26
“I tell you how I feel but you don’t care/I say tell me the truth, but you don’t dare/You say love is a hell you cannot bear/So I say give me mine back and then go there for all I care.” –Fiona Apple. “Sleep to Dream.”
Adrienne threw off her wet t-shirt and tossed it in her book bag that sat beside Deshawn’s bed. She pulled her clothes from the day before from beside the bed and began to hastily throw them on. Deshawn leaned against the doorframe. She slipped on her boots without tying them and made her way to the door. He blocked her. “Move, jackass,” she snapped as she stared at his hazel eyes. “Tell me what’s going on,” he said, keeping her from leaving. “What’s going on is I’m getting fucking sick of you, and if you don’t get the hell out of my way I’m going to make you.” Deshawn raised his eyebrows. She stared him down, waiting for him to move. Her eyes glazed over in a cold stare. There was something in her face that frightened him; it wasn’t a fear born of the idea that she’d make him move if he refused to. It was because she’d never looked at him that way before. There was something definitely wrong, something that he couldn’t place. And so he moved.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
25
25
“Surely something resides in this heart that is not perishable—and life is more than but a dream.” Mary Wollstonecraft
Adrienne awoke to being splashed with water. She sat up, chocking, and stared at Deshawn who stood over her clad only in boxers. She hit him with a pillow. “What the fuck is your problem, Deshawn? You can’t just run around dumping water on people.” He stared at her coldly. “Why are you in his bed?” “I think you should be more worried about the fact that I’m not in yours.” “I think you need to watch your mouth before it gets you into trouble.” She glanced quickly at Jackson’s empty side of the bed. She stood on the bed, eyelevel with Deshawn. “You’re the one that’s got the trouble, Deshawn. At least that’s what I would call it if the sound of your girlfriend crying in the middle of the night doesn’t even wake you up.” “Oh, so that gives you a free pass to go sleep with my brother?” “What’s the matter? You want to hit me? Go ahead motherfucker. I beat your ass in junior high, don’t think I can’t do it again.” “How long has this been going on?” Deshawn demanded. “Since before your voice changed. Why don’t you shut the fuck up and stay out of shit that you know nothing about. Maybe you forgot who I was with first. I don’t need this shit; get the hell out of my way,” she snapped, pushing past him as she jumped off the bed. He blocked her at the door. “How long have you been fucking my brother?” “Move, Deshawn.” “How long?” “If you don’t get the fuck out of my way I’m going to make you wish you had.” He didn’t move. She tried to kick him in the groin, but he caught her leg before impact. She twisted around and elbowed him in the stomach. He threw her forward and landed on top of her. He lay on top of her, his eyes holding hers. “How long have you been fucking Jackson?” “I’m not fucking him. Sleeping in his bed, maybe. But there isn’t any sex involved. Ask him. Ask him if we’ve ever had sex, even when we were together. Not that it’s any of your business anyway. This is stupid. Get off of me.”
“Surely something resides in this heart that is not perishable—and life is more than but a dream.” Mary Wollstonecraft
Adrienne awoke to being splashed with water. She sat up, chocking, and stared at Deshawn who stood over her clad only in boxers. She hit him with a pillow. “What the fuck is your problem, Deshawn? You can’t just run around dumping water on people.” He stared at her coldly. “Why are you in his bed?” “I think you should be more worried about the fact that I’m not in yours.” “I think you need to watch your mouth before it gets you into trouble.” She glanced quickly at Jackson’s empty side of the bed. She stood on the bed, eyelevel with Deshawn. “You’re the one that’s got the trouble, Deshawn. At least that’s what I would call it if the sound of your girlfriend crying in the middle of the night doesn’t even wake you up.” “Oh, so that gives you a free pass to go sleep with my brother?” “What’s the matter? You want to hit me? Go ahead motherfucker. I beat your ass in junior high, don’t think I can’t do it again.” “How long has this been going on?” Deshawn demanded. “Since before your voice changed. Why don’t you shut the fuck up and stay out of shit that you know nothing about. Maybe you forgot who I was with first. I don’t need this shit; get the hell out of my way,” she snapped, pushing past him as she jumped off the bed. He blocked her at the door. “How long have you been fucking my brother?” “Move, Deshawn.” “How long?” “If you don’t get the fuck out of my way I’m going to make you wish you had.” He didn’t move. She tried to kick him in the groin, but he caught her leg before impact. She twisted around and elbowed him in the stomach. He threw her forward and landed on top of her. He lay on top of her, his eyes holding hers. “How long have you been fucking Jackson?” “I’m not fucking him. Sleeping in his bed, maybe. But there isn’t any sex involved. Ask him. Ask him if we’ve ever had sex, even when we were together. Not that it’s any of your business anyway. This is stupid. Get off of me.”
