I’m feeling all cocky and crap in my hot spandex-like dress, so before I change out of it, I kick off my heels and race over the round stone trail to the She-Shed. I smile as I hear the music of Israel beckoning. I knock, but of course he doesn’t hear me. I follow the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. I hope Miss Nude Nike Butt is not in residence. I peek around and spy an empty kitchen.
I lift pan lids to get a closer look at Israel’s cooking skills. A door shuts, and I pause. The pan lid is still in my hand as I turn. Israel waltzes in the kitchen, humming and grinning, wearing nothing but a towel. Eeeek. He’s just showered, and he’s smelling all man-a-licious. I release the pan lid carefully and lower it to the countertop. I hope he thinks it’s the steam from the soup that’s got my cheeks all pinked.
His eyebrows raise a little. “What you doin’ in my kitchen uninvited, mi hija? You need to be more careful about just stepping in whenever. You never know what you might find.” He lays his head on my shoulder. Water particles drip from his hair down my bare skin. I feel his hot breath on my arm. Have mercy.
He shakes his head like a dog and splats me with cold water. I totally needed that, but I shriek anyway. “What’re you doing? Brat!” I tell myself he’s like my brother. But it would really help if he had more clothes on and didn’t look so beautiful.
He’s not my Oliver, but he’s something to behold… I slam the pot lid on.
He growls at me. “Really, Katie. Why did you come over here at night looking like all that? What’re you searching for?”
I hate that he has me doubting myself. “Oh, get over yourself, just came over to say hi. Thought I might eat supper with you, that’s all.” He shoulder bumps me before he walks away, strutting as he goes. I can tell he’s moving his muscles all around on purpose, giving his many tattoos the rippling effect. It’s mesmerizing. I try to look away, but he whips around and gives me a smug grin, before he gives me a more thorough once over.
“Where you goin’ in that get up? Has your momma seen you yet?”
I put my chin up. “I’m going to the school dance. I’m Oliver’s date. We’re dating now.”
He gives a low whistle. “You trying to get lucky? That boy ain’t gonna have his mind on anything but your fine behind in that dress.”
I laugh nervously. “Whatever. Oliver’s a nice boy. He’s not as pervy as you.” Israel puts his hand on his chest, acting all wounded, then he throws his head back and laughs.
“Don’t kid yourself, mi hija. Every guy has their thoughts in one place most of the day. And when you girls go around dressing like that, well.” He looks lost in thought, then blurts out, “Hey! I got an idea! Stay right there. I’ll be right back.” I don’t know if I should; after what he just said, but I stay. Five minutes later, he comes back, fully dressed.
“No scanty panties?” I say.
“I can go put them on, if that’s what you want.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. He has no shame.
I punch his shoulder. “You are incorrigible.” He takes my hand and leads me to the painting room.
I clear my throat. “No way in the world am I stripping down for you. Nope.”
He laughs again. “Chill out, mi hija. I’m going to paint you in that dress. Here, sit down by the window. Let the moonlight shine down on you. Now, do what you do best—dream of your Oliver.” He starts arranging my limbs and twisting my body, stepping back, stepping up, moving me around again. I’m just about to tell him to stuff it, when he finally stops. I’m not exactly comfortable, but my vanity wins out. Besides, if I can sit still on a bus ride for like four hours with a bunch of sweaty, loud, obnoxious basketball girls, I can sit here and have someone paint my picture.
I do as he says and drift off into Oliver land, reliving all of our conversations: the first day we met, the little notes he’s given me, our special private moments. I feel myself smiling bigger and bigger. I hope I’m not like drooling. “Hey!”
I snap back to reality. “Yeah?”
“Maybe don’t think of Oliver. Try thinking of a problem you have right now. I need you to be more serious and not so stars in your eyes, pie-in-the-sky, happy.”
I pfft. “Boy, you’re a downer. Baby Lucifer on a pogo stick. I’m only doing what you told me to do.” I start thinking about what I’ll be doing next year, where I’ll be going to college, and how I’m going to choose where to go, wondering if there’s any way in the world I can get JuneBug to go with me. I know we are as different as night and day in many respects, but she isn’t fake, and she gets me. She knows I’m strange and somewhat eccentric, but she doesn’t care. She also knows there is like life beyond High School. Like, it isn’t the be all and end all to her.
