《Random Acts of Crazy (Random #1)》


 Page 1

    Chapter One


    DarlaAdvertisement


    The last everloving fucking thing I expected to see as I drove down I-76 toward my little hometown of Peters, Ohio was a buck-naked man wearing a spiked collar and a guitar.


    I mean, only wearing a collar and a guitar. The man was barefoot, for goodness sake. On the highway. In May, in Oh-fucking-hi-o, where winter isn¡¯t a season but a state of mind.


    How could I not stop and offer him a ride? Seriously? Where was he hiding a weapon? OK, OK, maybe up there, but think about it for a minute ¨C he¡¯d have to twist quite a bit to access anything he hid up his puckered ¨C well, there!


    And he wasn¡¯t a bit hard on the eyes, either. Kind of a Brad Pitt circa 1991 look, before he married Miss Toothpick and then left her for that wan Elvira and her weak Michelle Duggar imitation.


    Anyhow¡­back to the naked hitchhiker. My 1986 Toyota Tercel wasn¡¯t anything special but it, um, had a floor. And a windshield. And a place for Mr. Naked to rest his weary nuts. The vinyl might be cracked and faded and it wasn¡¯t no Giving Tree from that Shel Silverstein book, but at least the man could give his balls a rest. Those muscles looked like they could sure use some eyes hungrily ogling them, too, for they screamed for loving attention. If I couldn¡¯t touch, I could at least be the one to stare, right? I¡¯m a giver like that.


    Always thinking about others.


    So when he got over his surprise that some chick with frizzy hair and fuzzy dice hanging from her old, faded rear view mirror had actually pulled over, he dipped his head down to the open window and flashed me a grin. We were out in the middle of no-fucking-where and there was one streetlight that glowed up the background, but even that wasn¡¯t enough to outshine his smile. All straight teeth, nice gums, and full lips melting into a charm-you-out-of-your-pants look that made me almost drop trou and fuck him right there.


    I about melted into my own seat. That wasn¡¯t from the heater, either. My juices seemed to go from the Sahara to Niagara Falls. When he climbed in and ¨C literally ¨C flashed his ass and nibbly bits at me, I nearly came on the spot.


    Something about him was familiar, but I knew he wasn¡¯t from around here. Tucking away that little tease of contemplation, I studied him a bit more, a sense of specialness flowing over the moment. Extracting it and dissecting it would yield no deeper truths, though ¨C a part of me connected with him for whatever d¨¦j¨¤ vu-like reason.


    Or maybe I was just on overdrive to convince myself to pick up a nude male. Whatever.


    ¡°Hi there, Ma¡¯am.¡± Shaggy, surfer blond, wavy hair four months overgrown from the cut that had screamed ¡°preppy boy,¡± but now exuded that deep sense of complete abandon, of hedonism in bed. A flash of pink in his mouth displayed a tongue that (I imagined) truly loved women and wasn¡¯t afraid to show it. Glittery blue eyes that were focused but fleeting, like Bradley Cooper¡¯s but muted. He was high as a motherfucking kite, and that was OK, because he was pretty enough to look at just as is. He didn¡¯t need to be a stellar conversationalist.


    ¡°I am no one¡¯s Ma¡¯am. That¡¯s my grandma. Hell, my mom doesn¡¯t even go by Ma¡¯am, so shut down that talk right there.¡± No one ¨C no woman ¨C before the age of thirty-five wants to be called ma¡¯am. Fastest way to shut a woman¡¯s vagina off, like a table saw brake. Come too close with that word and crack! Power off.


    ¡°OK, then, Chippy Pete!¡± He adjusted his hat (where¡¯d that come from? I didn¡¯t see no hat at first, and he wasn¡¯t exactly hanging on to a lot of pockets here, nude and all) and kept it on. This wasn¡¯t no churchgoing man. Then again, the naked ones largely aren¡¯t. The hat was cheap straw, formed like a cowboy hat, and the look ¨C well, his fashion sense screamed Chippendales stripper on a Salvation Army budget.


    ¡°Just Pete to you.¡± Chippy Pete? Seriously? He could have called me Honey or Sugar or Toots or Melons or Bitch and he picked Chippy Pete? ¡°Where you going?¡±


    ¡°Wherever you are.¡±


    I looked in the rear view mirror at myself. In spite of the frizzy hair I wore makeup. A shirt. A bra. Pants. The chances we were going to the same place were slim. ¡°Uh, I¡¯m dressed. You¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°I am attired in a guitar. And this.¡± He doffed his hat and started strumming some chord from a 70s song. Kansas? Boston? I couldn¡¯t tell.


    ¡°No shirt, no shoes, no sweaty balls on my dashboard.¡± I was starting to get nervous. What had I gotten myself into? Was he weirder than I thought? Would this be a redo of my freshman Valentine¡¯s dance, where my best friend, Jane, hooked me up with her older brother¡¯s meth dealer and the date ended with a courtesy ride home from the DEA?


