Need to know how much of an asshole I truly am. Am I asshole for falling in love with a girl who’s already taken? An asshole for believing her when she says she’s going to dump him? It’s been months, and the situation has not changed. Elisa spends the week with me, the weekends with her boyfriend. She has sex with both of us. Call me crazy, I’d like her to stop having sex with the other guy. But now that something has changed, I’m scared to death.

So I think, What’s the worst news she could possibly tell me? She’s pregnant? Maybe, but unlikely. She’s on the pill, and very strict about taking it, as far as I know. I’m fairly certain that a girl who’s sleeping with two different men is going to do everything she can not to get pregnant. I also remember her mentioning something about an ovarian cyst, about her maybe not being able to ever bear children. What else? She doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Could be, but doubtful. When we left each other last, as she was leaving for her weekend away with the jerky boyfriend, she admitted to being madly in love with me. "I’ve never felt like this about anyone," she said, tears in her eyes. Truth in her eyes. Maybe she acquired an STD and is too embarrassed to tell me. I make a mental note to check my genitals for discolorations, bumps, and strange little creatures as soon as possible. I would take the STD (a curable one, anyway), as long as I didn’t have to lose Elisa; that’s how much I fucking love her.

I’m at the make-table with Manny, my best friend. He’s dark-skinned and handsome, a real charmer. We’ve been best friends for awhile now, since I drifted apart from Vito, my former best friend. Manny has a big smile and a sinister laugh. A smile like The Joker from the Batman comics. Manny has smooth, dark, perfect El Salvadorian skin. He always smells nice, always has a powerful, manly scent, despite working with grease and onions and filth on a daily basis. Manny tells me that I smell like sour milk, but, then again, he says, "All white people smell like sour milk." He says that all the time, just to piss me off, just to watch me sniff myself. We were both nerds in high school, but now we’re exceedingly cool. Or so we like to think. He had an epiphany a few summers back, after watching Sid & Nancy, and returned to school in the fall with a leather jacket, a Sex Pistols button, and a near-permanent sneer.

"What’s going on with Elisa?" I ask, staring at a string of white order slips hanging in front of me. I’m saucing and cheesing the pizzas, then handing them off to Manny, who adds the toppings and seasonings. We have a system. We’re a good team. We make perfect pizzas. Except for the occasional pizza that Manny spits in if he spots someone he doesn’t like sitting in the dining room. But that hardly ever happens. Almost never. Rarely. Somewhat infrequently. Definitely not every day.

"Look, Erv, it’s none of my business, so I’m not saying anything."

"But you know something, right?"

He smiles. Big. All teeth. Perfectly-straight, white teeth. "I always know something, my friend. Who do you think you’re talking to here?"

"I need you to tell me what’s going on. Why is Elisa acting so strange today? You’ve been here all day. What have you heard?"

At Pizza Tent, secrets rise like heat. Everyone is in everyone else’s business. All up in it. My relationship with Elisa is common knowledge, though I’ve spoken about it to no one except Manny. Although we may have been spotted making out in my car after closing, because we make out after closing in my car every night. We are not careful, because the only person who can’t find out about our relationship is her boyfriend, and he lives across the bridge in Philly. He’s not even in the same state, so it’s hardly like Elisa is even cheating on him. We go through the motions at work, pretending that we’re not fucking every night. But everyone knows that we are. We’re fucking every night that she’s not fucking the other guy. My relationship with Elisa is an open secret. Everyone knows, but at least they have the courtesy to whisper when they gossip about it.

Manny shakes his head while sliding a large hand-tossed pepperoni pie onto the oven. We’re the only two people currently in the back of the store, and even though we’re not too far away from the cashiers and managers in the front of the store, the oven’s loud hum grants us our privacy. Waitresses occasionally walk back to drop off dirty dishes, but they’re too busy to pay us much mind.

"You don’t want to hear this," he says. "You’ll cry like a bitch."