So I’m thinking about all of this, and here he comes again.
“Lighten up, just a little. You’re looking all constipated.”
Ugh. I don’t want to look constipated in a painting. No thank you. I try to empty my mind of everything, which is no easy task. Okay, Katie, you can do this.
You are a deep, and contemplative individual who feels Everything in this world. You have empathetic insight the likes of which have never been witnessed. You are like the designated Giver, the memory keeper, you must bestow your Queenly presence upon the People in such a way that they feel your touch like the lightest touch of an aloe-filled Kleenex, brushing against their enlightened little faces as you gracefully glide by, in all your queenliness, holding out your hands as a peace offering to the multitudes of people suffering in silence beneath the ominous overhang of poverty and strife; like the plague, it guts them, and you must be their comforter, their bearer of loss, their..
I’m lost in my ponderousness and then I’m being thoroughly kissed? By Israel? He holds my face in his hands and kisses the heck out of me. Why? It’s so beautiful and I feel torn between giving part of me away and being robbed. By the time I decide it’s not welcome, it’s over. I shove him away, feeling used and seriously ticked off.
I go to punch him in his beautiful face but he blocks me. The boxer in him pops out with eyes like fire and cat-like reflexes. He holds my punching hand in his grip. His hand is firm on my wrist. He’s all intense and in my face. “I took your passion for my painting. That’s all that kiss was. Nothing more. I’ve got your essence. I also snapped a few photos while you were in your dream world. I’m in my zone. I need an empty room. Now, go!”
I glare at him, too stunned and angry to speak. I peel myself off the stool. I’m stiff from sitting perfectly still in the awkward position Israel put me in.
I march back through my mom’s yard, talking inside my head. “Lesson learned, Katie. You went in looking for some male attention and appreciation with your tight little dress, and you got some.” I stop. “Oh, heck!” I have to explain this kiss to Oliver, cause I have to. I’m not going to be my dad on any level. I start to text Oliver, but I stop. I can’t hit Send. I have to Facetime JuneBug.
“What’s up?” She pops her gum.
“I kissed Israel! I’m so stupid!”
“What? What happened?”
“He was painting my picture, and then he kissed me!”
“Tell Oliver nothing! You didn’t ask to be kissed!”
“No. I have to tell him. He deserves more respect than that! I mean, I’d flip out if he kissed someone and didn’t tell me.”
She groans. “Fine. Tell him tomorrow.”
“No. I’ve got to tell him tonight, and I have to tell him in person. Ugh, I hate this. I’ve got a stomachache. I feel like my father.”
“Katie. Stop it! You are not your Father.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I think I am.
“You’re not. Now stop it! Ooh! Just go over there in your hot new dress. It won’t matter what you say. Oliver won’t hear any of it.”
“JuneBug. You’re so bad. No. I’m totally not doing that.”
“Fine. You’re no fun. Put on your grungy sweats and ratty stained hoodie. That’ll turn him on.”
“Yes. I’ll do that. They make me feel like me!”
“No. Don’t do that, Katie. Those aren’t apology clothes. I was kidding,” she begs.
It’s too late. My mind is made up. “Thanks, JuneBug. Gotta go.”
“Katie!” I hit End on my phone.
I race inside and change out of my trouble-making dress into my comfy sweats and hoodie. I text Oliver. “I’m coming over.”
I run for the back door. “Mom, I’m going to see Oliver!”
“Katie. It’s kind of late.”
I turn to face her, almost in tears. “It won’t take long, Mom. Please.” The look of agony on my face gets me some mom permission/sympathy.
“Fine. But don’t be gone longer than an hour.”
I drive the truck over to his house in silence and try to figure out what to say. I glance at my phone. He hasn’t answered. That’s weird. Usually, he answers right away. I go and knock on his door and he opens it.
“Katie?”
“I texted you.”
“Oh. My phone is charging. Can we sit in the Scout?”
I climb in and it’s dark outside. He leans in. “Missing me bad, were you?”
I turn away. I’m unable to kiss him. He coughs and acts all embarrassed. I feel bad. I’m trying not to breathe deeply and get all hyperventilating and stuff. He sits, patiently waiting. I’ve never been smooth, especially when I’m nervous. I blurt it out, “I put on a tight dress and I was at Israel’s and I kissed him. I mean, he kissed me! I mean, I don’t know, cause I was in dreamland. He was painting me and then he kissed me, and it was all in the name of art, and it didn’t mean anything.” I’m staring straight ahead because I can’t bear to look at Oliver. I’m feeling as low as low can be.