    ¡°Just on your seat, Ma¡¯am ¨C uh, Pete.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I am Pete.¡± May as well embrace it. And the sweaty ball funk that would permeate my seat thereafter. ¡°And you are?¡± His sandy blond hair was clean. He had that going for him. And eyes that were the color I imagined the ocean to be, if the glow of the dashboard lights were to be believed.


    ¡°Call me Sweaty.¡± He gestured to his sac.


    ¡°I¡¯ll call you Sweetheart.¡±


    ¡°Pretty soon you¡¯ll call me whatever name you¡¯re really thinking of.¡±


    ¡°Then your name is Asshole.¡±


    ¡°I been called worse.¡±


    ¡°OK, Ass.¡±


    ¡°Alright then, Ma¡¯am.¡± So we were at a standoff, and that would have gone on for twenty mile markers out here in the lost lands of north-central Ohio, where the people rolled Pittsburgh Yinzerese and Cleveland into one God-awful accent, had a nasty, enormous mutant raccoon not put a stop to all that.


    The impact nearly neutered poor Ass.


    Screech! I slammed on the brakes when a flash of something spooked me, my little Tercel going from 73 to nothing in about ten seconds. Poor Ass the Naked Cowboy Rock Star hadn¡¯t completed putting on his seat belt, so the guitar, still slung around his groin, was about the only buffer he had as the car pitched and swerved, the raccoon bigger than one of my toddler cousins and, unfortunately, considerably deader now that I had crushed it with my rusted-out machine of doom.


    The cowboy managed to put his hands out and, through the grace of whatever deity you believe in (mine involves noodly appendages ¨C and speaking of those¡­), when the car came to a rest, spread out at a ninety degree angle the opposite of what nature or the highway commission intended, he wasn¡¯t injured. I¡¯m sure parts of him were sore the next day, but I¡¯m not going to talk about that, because sorting out the ¡°The car hit a raccoon and she slammed on the brakes¡± soreness from the ¡°I made love to a country girl in a field filled with wildflowers and sunshine¡± soreness is something I¡¯m not privy to understanding.


    So I guess I just sort of spoiled the rest of this story now, huh? You don¡¯t want to hear how I went from nearly killing the rock star to getting caught in the act in a rest area in one of those wild fields where Ohio put its Soviet-era brick shit houses, right? The ones that look like Huber Heights in miniature?


    Sure you do. Otherwise you wouldn¡¯t still be reading this. You¡¯d flip over to some other story on your Kindle, like one of those Cum for the Loch Ness Monster Bass Player stories, or Fifty Shades of Billionaire Hoo-haw. My story doesn¡¯t have a helicopter that whisks people off to Manhattan or a Red Room of Pain or a Bigfoot who marries a human and settles down and has critters, but it does have a naked rock star (sorta) groaning in the front seat of my mercifully unharmed Toyota Tercel, his ass off the seat and one leg splayed up, showing me his fine, puckered winking starfish and a piece of manhood that was so aesthetically pleasing it might as well have been carved out of fine Italian marble and placed on a pedestal, dipped in Swiss chocolate and served with a side of Gruyere and caviar.


    It really looked that good.


    And I¡¯m no rabid knob gobbler. There are a good twenty¡­uh, eight ¨C I meant eight ¨C men in north-central Ohio who will confirm that.


    ¡°Ass? You OK?¡± I smoothed my hair back from my forehead and felt a bump above the ridge of my left eye socket. Shit. I had gotten hurt! My brain felt fine, so whatever had happened must have been light enough to leave a bump but not so bad as to make me feel serious pain. I looked in the rear view mirror. Same bloodshot green eyes. My nose wasn¡¯t broken ¨C pert and ¡°a little piggy,¡± as my mom often said, though grandma told me it just meant I had that out-of-place ¡°cheerleader cute¡± that would make me popular but do me no favors past the age of twenty-five. I was twenty-two right now, so this wasn¡¯t an issue just yet.


    ¡°My name¡¯s Trevor,¡± Ass moaned, slowly extricating himself and making it about halfway. I realized I needed to reach down between his legs and offer him a hand to grasp, but the logistics weren¡¯t as easy as that might sound, for the minefield of his perfect erection made the odds that I would just encircle it with my now-itching palm about 7 to 4. If I was Aunt Marlene at the greyhound races, I wouldn¡¯t bet on me not touching him.


    ¡°OK, Trevor,¡± I answered. For once, I was a bit speechless, though my nether regions started to say all sorts of sweet nothings right about now, filling in the void where my words would normally go. Seriously, Darla Jo Jennings? Mom¡¯s voice filled my dark, nasty heart. You¡¯re thinking about your loins at a time like this?