I stare into his eyes, squeeze his shoulder. "I do," I say. "I need to know what’s up. Look, Manny, I’m in love with her. I’ve never been in love before, not like this. She makes me crazy. She makes my skin burn. She also makes me really fucking happy. You gotta talk to me, man. I’m losing it."

He glances from side to side, searching for eavesdroppers. "She’s not the one for you."

"I think she is."

"You think wrong."

"Screw you."

He squeezes my shoulder and says, "You’re too nice for Elisa. You’re delicate and fragile. Dainty."

"I am not fucking dainty!" I snap.

He sighs, then leans in close and whispers into my ear. "That guy she’s got in Philly. He asked her to marry him."

I feel a sharp jab in my stomach, like I’ve just been gutted with a jagged knife.

"They’re engaged, Erv. That’s why she can’t look at you. Elisa and her boyfriend are going to get married. He asked her and she said ‘yes.’ That’s the deal."

I turn my head and catch Elisa staring at me. Her face is pink, with sweat dripping from her chin. From my expression, I’m sure she knows what Manny just told me. The orange light from the oven reflects from her wet eyes. She looks away. I check out her hands. No ring.

"You gotta forget about that slut. I’m serious. She’s gonna cause you nothing but heartache. Trust me, I know about this shit. She’s wrong for you. I’ll bet she’s gonna keep right on fucking you, too, if you let it go on, right up until the wedding, maybe even after. But getting your dick wet ain’t worth all the pain that’s gonna come your way in return. If it were me, I’d keep fucking her, but I don’t have that problem you got of being pussy-whipped, you see."

"You’re right," I say. "I’ve got to be a man about this."

He smacks me hard on the back. "That’s my boy."

The order tickets begin to pile up. We’re swamped. The dinner rush is hectic, but we’re good enough to handle it. We’re the best. I don’t want it to slow down. I want the rush to last forever. As long as I’m busy, life stands still. Nothing can change. No one can hurt me while I’m making pizzas.

The orders stop coming. Customers are leaving. The dinner rush is coming to a close. I don’t want to stop working, stop moving, because that’s when real life takes over. I’m staring at my cheese-covered fingers when Manny nudges me. I look up and see Elisa. She motions toward the walk-in freezer, mouths Follow me.

I follow, as if Elisa had bitten my neck once during sex and put her vampire obedience curse on me. She beckons, I follow.

"Let me explain," she says, her breath clouding in front of her.

"Sure," I say, the loud hum of the freezer’s cooling system nearly drowning out my words. We’re alone in a small, cold box, surrounded by meats and cheeses.

"I don’t love him."

"Then why are you going to marry him?"

"It’s complicated."

I take her hand in mine, lift it to eye level. "Where’s the ring?"

"I’m not going to wear it to work. I might ruin it."

She leans in and kisses me. Her lips are frigid.

"I thought you were going to dump him."

"I am," she says.

"You have a funny way of breaking up with a guy."

"You wouldn't understand."

"I guess you won’t be coming over tonight." I try to smile, but I can’t hold it. It breaks down. Collapses. My mouth refuses to cooperate.

"I want to come over," she says, running her fingers across my cheek. "I want to see you. Let me come over. I still want to be with you. Pretend I’m not engaged. Let’s just keep on doing what we’ve been doing. I’m not going to marry him. I promise you. I’m going to give him the ring back. It’s you I love. Can I come over tonight? Can I spend the night? We'll work this out. I know we will. Tell me I can come over and be with you."

No, no, no. Do not let this madness continue I think. I have to stop this relationship once and for all before this girl tramples on my heart even more. I stare into her eyes and say, "Yes, come over."

We’re both shivering when we kiss, and a small piece of skin from my bottom lip breaks off and sticks to her mouth. Every time I see her, this girl takes a small piece of me and never gives any of the pieces back. She swallows them.

