“I hope when I feel lust,”
says Rachel,
“it’s with someone cute and sexy.
Maybe a musician.”
I admit: “I already feel lust.
Sometimes it happens
in the middle of doing homework.
Very uncomfortable!
Or sometimes when I’m doing nothing,
a fire rises inside of my solar plexus.
It happens a lot!”
“Wow!” says Rachel. “You’re so honest!”
Even if I wanted to stop,
the words just keep bursting out.
“And when I see myself naked,
I imagine someone else
seeing me that way.
Touching me, looking into my eyes,
murmuring all kinds of sexy things.
I kiss myself in the mirror
and end up having to take a shower.”
I look at this girl I just met,
thinking what an idiot I am
to spill out these secrets.
“Maisie, you’re one hot tamale!”
She laughs.
“What instrument would your musician play?”
I ask, trying to return to
a safe conversation.
“Me?” asks Rachel.
“I can hardly think after what you just said.”
“Don’t you feel lust, Rachel?”
She’s quiet.
“Well, I wouldn’t want a tuba player,”
she says finally.
“That wouldn’t do it for me.”
“Okay. No tuba players,”
I say, relieved.
“Accordion?”
She squeals, “No!”
I make a motion of crossing them off
an imaginary list.
She laughs.
So I’m thinking, this might not be
the worst year in human history.
High school might be my big break,
when I find a real girlfriend,
someone in this universe who gets me.