    Not exactly. More that my loins were thinking about, well, his. It was hard not to, because he was hard ¨C and erect and pretty, like a talisman you touch to get a superstitious boost of luck.


    Which we needed real bad, right about now, as the horn from a semi started wheezing like mad, warning us to get the fuck out of the middle of the Interstate.


    Chance favors the prepared, someone once said. I did not, however, think that touching his glorious dick was really going to help more than turning the key in the ignition, firing up the engine, and driving the damn car from its perpendicular status over to the side of the road. Poor Trevor¡¯s legs bounced like a drowning Daddy Longlegs stuck in a sink drain, his shards of destroyed guitar now offering zero covering. What had seemed a bit kitschy was now just match sticks and I found myself wet, hot, wanting to ride him and realizing that my mom was right. One poor decision does lead to another.


    ¡°It¡¯s like you open your brain and shit pours out and you pick the worst crap to do, Darla! I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re thinking sometimes,¡± she had lectured a thousand times while chain smoking Virginia Slims and sucking down Robitussin and vodka. ¡°One bad decision is like building a long line of dominoes and then just sneezing and not turning your head.¡± The metaphor made less sense after Mom had three or four drinks in her, but she made a good point. It was generally the same comment rephrased a million different ways: I suck.


    One poor decision does beget another. So once you¡¯ve made your first doozy, you have a choice, but you really have less of a choice than you had before your first screw up, right?


    So why not fuck him?


    Trevor


    This was not Sudborough, Massachusetts. Not even close. That was all I knew when the splinters of my smashed guitar snapped me partway out of the pleasant haze I¡¯d been in. I gently turned my thoughts in a careful circle, trying to place myself in time and space.

 Page 2

    I¡¯d been at home after doing a few shows around town as April came to a close and May peeked open, right before finals week, mostly bars where my parents knew the owner and in their pinched way, informed me that it would be ¡°most beneficial¡± if I would find the time. After I played a few songs that confused them, I finally gave in¡ªgave up¡ªand settled into Bob Seger and AC/DC to meet their oldies-but-goodies needs. Nothing like a bar full of overweight, drunk doctors, lawyers and finance people in their 50s looking to rock out. That Nicole Kidman movie with the fake, robot wives could have been set in Sudborough. Bet they didn¡¯t because it was a little too close to the movie script and the producers freaked right the fuck out, running for Logan airport before the Mom-bots got them. God, how I needed a hit of anything to get away from that. So it was even better when a few friends from high school had gathered in my basement after that gig.


    After the initial preening that came from being a senior at an Ivy or near-ivy, our chests puffed out like being on the debate team was akin to hunting mammoth with spears, my buddies settled down, brains full of Joe¡¯s internship at Ropes & Grey this summer, my acceptance to Harvard law, and Judy¡¯s Rhodes scholarship. The less-successful among us, instantly castrated into beta males, shifted down a few levels to their baser natures and found that one, small speck of social space where competition didn¡¯t matter: substance.Advertisement


    Well, drugs, actually. Peyote. ¡¯Shrooms. Some pot. Coke galore. A little K2, which I wouldn¡¯t touch. Why use synthetics when the natural stuff was smooth and fun? And a little acid.


    Someone even brought a Costco-sized bottle of NyQuil. Ooo, we were slumming.


    Bored out of my fucking mind, even on a few hits of acid and a half a bowl, I realized I was bored not because there was nothing to do, and not because there was no one to do (Judy was an unofficial guy, and had banged everyone else, so I was holding out for Except That Guy status, a fact I weirdly prided myself on¡­ but that made me wonder why I was proud of not getting laid). I was bored because my entire life was one big string of boring events chained together to make a necklace of boredom.


    A garland of ennui. A rope of grindingly painful nothingness with which to hang myself.


    God, even the word ¡°ennui¡± sounded boring.


    I realized I live in a world of full-of-shit people who don¡¯t know they¡¯re full of shit and they just perpetuate the shit by making¡­more shit. And once I take my final exams in the next two weeks I¡¯ll graduate with my bachelor¡¯s degree, head off to Chicago for three years of masochism re-branded as law school, and the transition to pod person will be complete.


    Instead of keeping that cycle going, I¡¯d grabbed this guitar, stripped naked, and eaten the entire bag of mushrooms Joe had stolen from the evidence room when on a tour at a precinct in Boston, part of a criminal law class. A stroke of genius, really ¨C what better way to subvert the dominant paradigm than to shed designer labels, bespoke suits, and get high as a fucking kite to escape it all?


    What a rebel.


    And now I was wedged on the floor of someone¡¯s shitbox, that someone being a frizzed out, juicy young woman with breasts like a porn star¡¯s, a voice like a redneck combined with Katie Couric, and what the fuck was on my neck?


    And why was my dick covered in splinters?