24
24
“I do not want the peace that passeth understanding. I want the understanding that bringeth peace.” Helen Keller
The weight of his body crushed her against the carpet. New Port filled her lungs, and he cast his ashy breath across her face as he ran his sticky, chapped lips against her mouth. She struggled beneath him, the rug beneath her a braising her wrists. With balled fists she beat against his chest. Hot tears rand down her face and mingled with his sweat. The aroma of wet dog filled her nose. Why did he always smell like a dog? His hands held her down—and then the other hands came. Running down the sides of her face and stopping at the sides of her mouth. The hands forced her mouth open—she never knew whose hands they were; she never saw his face. But that was because it wasn’t his face that was forced against her lips and down her throat.
Adrienne awoke to the sound of her own crying, to the damp of the sweat soaked sheets. She awoke to a soundly sleeping Deshawn, un-awakened by her tears. She gazed at him, breathing so steadily in the presence of her distress and knew that she could never tell him. She could never tell him what had happened so long ago but still haunted her dreams.
She rose from his bed and wandered into the living room. The futon against the far wall cast its shadow across the floor by the light of the street lamp coming in the window. She could still smell the New Port. Why was it that memory was so connected to scent? She walked away from the center of the room, distancing herself from the scent and the memory of the men who ruined her soul.
She stood by the side of his bed and watched him sleep. He was on his back, but she knew that he had started out on his stomach. He breathed deeply, almost like a snore, but not quite as loud. He knew that she was there—he had heard her crying. But he kept his eyes closed because he knew that it was important to her to think that he was still asleep. She crawled into the bed from the other side and snuggled up next to him underneath the blanket. Jackson reached over and took hold of her hand. He knew why she was there, just as he knew that he was the only man who didn’t have to ask why; he was the only man who could sleep in the same bed with her and only touch her hand. So he kept telling her.
“I do not want the peace that passeth understanding. I want the understanding that bringeth peace.” Helen Keller
The weight of his body crushed her against the carpet. New Port filled her lungs, and he cast his ashy breath across her face as he ran his sticky, chapped lips against her mouth. She struggled beneath him, the rug beneath her a braising her wrists. With balled fists she beat against his chest. Hot tears rand down her face and mingled with his sweat. The aroma of wet dog filled her nose. Why did he always smell like a dog? His hands held her down—and then the other hands came. Running down the sides of her face and stopping at the sides of her mouth. The hands forced her mouth open—she never knew whose hands they were; she never saw his face. But that was because it wasn’t his face that was forced against her lips and down her throat.
Adrienne awoke to the sound of her own crying, to the damp of the sweat soaked sheets. She awoke to a soundly sleeping Deshawn, un-awakened by her tears. She gazed at him, breathing so steadily in the presence of her distress and knew that she could never tell him. She could never tell him what had happened so long ago but still haunted her dreams.
She rose from his bed and wandered into the living room. The futon against the far wall cast its shadow across the floor by the light of the street lamp coming in the window. She could still smell the New Port. Why was it that memory was so connected to scent? She walked away from the center of the room, distancing herself from the scent and the memory of the men who ruined her soul.
She stood by the side of his bed and watched him sleep. He was on his back, but she knew that he had started out on his stomach. He breathed deeply, almost like a snore, but not quite as loud. He knew that she was there—he had heard her crying. But he kept his eyes closed because he knew that it was important to her to think that he was still asleep. She crawled into the bed from the other side and snuggled up next to him underneath the blanket. Jackson reached over and took hold of her hand. He knew why she was there, just as he knew that he was the only man who didn’t have to ask why; he was the only man who could sleep in the same bed with her and only touch her hand. So he kept telling her.