At 25, Part 3

1996


MJ honks her car horn. I run out of my house and hop into her ride. It’s a reunion of sorts, and I’ve been nervous all day. I kiss her on the cheek, slightly on the lips. She looks great, smells even better, like cream over peaches. The insecure high school girl I once knew has blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Wow. We’ve recently become friends again after years of not speaking. It’s been all catch-up phone conversations to this point, with a bit of expectant flirting tossed in for fun. We even had one night of dirty talk. The past is forgotten, or at least not mentioned.

MJ’s tall, cute, funny, a former high school cheerleader. Brown hair, big eyes, great calves. Sturdy cheerleader calves. I worked with MJ at Pizza Tent. She was heavier then, hadn’t outgrown her baby fat yet. Now she’s into fitness and martial arts, kick boxing, self-defense, and stuff like that there. MJ can totally kick my ass, which might not be saying much since I’m a bit of a pussy. I did her wrong back then. MJ was just a kid and I toyed with her emotions. I cheated on Elisa with MJ; well, maybe that’s not necessarily true: I broke up with Elisa for a month so I could have sex with MJ without feeling guilty, then I broke up with MJ and got back with Elisa. We all worked together and it was a mess. Very "Days of Our Lives." It’s hard to keep more than one lie going at once. My body just didn’t fit with MJ’s like it did with Elisa's. So, even though Elisa was, well, a coke whore, I went back to her because we fit, and I feared I’d never fit with another girl like I did with her. MJ was sweet and kind, loving and true, but our naughty parts didn’t connect the way I thought they should. The first time I had sex with MJ I remember thinking, "Uh oh, this doesn’t feel right." It felt good, certainly—it is sex we’re talking about here—but our bodies didn’t snap into place like two bodies should when it’s meant to be. Hearts were broken. Elisa smacked my face and left a red mark in the shape of her fingers. I made mistakes. I lost them both. Now I’m older. Smarter?

MJ doesn’t hate me anymore. Maybe she never did. But she sure should have. Within moments of seeing her, I know we’re cool, all’s forgiven. We smile and touch and exchange the kind of witty banter that’s probably not as witty as we think it is. We’re going to the movies to see a Stanley Kubrick film called Eyes Wide Shut, starring Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman. After the film, we’ll go and have dinner somewhere nice but not too nice, then we’ll come back to my house and mess around. I know this because every phone conversation we’ve had of late has been sexier, naughtier, more intimate than the last. We haven’t had sex with each other in years, but from the first few moments in the car, from our mutual, excited glances, I know she’s as attracted to me as I am to her. I want to touch her new grown-up, well-muscled body. Her breasts are smaller now, because she’s lost weight, but her newly-formed muscles are kind of sexy. I want to make up for the shitty way I treated her. For using her and dumping her. For making her cry. She never had a chance in those days, when she was simply a naive seventeen-year-old cheerleader, because I was blinded by my irrational love for Elisa. Now we’re older, and I wonder if her new body will fit me better than her old one did. My body hasn’t changed. My penis certainly hasn’t gotten any bigger.

The movie is long but good. Sexy, gorgeous, interesting. We hold hands for a few minutes. She pulls away and I wonder if it’s because my hand is sweaty. I wonder if she’s digging me. I wonder if the movie is turning her on. As I watch the movie, I think back to the few times we had sex. Her scent. I remember her scent. It fills my nose. I want the real thing.

"What did you think of the movie?" MJ asks, as soon as we’re back in her car.

"I liked it, I think. If I were making a movie, and I knew that the script was somewhat lacking, I’d make sure I had many, many pairs of boobies. Big boobies, little boobies, lopsided boobies, famous boobies, unknown boobies. So I give Kubrick points for that."

"Nice, Erv, real nice," she says, smiling. "Boobies? You’re some kind of deep thinker, let me tell you. "

"Thanks. I try."