    Blink. The glow from a streetlight was shining in the car in that surreal way highways can lend, stripped of buildings and trees and anything resembling civilization or nature, its own little category of space. This woman¡¯s face stared at me from above, expectant, as if she¡¯d just said something to me and needed an answer.


    MENSA me said, ¡°Huh?¡± My hands were a bit numb, but when one brushed against my rock-hard boner, that got my attention. What was I doing on the floor with my ass scratchy and cold, peppered with splinters and my best appendage standing straight up at attention (ten HUT!) pointing at this woman?


    She wasn¡¯t just any chick, either. As my eyes came into focus and my feet decided to stop being nineteen yards long and covered in marshmallows, I got a better idea of whose car I was in, and why my ass felt like it was colder than it should be, pressed against the floor. Shit. Was that a hole in the actual bottom of the car?


    The light made her hair glow. Glow, I tell you. Or was that the ¡¯shrooms? Not sure. Either way, after I impressed her with my erudite, ¡°Huh?¡± I followed it up with, ¡°Wanna fuck?¡±


    She grinned. ¡°Well, ain¡¯t you suave? I don¡¯t fuck anything that wears a collar. That really helps to maintain standards ¡¯round here. It¡¯s a shame other folks in my family don¡¯t have the same rule, because Uncle Jack¡¯s permanently disabled from that goat he¡­¡± She winced. ¡°Oh, nevermind. You don¡¯t know me well enough to hear that story.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to know you,¡± I said, the words oozing out like slime. Sexy slime. Like sensual slime designed to cover her and draw her into my world of primordial arousal ooze. The exact idea wasn¡¯t really clear. My hands reached up and unclasped the collar. She was right. I was actually wearing a collar, which I pitched into the field by the side of the road, because if that was an obstacle to getting sex right now, off it went. Ta ta! Buh-bye.


    Then I noticed the cotton balls in my mouth, and how her hair was actually ¨C literally ¨C on fire at the edges. With tiny snakes flicking flint to make the fire.


    Laughter. ¡°OK, there, Trevor.¡± She knew my name? ¡°But first, how ¡¯bout we get your ass off the ground. You¡¯re no more than three inches away from road rash.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t imagining it; as she reached out to help me up, my buttock peeled off the floor and I saw it ¨C a rusted-out spot about five inches around. Little grey rocks and tar mocked me.


    ¡°You have the strangest accent. Am I in western Mass, in some pocket of the Berkshires where people talk like this?¡± Or, worse ¨C stuck in Hampshire College at some linguistics experiential conference?


    What the fuck? her face said, but her words were a bit more measured. ¡°Trevor, you¡¯re in Ohio right now.¡±


    ¡°Ohio?¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°Corn fields?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°First state with the caucuses that piss off New Hampshire every election cycle?¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s Iowa. Ohio is the state that pissed off the Democrats in 2004 and Karl Rove in 2012. We¡¯re fair and balanced that way.¡±


    ¡°Ohhh. That one,¡± I answered. Got it. ¡°How far from Mass am I?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re Catholic?¡±


    Either I had just found the stupidest, hot and voluptuous woman with burning hair in the state of Ohio, or I was stuck in an endless loop of Groundhog Day, as written by Douglas Adams.


    ¡°Mass, as in Massachusetts.¡±


    Peals of laughter from her, a sweet set of notes that made my already hard erection reach out just a bit more, stretching tall, as if seeking her. ¡°You¡¯re about as far from Massachusetts as I am from financial solvency.¡±


    ¡°That close, huh?¡± Rubbing my head, I realized it hurt on two levels. A bump from the car¡¯s sudden stop, and a deeper ache. The pain of being massively hungover. Another quick memory of the last time I could remember: ¡¯shrooms. Peyote. Red Bull and espresso with local raw cream (ah, Mom and her insistence on organic purity) and Chilean pisco. It all coursed through my veins, pounding through my eye sockets.


    And my cock.


    ¡°How did I get here?¡± Staring down at my body, I realized I really was completely, and utterly nude, my body floating through air without any encumbrances. Not even a condom. I was never nude like this unless I was in the middle of having sex with someone. Even then, the girls at BU were a quick-n-dirty bunch, so the actual span from being in a state of complete undress to wearing a dick sock was measured in nanoseconds.


    To be fair to them, sometimes so was the intercourse.


    But I made up for it with the next round. And the next.


    On good nights, a fourth. My voice might be well-known, but my refractory period was legendary.


    Not that I¡¯m bragging.


    But I am.


    ¡°I have no idea how you got here, Trevor,¡± she said, trying very obviously not to stare at my package. I liked her for that. Then I was offended, because what¡¯s wrong with my manhood? It deserved to be ogled. A glorious contribution to the world of erections, it definitely stood out from the crowd.


    And stood up right now, pointed at her. A lucid whisper in my brain told my hands they should cover it anyway, despite its glory, and I gave it a quick attempt. Then I looked like I was just jacking off, and that wasn¡¯t the impression I was trying to give. So I gave up, my head clearing by the second and not liking what I was realizing.