23
23
“He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.”
William Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet. II.ii.2
Adrienne spread a thick layer of peanut butter across the piece of bread. She wiped the extra peanut butter off the knife with her index finger and ate it. “He’s not going to eat that, you know. Especially when he finds out that you’d rather suck on peanut butter,” Jackson breathed on the back of her neck. She stiffened, aware of him behind her. “Besides,” he began, encircling her waist and picking up the spoon next to the plate, “you don’t make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a knife. You spread the jelly and peanut butter with a spoon,” he finished, pressing himself into her as he spread the grape jelly with the spoon. She could feel his heart beating against her spine. “What makes you think this is for Deshawn?” she asked defensively. Jackson put the lid on the jelly. He lowered his head so that his twists brushed against the side of her face. She tried to ignore him by putting the two pieces of bread together. “You don’t like grape jelly,” he answered, running his hand against hers. He pressed his lips against the side of her face and tugged on her oversized Emory T-shirt. “So, you got anything on under this?” he questioned, making Adrienne suddenly aware of the fact that all she had on besides the t-shirt was socks. She turned around to face him and pushed his hand away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jackson moved away from her face and crossed his arms. “How much you want to bet he doesn’t know you don’t like grape jelly?” Adrienne rolled her eyes and started out of the kitchen, sandwich in hand. He grabbed her by the wrist. “Does he know what else you don’t like?” Adrienne fought to maintain her composure. “I don’t want to have this discussion, Jay,” she breathed, accidentally calling him by a name she hadn’t used in years. “Look at me, Adrienne,” he said softly. She looked up from the floor at his deep brown irises. “He needs to know, Adrienne. You have to tell him; otherwise he’ll expect it to happen eventually. It’s not fair to freak out on him when he doesn’t know.” Adrienne pulled her hand away. “Shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”
“He jests at scars, that never felt a wound.”
William Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet. II.ii.2
Adrienne spread a thick layer of peanut butter across the piece of bread. She wiped the extra peanut butter off the knife with her index finger and ate it. “He’s not going to eat that, you know. Especially when he finds out that you’d rather suck on peanut butter,” Jackson breathed on the back of her neck. She stiffened, aware of him behind her. “Besides,” he began, encircling her waist and picking up the spoon next to the plate, “you don’t make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with a knife. You spread the jelly and peanut butter with a spoon,” he finished, pressing himself into her as he spread the grape jelly with the spoon. She could feel his heart beating against her spine. “What makes you think this is for Deshawn?” she asked defensively. Jackson put the lid on the jelly. He lowered his head so that his twists brushed against the side of her face. She tried to ignore him by putting the two pieces of bread together. “You don’t like grape jelly,” he answered, running his hand against hers. He pressed his lips against the side of her face and tugged on her oversized Emory T-shirt. “So, you got anything on under this?” he questioned, making Adrienne suddenly aware of the fact that all she had on besides the t-shirt was socks. She turned around to face him and pushed his hand away. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jackson moved away from her face and crossed his arms. “How much you want to bet he doesn’t know you don’t like grape jelly?” Adrienne rolled her eyes and started out of the kitchen, sandwich in hand. He grabbed her by the wrist. “Does he know what else you don’t like?” Adrienne fought to maintain her composure. “I don’t want to have this discussion, Jay,” she breathed, accidentally calling him by a name she hadn’t used in years. “Look at me, Adrienne,” he said softly. She looked up from the floor at his deep brown irises. “He needs to know, Adrienne. You have to tell him; otherwise he’ll expect it to happen eventually. It’s not fair to freak out on him when he doesn’t know.” Adrienne pulled her hand away. “Shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”
22
Twenty Two
“This night of no moon there is no way to meet him. I rise in longing—my breast pounds, a leaping flame. My heart is consumed in fire.”
--Ono No Komachi Kashinshu
Adrienne awoke sprawled across the bed, her boots still tied. Her eyes scanned the darkness for familiar objects. Big screen TV, red sheets, king size bed. No Gandalf. Her foggy mind processed gradually. Cinnamon and laundry detergent. She smelled him but she could not see him. Adrienne rolled over and found herself inches away from Deshawn’s face. He reached over and ran his fingers through her hair. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked groggily. “A few hours. You had a little too much to drink.” Adrienne ran her hands down his shirt.