We look into each other’s eyes, sweetly. Our fingers touch, tangle. I want to get her alone. She lives a good distance away, so it’s either my place or no place. I pray that Dave isn’t home. If he’s already left for his nightly mission, he probably won’t be back until morning. I want to get MJ in my bed. I want to lock the door and kiss her all over. I want to touch her and give her all of me, finally, after all these years. Because of Elisa, she never got more than half of me, half of my attention. It was never all about MJ; someone else was always on my mind. But now, I’m in my mid-twenties and free of Elisa’s grasp. I can spend the night with MJ while actually thinking about MJ and no one else. Unless I fall asleep. Or unless my drug-addled, nuisance of an older brother ruins everything. Dave is a well-known ruiner of things.

MJ parks in front of my house and instantly it feels as if I’ve been kicked in the stomach. I’ve got the burning. The ache. A fire inside. The good news is, Dave is not home. The bad news is, he’s stolen my car. The second I see that my car is not parked in front of the house, I know Dave has taken it to Camden. My car will be involved in a drug deal tonight, maybe several.
Soon, I’m sitting in the living room, MJ by my side, my head in my hands. Mom is sitting across from us, crying. MJ offers a sympathetic smile as she squeezes my shoulder. She’s wearing her glasses and looks adorably adult. She never used to wear her glasses as a teenager, but now, as a women, she’s more confident in her appearance, and cares less about what people think. I like a girl in glasses. I almost don’t even recognize the girl sitting next to me. It’s MJ all right, but a slightly different MJ from the one I used to know, as if the old MJ was replaced my a new MJ from an alternate earth, an earth where all the girls wear glasses and smell like cream over peaches.

"Should I call the police?" I wonder aloud.

"Please, Ervin, don’t call the police. I don’t want him arrested. He’s my son."

"Mom, he stole my fucking car! He went into my room and looked through all my stuff until he found my keys. This isn’t right. I’m your son, too. It’s not fair to me."

"I’m sure he’ll bring the car back tonight. Just...give him a chance. Please. He’s your brother. Don’t hurt him like that."

"Me hurt him? That’s a joke, right? Tell me that’s a big fucking joke!"

"Stop yelling. I’m going to have a nervous breakdown, I swear! This is killing me. I can’t take it anymore." Mom is trembling, and I suddenly feel more sorry for her than I do myself.

I shake my head and sigh. "Fine. I’ll give him a bit longer. But if he’s not back soon, I’m pressing charges. How long do I have to sit here and take his abuse? Fuck it." I grab MJ’s hand, wrap my chubby fingers around her slender digits, and say, "Come on." I lead her into the bedroom and lock the door. She does not protest. MJ seems keen on comforting me.

We sit down together on the bed and she rubs my back, tells me everything will be just fine. I turn and stare, tell her that she’s beautiful. She kisses me, climbs on top of me, grinds into me, bites my neck, licks my lips.

She says, "Why don’t you just forget about the car for awhile. Let me help you do that. Do you have any condoms?"

I nod. "I have condoms. Eleven condoms."

"Do you want to sleep with me?"

"Does it feel like I want to sleep with you?"

She reaches down and squeezes. "Oh, yeah."

I reach for the remote control, switch to MTV, turn the volume up all the way.
We giggle as we undress each another. We’re clumsy and sloppy, but it’s all in fun. I have trouble with the condom, fumble a bit, and lose some of my hard-on as I unroll it over my modest erection. I ease myself inside her. Not a perfect fit. My rhythm is off. I’m zigging when I should be zagging, coming when I should be not coming. MJ wants more but I’m all out. I really wanted to give her my best effort, but I haven’t had sex in months and was ready to burst from the get-go. I was so backed up that I worried I might break the rubber with the sheer force and volume of my orgasm. I haven’t even jerked-off in about a week. MJ kindly allowed me a glorious release. A discharge of pent-up frustration in fluid form. Luckily, the condom held up to my major explosion.