    Except for her.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I asked, now really getting a look at her.


    ¡°Chippy Pete.¡± She deadpanned, as if there were some inside joke I was supposed to understand. Ohio had some really strange naming conventions for women.


    ¡°Uh, OK¡­?¡± I asked, my voice rising. Her face fell, though, as if I¡¯d disappointed her. Some deep sorrow came out of her skin, as if it were a dementor, seeping into my heart and making me feel like an ass. I didn¡¯t know what I¡¯d done, but I felt really awful suddenly, and wanted to make it up to her. But we were sitting in a cheap rustbox on the side of some interstate in Ohio and I was naked.


    My only option? To reach over and kiss Chippy Pete. Because when you¡¯re coming down off ¡¯shrooms and NyQuil and find yourself naked in a car older than you, 600 miles from home, a kiss is about the only thing that can make it all better.


    Chapter Two


    Darla


    Whoa. If I had to pick a dream to come true, I¡¯d have chosen the winning MegaMillions lottery ticket dream, but this would do as a distant second, Trevor¡¯s mouth warm and inviting, tasting like orange tangy yumminess. He kissed with his whole body, hands roaming through my hair, his tongue parting my lips and going on a search for something so deep in me I thought he¡¯d never reach it and I would have to live in the ecstasy of being loved by his mouth forever.


    I was OK with that.


    The fact that he was naked brushed through my mind and then my hand brushed against his thick, gleaming manhood, making his stomach tighten under my hands, splayed against the fine, taut skin of his abs. Washboard. I¡¯d heard that word applied to a man¡¯s body before but had never understood it til then. His flesh so different from my own full curves, as if I were exploring an alien body in a state of arousal so high I would reach nirvana soon.


    ¡°Oh ¨C ¡± he groaned breathlessly, then stopped. ¡°What¡¯s your real name?¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Darla.¡± It came out in a rushed gasp as his fingers found my right nipple and pinched just enough to make it ¨C and my pink nub ¨C pebble instantly, as if they were one long, connected nerve ending. His other hand explored my back, sliding up under my shirt, the heat of his flesh pouring into me. The fact that he was fully naked and I was not was a kind of tragedy.


    We needed to fix that.


    No central Ohio man flared this kind of intensity in me within seconds, Trevor¡¯s mouth so soft and hard at once, his essence in his breath, a sensuality that was complete and inviting, imploring me to go to places of the flesh with him, to enter a new world where all that mattered were touches and licks and sighs and moans and friction. Ah, friction.

 Page 3

    I needed friction.


    He leaned the passenger seat back and pulled on my leg, his face spreading into a grin that told me so much, a smile of absolute delight. In my fantasies men looked at me like this. In real life, they barely kissed me. What were the odds that I¡¯d be driving along I-76 one night and find a naked man who wanted me? The look on his face was more arousing than any touch, which perplexed me. If he could make me ¨C Darla Jo Jennings, just a small-town (fat) girl from central Ohio, daughter of a lush and college wanna-be ¨C feel this special with one deep, excited expression, then what else did the world hold that was waiting for me?Advertisement


    And then there was that joystick of his. Slinging one leg over the stick shift, I straddled him, leaning back against the dashboard. His erect shaft stood between us like a very erotic chaperone making sure we didn¡¯t dance too close. That ship had sailed about thirty seconds ago, though, and whatever Miss Manners had to say about how to remain proper when you have a naked dude in your car covered with guitar splinters and the increasingly cloying scent of dead raccoon filling your car through the hole in the floor, I didn¡¯t much care.


    He reached up and took my breasts in his hands, a soft, smooth touch that stretched into something yearning, my face curling down to kiss him, mouths happy and luxuriating in the pure joy of this, his mouth warm and wet as his tongue explored me, my breasts swelling under his fingers, strumming me like I was a replacement for his destroyed guitar.


    Play me, man. Play me all night long.


    That raccoon scent, though, was starting to make this decidedly less appealing. Trevor seemed to notice it, too, and pulled back.


    ¡°That¡¯s the raccoon. Not me,¡± he announced, brushing the hair away from my face with one hand and raising his eyebrows, pretending to be serious.


    I burst out laughing, the sound filling my tiny car, the windows fogged already. My eyes caught some old shadow of finger-writing on the window from the last guy I fucked in my car. OK, the one and only. It read, ¡°I luv Durlu.¡±


    Trevor did a double-take and started giggling when he saw it. ¡°The gene pool a bit shallow here in Io ¨C , er, Ohio?¡±


    ¡°My mama spelled it that way on my birth certificate,¡± I deadpanned. His face faltered a bit, that smooth brow uncertain, his body tighter now as I stared him down.