“If I had too much to drink, how come everybody still has their clothes on?”
“Because some people decided to do a strip tease with more than a one person audience.” The anger in his sarcasm hit her like a brick wall. Adrienne climbed on top of him and rested her chin on his chest. “What exactly are we mad about? The fact that I was stripping in front of strangers or that I didn’t keep any of the money?” Deshawn stared coldly at her. Obviously he didn’t appreciate her sense of humor. “Or,” she began running her hands underneath his shirt, “we are just mad because we weren’t the center of attention.” He looked away. She sat up. “That’s it isn’t it? You think that all my sexual attention has to be directed at you all the time! I can’t just be a sensuous being. You have to always be the recipient. You spoiled little bitch.” Adrienne got out of the bed and slammed the bathroom door.
Deshawn leaned up against the wall. “Adrienne you know that has nothing to do with it. Why do I always have to be some sort of selfish anti-feminist bastard every time I get mad at you? Why am I never allowed to be mad at you? You want to know why I’m upset? Because you had too much to drink. Because you got on top of the bar and almost fell off. It doesn’t have anything to do with your sexual rights. It’s not like that ‘s your job and you had it all choreographed and you were concentrating and you knew what you were doing. You can’t dance on a bar covered in glasses when you’re has small as you are and have had more alcohol content than you can handle. As your boyfriend I’m supposed to let you do that? I’m supposed to let you hurt yourself? Goddamn it Adrienne, open the fucking door.”
The door opened slightly. Deshawn pushed it open to find Adrienne sitting on the counter by the sink, swinging her legs and kicking the cupboards. Her took her hand and placed it on his cheek. He leaned closer, touching her forehead with his. She ran her hand down the back of his neck, and brought the other arm around to clasp her hands around it. His wet lips slid from her mouth to her chin, from her chin to her neck. His hands ran up her thighs to her waist, encircling her back. Lifting her gently, he pulled her closer toward him, closing the gap between them. Adrienne wrapped her legs around his waist, shifting her weight forward. Lifting her once more, he carried her on his hips to the bed.
He ignored the jingling of the keys in the lock of the front door. His lips ran along the sides of her neck as he ignored the shouts of profanity in the living room accompanied by his name. He threw her shirt at the door as it was kicked open. Deshawn stopped ignoring his brother when the phone bill collided with his head. He looked up from Adrienne’s neck. “Goddamn it Jackson. Don’t you ever knock? What the fuck is your problem?” A topless Adrienne sat up and hugged her knees in an attempt to cover herself. “My problem? My problem is I have a jackass of a brother who didn’t pay his part of the phone bill AGAIN and I had to pay the entire thing. Either you start growing up or your slack ass better go home.” An infuriated Jackson smirked. “I don’t know why you covered up, Adrienne. I’ve seen you more naked than that.” Adrienne threw a pillow in his direction, but he shut the door before it hit him.
“This night of no moon there is no way to meet him. I rise in longing—my breast pounds, a leaping flame. My heart is consumed in fire.”
--Ono No Komachi Kashinshu
Adrienne awoke sprawled across the bed, her boots still tied. Her eyes scanned the darkness for familiar objects. Big screen TV, red sheets, king size bed. No Gandalf. Her foggy mind processed gradually. Cinnamon and laundry detergent. She smelled him but she could not see him. Adrienne rolled over and found herself inches away from Deshawn’s face. He reached over and ran his fingers through her hair. “How long have I been asleep?” she asked groggily. “A few hours. You had a little too much to drink.” Adrienne ran her hands down his shirt.
“If I had too much to drink, how come everybody still has their clothes on?”
“Because some people decided to do a strip tease with more than a one person audience.” The anger in his sarcasm hit her like a brick wall. Adrienne climbed on top of him and rested her chin on his chest. “What exactly are we mad about? The fact that I was stripping in front of strangers or that I didn’t keep any of the money?” Deshawn stared coldly at her. Obviously he didn’t appreciate her sense of humor. “Or,” she began running her hands underneath his shirt, “we are just mad because we weren’t the center of attention.” He looked away. She sat up. “That’s it isn’t it? You think that all my sexual attention has to be directed at you all the time! I can’t just be a sensuous being. You have to always be the recipient. You spoiled little bitch.” Adrienne got out of the bed and slammed the bathroom door.
