XVIII

5 A.M. BLUES

He’s asleep now. On my mattress. In his underwear. With an erection. It’s very early in the morning. The sun is slowly spotlighting the room. He must have gotten up and moved in the middle of the night. Now I’m perched on the side of the mattress, breathless, holding a Dr Pepper, staring at his chest, his nipples, the thick tufts of hair under his arms. . . . I’m all moist and oozy just looking at him. I couldn’t possibly go back to sleep. Could you?

I stare at him, hard, until I am unable to focus clearly on a detail. If I blur my eyes, try to take in the whole image, he seems to bend and shift. He’s not solid somehow, more like the memory of something solid, something forgotten.

He is a wave, maybe, that you can touch but never hold—moving, changing, disappearing and reappearing. I am suddenly aware that this moment will be with me forever. I will carry this vision to my death.

If I bend down, if I get close enough to him, will I be able to smell him? In my mind he smells like a stable boy, reeking of horse sweat, cut grass, and olive juice. In my mind he smells like a caveman fresh from the hunt: bloody, murky, dark, and primordial.

If I lick his nipple, will I taste the testosterone that drips from him? I crawl closer to him. He won’t mind. I stare at the birthmark on his shoulder, the one shaped like Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. When he moans and turns onto his stomach, I get a pen and connect the freckles on his back.

This is love.

If only he would wake up. If only we could roll around in each other’s arms for a couple of years. Playing games and giggling. Writing words with my finger on his back, and letting him try to guess.

 

I could have him now, you know. If I really wanted to. Really, who turns down sex once it’s already underway? Afterward he’d probably never talk to me again. At best. At worst, he’d beat me up, he liked it so much.

But no.

Instead, I shove a couple of Flossie’s cigarettes up his nose and take a picture for posterity. Using a wire coat hanger, I try to open the flap of his boxers and get a peek. Then I leave and go out into the living room to see if Regis and Kelly are on yet.