As soon as we’re done, I know we’re not meant for each other. I know our bodies don’t connect like they need to, still. I had hoped otherwise. Our puzzle pieces are mismatched, ever so slightly. We’re not going to be a couple; we’re not destined for each other. We’re just two old friends having sex. I needed it for various reasons, and I’m sure she had reasons of her own. This will not be a great love affair, but maybe, if I’m lucky, it’ll be the start of a great friendship. MJ and I will be great buddies, who sometimes "do it." I’m sure I could get her to go for it. A few years ago, she was obsessed with me. Now, who knows? I’m almost certain she fucked me just to cheer to me up, to make me forget that my car had been stolen. A pity-fuck, I’m guessing.

MJ falls asleep soon after we finish with the sex. She’s in my bed, wearing panties and a tight T-shirt, sleeping peacefully. I stare at her tan, long legs and arms, at her slightly-open mouth, her perfectly-outlined breasts. Her thin fingers. I take her in, breathe in her scent—her strawberry shampoo, her sweet cream/peaches perfume, her almost odorless sweat, her fragrant sex. There’s something about having a nearly naked, slightly sweaty, unconscious girl in your bed that makes a guy feel important. MJ is in my bed and she wants to be in my bed. Maybe she just had sex with me out of kindness, or maybe she truly wanted me. Maybe it was just for old time’s sake. Doesn’t matter. She’s here now, softly snoring, and soon my skin will touch hers and we’ll squeeze each other tight. We’ll spoon and I’ll drift off. It’ll be perfect.

Then Dave will come home and ruin everything.

But he doesn’t come home.

I make her breakfast in the morning. Nothing fancy, a bagel with jelly. We sit together on the bed as she eats and we have a pleasant conversation. There’s none of that morning-after awkwardness that sometimes happens when you wake up next to someone you usually don’t wake up next to. We’re cool. She gets dressed and sneaks out without my mother seeing her. My car is still missing, out having a wacky adventure without me. Sadly, I care more about the safety of my car than I do about Dave’s well-being. I want to call the cops. But I won’t. Because Dave is family. Because my mommy doesn’t want me to.

I walk with MJ out to her car and hug her goodbye. It’s a nice, long hug, and more than that, it’s a challenge. The person who lets go first has all the power, because that’s the person who has better things to do. Places to be. Other hugs to dole out. The person who holds on too long immediately becomes "needy."

She lets go first. Back in the day, she never wanted to let go.

"Thank you," I say.

"For what?"

"For keeping me company. You turned a potentially horrible night into a night I’ll always cherish."

"So," she begins, "about what we did."

"Don’t worry. I know."

She kisses my cheek. "We should probably just be friends."

"Yeah."

"I’m not saying we won’t ever have sex again. But I think we should give just being friends a shot. We’ve never tried that."

I scratch my chin thoughtfully.

"Is it because I only lasted, like, 60 seconds? Or because my penis is kind of small?"

She laughs, says, "Don’t be silly," and I’m not sure which question she’s answering. She regroups, transforms into a serious young lady. "You broke my heart when I was seventeen. You really did. I loved you and you hurt me bad. We can have fun, we can be friends, but you will never get the chance to break my heart again. Times have changed."

"I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know what I wanted."

"You should’ve picked me."

"Yes, I should have. I fucked up."

She pats my cheek condescendingly. "Oh, yeah, you so did. Elisa was such a whore. She cheated on you all the time, and everyone knew she was doing it. She was out doing coke and fucking random guys all the time while you were dating her. But you kept getting back with her."

I shrug, simply say, "I loved her."

She nods, as if to say I understand.

She leaves me. I wave as she pulls away, then I take a seat on the front step. I look at the empty spot in the driveway where my car should be. When Dave finally comes back, I’ll need to find a better hiding spot for my car keys. If he’s not back by tonight, I’m calling the cops. I swear. Well, maybe not tonight. Definitely tomorrow, for sure. Unless he calls and apologizes. Then maybe I’ll give him a few extra days.