Deshawn leaned up against the wall. “Adrienne you know that has nothing to do with it. Why do I always have to be some sort of selfish anti-feminist bastard every time I get mad at you? Why am I never allowed to be mad at you? You want to know why I’m upset? Because you had too much to drink. Because you got on top of the bar and almost fell off. It doesn’t have anything to do with your sexual rights. It’s not like that ‘s your job and you had it all choreographed and you were concentrating and you knew what you were doing. You can’t dance on a bar covered in glasses when you’re has small as you are and have had more alcohol content than you can handle. As your boyfriend I’m supposed to let you do that? I’m supposed to let you hurt yourself? Goddamn it Adrienne, open the fucking door.”
The door opened slightly. Deshawn pushed it open to find Adrienne sitting on the counter by the sink, swinging her legs and kicking the cupboards. Her took her hand and placed it on his cheek. He leaned closer, touching her forehead with his. She ran her hand down the back of his neck, and brought the other arm around to clasp her hands around it. His wet lips slid from her mouth to her chin, from her chin to her neck. His hands ran up her thighs to her waist, encircling her back. Lifting her gently, he pulled her closer toward him, closing the gap between them. Adrienne wrapped her legs around his waist, shifting her weight forward. Lifting her once more, he carried her on his hips to the bed.
He ignored the jingling of the keys in the lock of the front door. His lips ran along the sides of her neck as he ignored the shouts of profanity in the living room accompanied by his name. He threw her shirt at the door as it was kicked open. Deshawn stopped ignoring his brother when the phone bill collided with his head. He looked up from Adrienne’s neck. “Goddamn it Jackson. Don’t you ever knock? What the fuck is your problem?” A topless Adrienne sat up and hugged her knees in an attempt to cover herself. “My problem? My problem is I have a jackass of a brother who didn’t pay his part of the phone bill AGAIN and I had to pay the entire thing. Either you start growing up or your slack ass better go home.” An infuriated Jackson smirked. “I don’t know why you covered up, Adrienne. I’ve seen you more naked than that.” Adrienne threw a pillow in his direction, but he shut the door before it hit him.
21
“ Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who did not hear the music.” Angela Monet
A smoky haze floated throughout the air in the bar packed with sweat covered bodies. Adrienne’s energy seemed to catch hold of the smoke and pull it toward her so that when she walked the smoke followed. She wandered out to the tiny dance floor with a Smirnoff Ice in hand and Jamar close behind. Turning to face him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her mouth down the side of his neck. He ran his hand down her arm and took the Smirnoff bottle. “I think I should hold onto this for a while.” Adrienne reached for the bottle, but he held it over her head. She ran her hands down the front of his shirt, stopping where it hung over his jeans. “It’s just a Smirnoff. Even you drink more than that.” Deshawn held her gaze firmly. “No.”
Pushing away she made her way through the bodies to the bar. How she got on top of the bar was unimportant. What mattered was only that she was up there, which, in Deshawn’s eyes, was just as bad even if she hadn’t begun to dance. He stared transfixed at her standing on top of the bar, swaying her hips to an unknown tune, and running her hands along breasts that he felt were for his eyes only. By the time he made it to the bar Adrienne was no longer wearing a shirt. Dollar bills were flying when he grasped Adrienne around the waist from behind the bar and pulled her down to the floor where he stood. He briefly exchanged glances with Marina, the bartender, who had caught Adrienne’s shirt when she flung it off. Taking her shirt from Marina, he loosened his grip on her waist and attempted to put her shirt back on her. As soon as his grip loosened, Adrienne fell backwards against the wall. Marina held her up so Deshawn could finish the job. She looked at Deshawn critically. “How many did she have before she got here? Don’t you have any sense at all? When she’s here with Hadassah I don’t make her drinks as strong. Hadassah drinks enough for the both of them put together.” He stared at her for a moment, and then shifted his gaze back to Adrienne. “C’mon baby girl. We’re going home,” he said as he guided Adrienne out the door by her shoulders.
Tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, Adrienne lunged forward, and she would have hit the concrete had Deshawn not caught her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
A smoky haze floated throughout the air in the bar packed with sweat covered bodies. Adrienne’s energy seemed to catch hold of the smoke and pull it toward her so that when she walked the smoke followed. She wandered out to the tiny dance floor with a Smirnoff Ice in hand and Jamar close behind. Turning to face him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and ran her mouth down the side of his neck. He ran his hand down her arm and took the Smirnoff bottle. “I think I should hold onto this for a while.” Adrienne reached for the bottle, but he held it over her head. She ran her hands down the front of his shirt, stopping where it hung over his jeans. “It’s just a Smirnoff. Even you drink more than that.” Deshawn held her gaze firmly. “No.”
Pushing away she made her way through the bodies to the bar. How she got on top of the bar was unimportant. What mattered was only that she was up there, which, in Deshawn’s eyes, was just as bad even if she hadn’t begun to dance. He stared transfixed at her standing on top of the bar, swaying her hips to an unknown tune, and running her hands along breasts that he felt were for his eyes only. By the time he made it to the bar Adrienne was no longer wearing a shirt. Dollar bills were flying when he grasped Adrienne around the waist from behind the bar and pulled her down to the floor where he stood. He briefly exchanged glances with Marina, the bartender, who had caught Adrienne’s shirt when she flung it off. Taking her shirt from Marina, he loosened his grip on her waist and attempted to put her shirt back on her. As soon as his grip loosened, Adrienne fell backwards against the wall. Marina held her up so Deshawn could finish the job. She looked at Deshawn critically. “How many did she have before she got here? Don’t you have any sense at all? When she’s here with Hadassah I don’t make her drinks as strong. Hadassah drinks enough for the both of them put together.” He stared at her for a moment, and then shifted his gaze back to Adrienne. “C’mon baby girl. We’re going home,” he said as he guided Adrienne out the door by her shoulders.
Tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, Adrienne lunged forward, and she would have hit the concrete had Deshawn not caught her. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
20
Twenty
“Everything has it’s wonders, even darkness and sadness, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.” –Helen Keller
March 9 Keolwulf 14
Adrienne let out a sharp sigh as she turned in her exam envelope. Yet somehow the stress didn’t disappear. True, she only had one final. One final and four papers to be exact. She’d rather have a million papers and no finals. But nobody asked her did they? The papers weren’t what stressed her out. One of her talents was pulling papers out of her ass. The stress came over the anxiety over what she would get on her transcript as a result. Her watch beeped twice; she didn’t have to look at the purple plastic watch emblazoned with glitter. Two beeps meant 9PM. Birth control time.
Adrienne reached in her purse and pulled out her orthotricylen—she had painted the dial pack with metallic purple nail polish. Obsession? Of course not. Artistic boredom. She swallowed the light blue pill with a hot Pepsi One that had been in her purse since the beginning of the exam. She glanced down at the watch to check the date. Monday. She had a tendency to lose track of what day it was. Hourly time didn’t mean much to her. Neither did calendar dates. It was the days of the week that were more important.
Adrienne had certain days reserved for certain things. If she were going to pick a day in which to be a complete and absolute bitch about something, Monday was a definite candidate. Many people had been saved from an all out tirade based on the fact that it simply wasn’t a Monday. In the beginning she had felt bad about having sex on Sundays. Originally it was because she felt as though it was because she was having sex that she wasn’t going to Mass. She proved herself wrong one month that she was celibate. Apparently she didn’t go to Mass regardless. If that didn’t prove anything, her relationship with Hadassah did. She’d have sex with Hadassah no matter what day it was.
The forest green of the oak leaves stood out vibrantly against the orange painted tips; she stood like the oak against the late autumn haze of evening. Or perhaps the evening stood against her, for the ferocity of the colors painted against the sky ran along her spine like a hammer against each bone. Her thoughts danced speedily along the rising wind, as if they summoned the element itself. It was unclear as to the veracity of the wind’s existence. There seemed to be a great gust of energy, hot from her soul that rushed through the autumn haze and the orange dipped leaves. Each vertebra seemed to vibrate in succession. Each muscle seemed overly tight. Adrienne breathed in the dried leaves, the newly turned soil. Anxiety wracked her body like a violent scent.