    ¡°Oh. Uh ¨C ¡± I couldn¡¯t make him squirm anymore, largely because he was making me squirm. Fucking him here by the side of the road, with eau de roadkill permeating the air through my floorboards wasn¡¯t exactly a Harlequin novel setting, either. Swinging my leg back over to the driver¡¯s seat, I started the engine and got back on the highway. If we didn¡¯t move soon, a state trooper would find us, and I did not want to have to explain why I had an expired registration and a naked man in my car. One would be hard enough.


    The other was just hard.


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± he said, sitting up. With as much dignity as a naked man with an aching boner I wanted to ride like a pogo stick could ever manage, Trevor repositioned himself on my torn vinyl seat and gave me his full attention. Those blue eyes had pupils that were normal now, the effects of whatever he¡¯d eaten back in Massachusetts fading out.


    ¡°I can¡¯t. I¡¯m merging.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean ¨C you¡¯re joking, right? No one would really spell it¡­¡± his voice faded out. Polite enough to realize he¡¯d really bungled if my mama really had spelled it that way, he was stuck in a Catch-22.


    ¡°No, she really did. You should see how she spells my twin sisters¡¯ names. Lemonjello and Orangejello.¡±


    A sputtering sound filled the car, and it wasn¡¯t from my muffler. He was gasping for air, laughter making him wheeze. It wasn¡¯t that funny, but apparently he still had just enough of whatever made him trip to keep him laughing for the next two mile markers.


    I hoped it stayed in his bloodstream just long enough to touch more of him, to have him explore me, because there was a sliver of a chance that whatever he¡¯d taken was what made him kiss me. Part of me deeply hoped it wasn¡¯t true, that he found me innately attractive, but I¡¯m a realist.


    I¡¯ll take what I can get. And if ¡¯shrooms or K2 or Swiffer solution made him kiss me like that, then I would let him huff a tube of Vicks to have one wild night out here in Hoopieville.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± he asked, his hand sliding up my knee, headed toward my hoo-haw.


    ¡°Where you want to go?¡± I asked. Please say somewhere private.


    A look around outside made his face fall. Not many options. We were in flat country and our options were¡­well¡­our option was singular.


    A rest area.


    Rubbing his eye with his other hand, he sniffed and shook his head. ¡°I just realized that I need to at least start the process for getting back to Massachusetts, you know. And,¡± he gestured to his nude chest, my eyes a magnet and his dick a series of iron shards. God, it was gorgeous. Really. Like the winner of the Miss America pageant of dicks.


    ¡°And what?¡± His words had just faded out as he examined a shard of guitar like it was the Hope diamond.


    ¡°And what?¡±


    ¡°Is there an echo in here?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± He startled. ¡°I need to call Joe. My friend. In Mass. He can help me get home.¡±


    Disappointment filled me. So no sexy time. Eh, it was too big a hope, anyhow. Good enough to kiss, but not sweet enough to fuck at a rest area. The man had standards.


    Besides, he did wear a collar. I had standards, too.


    ¡°Here.¡± I handed him my mobile phone.


    ¡°A flip phone? Did I travel back in time as well as space? Is it 2005?¡± A privileged sneer curled his lip, his eyes cold suddenly. Wow. What a change.


    What an asshole.


    ¡°Sorry it¡¯s not an iPhone 69 complete with an asslicking app and a reacharound. ¡¯Round here all I have is my little cheapy flip phone that doubles as a horse whip in an emergency. But it will call your butler in Massachusetts so he can retrieve you, Mr. Thurston Howell III, so just shut up and use it.¡±


    Trevor


    Way to go, Trevor. Kiss the most magically spectacular woman you¡¯d ever met, with an ass to fill nine pairs of hands and a tongue that could play bass and lead guitar all at once, and piss her off with one mouthful of stupid. Damn it.


    The thing is, I really hadn¡¯t seen a flip phone since 2005; no one in Sudborough would be caught dead with one. The line at the Natick Collection (we don¡¯t even call it a ¡°mall¡± ¨C that¡¯s too common) Apple Store during a new hardware release looks like a soup kitchen line during a famine. Except everyone¡¯s wearing Abercrombie and Juicy couture and pretending not to care about their new $600 phone.


    The sad part? They kind of don¡¯t. Because in a few months, they¡¯ll just get a new one. Flip phones? We gave those to domestic violence shelters as part of high school service projects, madly scribbled on our ivy league college applications and never thought of again. So this was where old phones went to die, huh?


    And, apparently, where cocks died, too, because my ignorant mouth killed off what had just promised to be a rocking fuckfest with Miss Darla here.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I said, finally finding a small strand of decency tucked somewhere deep up my ass. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to be rude.¡±


    ¡°But you were. We weren¡¯t all raised where men go naked and wear dog collars. Pardon me for not living up to your ¨C ¡± her eyes combed over my naked body, and not in an arousing way ¨C ¡°obviously higher standards.¡±


    Touch¨¦. She had me there. Lounging on her rattletrap¡¯s shredded seat completely naked was becoming a little too comfortable. Clothing wasn¡¯t optional in society; I was at her mercy, completely. Aside from needing to apologize and mend whatever mess my mouth had created, I had two goals:


    Find a way back into her good graces so she¡¯d let me make love to her.


