“Plus, he’s got crazy eyes.”
I have to admit that’s true. They’re the color of gunmetal, and ghosts live inside them. Haunted, that’s what they are, and I guess he might be, too. Not like I knew him well enough to ask. Anyway, he was fun to spend time with. Good-looking, and charming, too. And, while Robin got aggressive after several beers, Jason remained polite.
In fact, at one point Tati was pushing Robin’s hands away and Jason stepped in. “Ain’t no fun if the lady’s not into it, you know?”
Robin thought about making trouble, reconsidered, and stomped off. Tati was upset and wanted to leave. I thanked Jason for a nice day, and for reeling in his friend. “Only what’s right,” he said. “A man’s gotta do what’s right. Any chance you’d want to see me again? I have most weekends off and the base is only an hour away.”
Uh, yeah! But I had to think of a way to be in touch without him calling the house. I asked Tati if he could call her and leave me a message. She looked at me as if I’d totally lost it, but agreed anyway.
Jason took my hand, pulled me off to one side. “Okay if I kiss you?”
I’ve kissed a boy or five, but none has ever asked if it was okay. That surprised me, and so did the kiss. I expected a soldier’s lips—rough, harsh. But his were gentle, at least at first, and it might have stopped right there, except I wanted more. It was me who moved toward urgency, not that he complained.
Truthfully, instinct drove me. His lack of demand pushed me forward, as if I had something to prove. And when he responded as men do, or at least as much as they can in a public place, I felt vindicated. More than that, I felt desirable.
And since I got home, I’ve been carefully considering how Sergeant Jason Baxter might fit into my escape plan.
Ariel
I Don’t Get a Car
For my birthday.
I do get a couple of cards.
Monica gives me one
at dinner. On the front
it shows two girls holding
hands, getting ready to go
down a giant waterslide,
and it says: FRIENDS DON’T LET
FRIENDS DO STUPID SHIT ALONE.
Inside, she wrote: Let’s do something stupid together.
Te amo, Monica.
Dad follows that up with
one of his own—a generic
birthday card decorated with pink roses, and too few candles to accurately represent the day.
Inside is a twenty-dollar bill and: Roses are pink, money is green. I can’t believe my little girl is seventeen.
Happy birthday. Love, Dad.
PS: Don’t spend it all in one place.
Dad’s Lame Attempt
At humor is not amusing.
Twenty bucks wouldn’t buy
a movie with popcorn and Skittles.
I suppose I have to give him credit for treating Monica and me to
a post-dinner flick, no popcorn or Skittles included, unless I want to spend the twenty. That’s cool.
Syrah comped our dinner, with
sundaes for dessert. Mine had
a candle, and there was singing.
So I’m full as we walk into the theater, which is pretty busy. Not surprising considering it’s Saturday night. What is surprising is Dad doesn’t go in.
You girls have fun, he says. I’m going out for a couple of beers with Zelda.
I’ll pick you up after the show.
Excellent! He’s not mad at Zelda after all. “You have your phone, right? In case I need to remind you.”
Aw, come on. I only forgot you one or two times. More like a dozen over the years, but why argue?
I Pick a Horror Flick
About a girl who gets called to babysit for strangers, clueless that the adorable little boy’s in serious need of an exorcism.
Of course the house is at the end of a road in an unpopulated area, surrounded by dark, scary woods, and when she finally finds enough sense to run, she discovers the giant creepster trees could use the help of a good priest, too. It’s one of those movies where you’re expecting stuff to happen, but when it does it makes you jump anyway.
We sit way in the back, with no one behind to bother us, and during a particularly tense scene, Monica snakes her fingers into mine, pulls my hand against the taut muscles of her belly. Beneath her shirt, her body is warm, and the connection is comforting, and this feels so right it makes me sigh contentment. At the sound, she unknots our fingers, allowing hers to softly explore the skin on the back of my hand. Back and forth they travel, inviting mine to reciprocate. And just as I do, the kid on screen grabs hold of his babysitter’s foot and starts to drag her backward toward the leering house and our hands fly up in response, and after we scream
we both bust up at our over-the-top
reaction. I believe that’s what people call a mood breaker, and I’m fine with it because I’ve got no idea what to do with what just happened between us. Every small movement was saturated with
importance. But what does that mean?
Another question looms even larger.
Where, oh where, do we go from here?
To Start With
We go home.
Dad’s even out front close to on time, no reminder necessary.