Just then her purse began to vibrate. She rummaged through its random contents to find her cell, which had been placed on vibrate during the exam. She stared blankly at Deshawn’s number as it appeared on the screen. She almost didn’t answer it, but thought better of it. “Yeah,” she answered flatly.
“Hey beautiful. Are you finished?”
“Yeah, I’m done.”
“Do you want me to come get you, or do you want to meet me?”
“I’ll meet you; I don’t want to have to come back to get my car.”
“So where you want to go?”
“Ruby Tuesdays. The one closest to my house.”
“Alright baby girl. See you in a few.”
The street signs flashed by without much meaning. It didn’t really matter much; Adrienne could make it to Ruby Tuesdays with her eyes closed, for everything stood out starkly against the autumn haze. Colors attacked her and beat against her brain like the pounding of a drum.
Deshawn was leaning against the side of the restaurant when she began to walk toward him. Adrienne walked slowly, balancing her steps with the pounding of the world around her. She fixed her eyes on the way his black t-shirt defined each of his upper body muscles perfectly at the same time that it hung loosely over his oversized jeans. In her opinion, Deshawn’s attractiveness stopped there—mostly because his boots were practically hidden by his jeans. It might just be because she had a boot fetish, but Adrienne thought that if one was going to wear boots, they should be visible.
She could feel his eyes upon her, wandering around her figure the way hers had his. Her low rise jeans began at her hips, and the patches of violet velvet sporadically traveled down the legs to her combat boots that had been painted with indigo and lavender glitter. She ran her fingers through her garnet ringlets, inadvertently causing her lilac tank top ribbed with threads of silver to expose her midriff.
Deshawn slid his sleek arm around her waist, running his fingers almost absent mindedly along the hem of her top. He knew better than to guide her to her seat. Instead he simply rested his arm in the curve of her waist. Adrienne chose a booth toward the end of the non smoking section in the corner at the edge of the room. She slid across the table from him and began to arrange the sugar packets in erratic block patterns. He watched her intently, as if he thought the intensity of his stare would grasp her attention. It didn’t.
“May I take your order?” the waitress in black spandex pants asked for a second time. Adrienne looked up suddenly from her sugar packets. “Two sex on the beach. Chocolate tall cake,” she answered rapidly, in an almost automatic tone. Their server turned to Deshawn, who replied, “Two Corona, chili cheese fries,” without removing his gaze from Adrienne.
Adrienne guzzled both her drinks down before Desawn was finished with his first Corona. He eyed her carefully as she ate the whipped cream off her tall cake. Abruptly she stood and reached out for his arm. “Let’s go. Get a box,” she demanded, grabbing his wrist. He rose and signaled the waitress for a to go box. “What about my beer? This isn’t New Orleans; I can’t take it with me.” Adrienne grabbed his unopened Corona and walked up to a blonde man sitting at the bar. “My boyfriend bought you a drink,” she whispered into his ear as she placed the Corona in front of him. She turned around before a perplexed look crossed his face.
“Everything has it’s wonders, even darkness and sadness, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.” –Helen Keller
March 9 Keolwulf 14
Adrienne let out a sharp sigh as she turned in her exam envelope. Yet somehow the stress didn’t disappear. True, she only had one final. One final and four papers to be exact. She’d rather have a million papers and no finals. But nobody asked her did they? The papers weren’t what stressed her out. One of her talents was pulling papers out of her ass. The stress came over the anxiety over what she would get on her transcript as a result. Her watch beeped twice; she didn’t have to look at the purple plastic watch emblazoned with glitter. Two beeps meant 9PM. Birth control time.
Adrienne reached in her purse and pulled out her orthotricylen—she had painted the dial pack with metallic purple nail polish. Obsession? Of course not. Artistic boredom. She swallowed the light blue pill with a hot Pepsi One that had been in her purse since the beginning of the exam. She glanced down at the watch to check the date. Monday. She had a tendency to lose track of what day it was. Hourly time didn’t mean much to her. Neither did calendar dates. It was the days of the week that were more important.