I’m Hester from the scarlet letter. I have an “A” on my garment and it radiates like a spotlight, for all the world to see. Everyone knows that I’m a fallen woman. I have done the unthinkable, I have committed Adultery with a capital A, and now I must suffer the consequences…
“Katie. Katie!”
I snap out of it. I finally turn to look at Oliver. One look at his face makes me feel like bacteria on a rock in the bottom of dark, disgusting pond water.. “What do you want me to say, Katie? I mean, are you tryin’ to push me away and this is your way of doin’ it? You know the guy makes me jealous. He’s like an artist, and he’s all dark and mysterious. He lives in your She-Shed, he’s at your work—like he’s like always around.”
I stare at my hands in my lap, and I don’t know what to say. “I’m really sorry, Oliver. Truly I am. I even tried to punch him in the face, like right after, but he blocked it. I think he’s like a boxer or somethin’… and the only reason I didn’t kiss you tonight is because I feel... like gross.. like I want to brush my teeth and gargle with mouthwash before I kiss you… after he kissed me.. that’s all. But I was like so upset by what happened, that I had to see you, like now, to tell you… because I don’t want anything dishonest or wrong between us… because you mean a lot to me.. and my dad is like a cheating, low-lying snake, and that’s why we moved to Ohio, and I’m not him, I can’t stand him. And Israel is like my brother; at least to me he is.
“I mean, that’s how I see him. I’m an only child, and I’ve always wanted a sibling, and so I think of him like that. There’s…there’s no one for me but you, and I’m just sorry. And I know what this sounds like—like a generic apology, but it’s not. It’s how I feel. You deserve the truth, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Oliver gets out of the truck. Great, I’ve done it now. He’s so mad he’s not speaking to me, and he’s going to go inside and leave me out here like an ex-girlfriend. Is he breaking up with me?
He opens my door? He takes my hand. I look up, and he’s smiling? “Come on inside. The truck seat’s too small for all your baggage.” He leads me upstairs to the bathroom and hands me a new toothbrush and some mouthwash. “Knock yourself out.” He smacks my butt!
I grab his collar and pull him close. My betraying lips are inches from his. “You’re Crazy Amazing.”
He grabs the doorframe and leans backwards. “You’re Just Plain Crazy.”
I brush my teeth like 2-3x, and gargle with mouthwash. Phew. I feel so much better. I find Oliver sitting on the couch watching TV. I sit down beside him, and he grabs my hand and holds it close to his side. He plays with my fingers like he always does. It drives me out of my mind.
He watches TV, and I watch him while I try not to look like I am. I’m so relieved and happy to be sitting by my guy. I still can’t believe we’re a couple, or that I have a boyfriend. And he’s Wonderful! And he’s all mine. I sit there a bit longer, but it’s getting late. “Um, I need to go home. I told my mom I wouldn’t be gone longer than an hour.”
“Alright. I’ll walk you out.” We share some serious face time by the truck. He’s such an awesome kisser. I’m burning up, but he shows me no mercy. He’s moved to my ears, then my neck. Oh holy buckets, BatMan. I might be in trouble. Thank goodness we are leaning against my truck and I’m not on his couch. There’s no end to his smoothness. He holds me entranced with his lips. One hand plays at the nape of my neck and in my hair; the other skates across my back. For such big hands, he has the lightest of touches!
He skates across my stomach and up and down my ribcage. It’s a delicious grazing. I’ve got steam coming out my ears. Liquid heat shoots straight to my lady parts. This needs to be shut down. In a few minutes… just a few minutes more of relishing his lips on my skin, his hands leaving trails across my body. I pull back, reluctantly. He stops and looks at me, like he’s asking if I really want to stop.
“Oliver, that was all…well, wonderful to say the least, but I gotta go home now, while I’m still coherent.”
He smiles at me. “I’m just makin’ sure you remember who you’re with.”
I hook a hand around his neck and draw him in again. I give him another solid kiss. “Don’t worry, I won’t be forgetting any time soon.” I get in my car and touch my smiling lips with one hand. I feel branded in every way, and It’s a glorious feeling.
I return home and float through my front door. I’m blinded by love.