    Get some pants, shoes and a shirt. In that order.


    I had to admit, though, that sitting here, naked and vulnerable, I felt a kind of freedom that was impossible to have back home. Or anywhere my regular friends were. Or ¨C OK, anywhere I went. Except on stage. I¡¯d been singing since elementary school, but when I was in eighth grade Mom and Dad let me take electric guitar lessons. Open to what my fingers could do and where the music could take me, it was such a revelation ¨C a place where standardized tests, grades, and sports didn¡¯t tell me how valuable I was.


    The music did.


    Drugs replaced that high for a while, but the music stuck around, too. A last-minute need for a junior prom band had brought me, Joe, and Liam together to practice for two weeks solid in my parents¡¯ garage, and from there we¡¯d formed the band Zombie Merit Scholar. It seemed cool when we¡¯d just taken the PSATs, you know? We added Sam as a drummer when we realized we Liam was better on guitar, and voila ¨C we were instantly hot.


    A name change our freshman year of college and boom ¨C we were Random Acts of Crazy.


    Karma¡¯s a bitch.


    My hand shook as I struggled to remember Joe¡¯s number. Once you program a number into your contacts, you don¡¯t need to know it, so my brain worked overtime to envision it on the glass of my iPhone. Shit . 508 ¨C 87something. 874 ¨C I guessed, taking four tries before finally getting it right.


    ¡°¡¯lo?¡± a groggy voice answered. I kept my eyes straight ahead as my dick went limp and rested on the faded vinyl upholstery like a chided puppy. Darla had that look girls get when they¡¯re trying to act like they¡¯re not going to cry, her eyes facing straight ahead, her throat working overtime to swallow. My heart sank. Damn it.


    ¡°Joe?¡±


    ¡°Trevor? Jesus, where the fuck are you?¡± Out of breath and his throat clogged with God-knew what, Joe¡¯s voice still felt like a life preserver after the Titanic. I wasn¡¯t quite clinging to the back of a broken door, but this was close.


    ¡°I¡¯m in Ohio.¡± I let the sentence hang out in the air for a few beats, and then added, ¡°And where are my clothes?¡±


    Darla made a choking laugh and I flashed her the best come fuck me grin I could muster. Maybe I could salvage this. A sidelong glance from her and a crooked, sultry smile were my reward. Hope springs eternal. So did my cock, which began its not-so-slow ascent, making her look again and blush this time.


    So much hope. Where was that rest area, again? Taking a chance, I put my hand on her knee again. She inhaled sharply but said nothing. Good enough. We could go slow.


    Plus, she was 100 percent in charge, right? All I had were my wits and charm, and right now, the wits were pretty well blown.


    Charm, don¡¯t fail me now.


    ¡°OHIO?¡± His shout was so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear and Darla hunched her shoulder up, flinching. ¡°How¡¯d you make it to Ohio?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I answered, staring at my own nude flesh, ¡°I didn¡¯t fly or take a bus, so one of you assholes must have driven me here.¡± A dawning realization that yeah ¨C what the fuck? How did I get here? ¨C soaked in.


    ¡°Where, exactly, in Ohio are you?¡±


    ¡°In the middle of a wheat field on some Interstate.¡±


    ¡°I-76. And it¡¯s corn, not wheat,¡± Darla said loudly. My hand slid further up her thigh in gratitude. She squirmed. My mouth began to water. So did my dick, a tiny dot of pre-cum forming on the tip, my asshole tingling as all the muscles in that area prepared to deploy, body nearly groaning for release. If I had to exist in a state of constant nudity, shouldn¡¯t I get some sort of benefit out of it?

 Page 4

    ¡°I-76,¡± I told Joe. ¡°Near¡­?¡± I looked at Darla and made a questioning gesture.


    ¡°You¡¯re between Cleveland and Pittsburgh.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°I¡¯m ¨C ¡±


    Joe interrupted me. ¡°I heard her. So you¡¯re in the middle of fucking nowhere.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly how it¡¯s described on Google Maps.¡± I clicked the Speaker Phone option on her phone (who knew flip phones had that option?) so my other hand could slide along her jaw line, admiring her soft skin, her silky hair.


    The car slowed down as Darla turned on the blinker to exit. Rest area. Hallelujah! My prayers were answered, hand sliding higher, I felt how hot she was, her face implacable, impossible to read. But getting off the Interstate and finding a place to get out ¨C and get off ¨C told me what I needed to know.