Adrienne had certain days reserved for certain things. If she were going to pick a day in which to be a complete and absolute bitch about something, Monday was a definite candidate. Many people had been saved from an all out tirade based on the fact that it simply wasn’t a Monday. In the beginning she had felt bad about having sex on Sundays. Originally it was because she felt as though it was because she was having sex that she wasn’t going to Mass. She proved herself wrong one month that she was celibate. Apparently she didn’t go to Mass regardless. If that didn’t prove anything, her relationship with Hadassah did. She’d have sex with Hadassah no matter what day it was.
The forest green of the oak leaves stood out vibrantly against the orange painted tips; she stood like the oak against the late autumn haze of evening. Or perhaps the evening stood against her, for the ferocity of the colors painted against the sky ran along her spine like a hammer against each bone. Her thoughts danced speedily along the rising wind, as if they summoned the element itself. It was unclear as to the veracity of the wind’s existence. There seemed to be a great gust of energy, hot from her soul that rushed through the autumn haze and the orange dipped leaves. Each vertebra seemed to vibrate in succession. Each muscle seemed overly tight. Adrienne breathed in the dried leaves, the newly turned soil. Anxiety wracked her body like a violent scent.
Just then her purse began to vibrate. She rummaged through its random contents to find her cell, which had been placed on vibrate during the exam. She stared blankly at Deshawn’s number as it appeared on the screen. She almost didn’t answer it, but thought better of it. “Yeah,” she answered flatly.
“Hey beautiful. Are you finished?”
“Yeah, I’m done.”
“Do you want me to come get you, or do you want to meet me?”
“I’ll meet you; I don’t want to have to come back to get my car.”
“So where you want to go?”
“Ruby Tuesdays. The one closest to my house.”
“Alright baby girl. See you in a few.”
The street signs flashed by without much meaning. It didn’t really matter much; Adrienne could make it to Ruby Tuesdays with her eyes closed, for everything stood out starkly against the autumn haze. Colors attacked her and beat against her brain like the pounding of a drum.
Deshawn was leaning against the side of the restaurant when she began to walk toward him. Adrienne walked slowly, balancing her steps with the pounding of the world around her. She fixed her eyes on the way his black t-shirt defined each of his upper body muscles perfectly at the same time that it hung loosely over his oversized jeans. In her opinion, Deshawn’s attractiveness stopped there—mostly because his boots were practically hidden by his jeans. It might just be because she had a boot fetish, but Adrienne thought that if one was going to wear boots, they should be visible.
She could feel his eyes upon her, wandering around her figure the way hers had his. Her low rise jeans began at her hips, and the patches of violet velvet sporadically traveled down the legs to her combat boots that had been painted with indigo and lavender glitter. She ran her fingers through her garnet ringlets, inadvertently causing her lilac tank top ribbed with threads of silver to expose her midriff.
Deshawn slid his sleek arm around her waist, running his fingers almost absent mindedly along the hem of her top. He knew better than to guide her to her seat. Instead he simply rested his arm in the curve of her waist. Adrienne chose a booth toward the end of the non smoking section in the corner at the edge of the room. She slid across the table from him and began to arrange the sugar packets in erratic block patterns. He watched her intently, as if he thought the intensity of his stare would grasp her attention. It didn’t.
“May I take your order?” the waitress in black spandex pants asked for a second time. Adrienne looked up suddenly from her sugar packets. “Two sex on the beach. Chocolate tall cake,” she answered rapidly, in an almost automatic tone. Their server turned to Deshawn, who replied, “Two Corona, chili cheese fries,” without removing his gaze from Adrienne.
Adrienne guzzled both her drinks down before Desawn was finished with his first Corona. He eyed her carefully as she ate the whipped cream off her tall cake. Abruptly she stood and reached out for his arm. “Let’s go. Get a box,” she demanded, grabbing his wrist. He rose and signaled the waitress for a to go box. “What about my beer? This isn’t New Orleans; I can’t take it with me.” Adrienne grabbed his unopened Corona and walked up to a blonde man sitting at the bar. “My boyfriend bought you a drink,” she whispered into his ear as she placed the Corona in front of him. She turned around before a perplexed look crossed his face.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)