    ¡°Ask the woman you¡¯re with ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Darla.¡±


    ¡°Who the fuck is she, Trevor? Last thing I remember you were telling Judy all the reasons why you wouldn¡¯t fuck her, but you were naked as the day you were born and asking her if you could borrow her Diva cup to insert it to understand what it¡¯s like to be a woman.¡±


    Speaker phone was a bad idea, Darla¡¯s shrieks and howls of derisive laughter, filling the car as she pulled into a parking spot, reminded me that I was an idiot. I clicked out of the public option and shoved the phone to my ear.


    ¡°I did what?¡±


    ¡°You were so fucked out of your mind, Trevor. We all passed out and when we woke up, you were gone.¡±


    ¡°Woke up?¡± I looked around in the darkness and pulled the phone away from my ear. 8:09 p.m. What?


    ¡°I¡¯ve been gone for nearly twenty-four hours?¡± I screamed. Blood pumped hard through my chest, down to my hands and feet, my thighs tightening and flexing, body and brain finally really waking up and understanding the mess I was in. Naked ¨C without a single stitch of anything to cover myself ¨C and coming down off the most fucked up state ever.


    And worst of all ¨C I was in Ohio.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    ¡°My parents must be freaking.¡±


    ¡°I told them you were over here crashing at my place, but you probably have a fuckton of text messages on your phone.¡±


    Phone. My phone! Must be with my clothes. And my memory. And my common sense. What the fuckall had been in the cocktail of crap I fed myself yesterday? Blackouts weren¡¯t my thing.


    Neither, apparently, were clothes.


    ¡°Let me get this straight. Last night, some time after midnight, I was naked in the basement and high as a kite. You guys woke up this morning and I was gone. I just started to sort of come to about an hour ago and found myself naked, by the side of the highway, carrying my acoustic guitar and wearing a spiked collar, a straw cowboy hat shoved inside the guitar. That¡¯s the complete inventory of my possessions.¡±


    Joe¡¯s laughter cackled out into the silent car, Darla¡¯s eyebrows arched, her face poised to hear more. ¡°Trevor,¡± Joe said, gasping for air, ¡°it¡¯s like you¡¯re auditioning for a Hangover movie.¡±


    Chapter Three


    Darla


    Poor Trevor. Whatever his friend was telling him made his face fall. I couldn¡¯t hear much now that he¡¯d taken it off speaker phone, his face redder than a farmhand¡¯s neck at harvest time. A Diva cup? Up his ass? What kind of parties did they have there in Massachusetts? Around here we just get a few bottles of Boone¡¯s and go cow tipping. I only really did that once. Mostly we hit the Huddle House and eat pancakes half-drunk, then crash on the couches in someone¡¯s grandma¡¯s double-wide.


    Classy.


    ¡°And now the guitar was shattered when we hit a raccoon, and the hat ¨C where¡¯s the hat?¡± he said, fumbling and searching for it. A quick look in the back seat and I found it, and I handed it to him. He clung to that damn thing like it was his child. I guess when you have three possessions and one shatters and you threw the other out the window, the final thing becomes your lifeblood, even if it is an ugly hat.


    The hat made a nice penis cozy.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m not going to put her on!¡± Trevor said with a hiss. Uh, oh. Whatever twist the conversation had taken, I had zero desire to talk on the phone to some tight-jawed preppy boy who thought it was fun to lose track of his menstrual-cup shoving, peyote-chewing, naked friend.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a show out here, you freak.¡± Show?


    ¡°Show?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a singer!¡± the voice in the phone shouted. ¡°For Random Acts of Crazy.¡±


    ¡°Random Acts of Crazy?¡± Had I heard that correctly? Did Trevor¡¯s friend just say that one of my favorite ba ¨C


    Trevor. Trevor? As in Trevor Connor?


    ¡°You¡¯re Trevor Connor?¡± I gasped, completely agog, my hand shooting to his thigh this time, resting on the soft skin, the peppering of leg hair tickling my palm.


    He sat up, putting the phone on top of the hat, which was on top of his dick. ¡°Do we know each other? Am I really in Ohio, or are we just somewhere in western Mass like Westfield and you¡¯re part of an elaborate joke to fuck with my head?¡±


    ¡°No ¨C you are definitely in Ohio, my dear,¡± I said, patting his leg sympathetically. His hand clamped over mine and slid both our hands slowly, under the hat. Where I found a pleasant, erect flesh toy purely there for my amusement.


    ¡°You¡¯re the lead singer for Random Acts.¡± It was a statement, a marvelous acknowledgment of a mini dream come true. I knew exactly who he was now, and I couldn¡¯t believe I hadn¡¯t made the connection before. But who in the hell would ever expect the lead singer of one of the most famous underground viral bands on the Internet to be a naked hitchhiker in Ohio?


    ¡°Yes.¡± His voice purred. Oh, those eyes. In the videos I¡¯d watched, his face was always obscured by shadows, the whole point of his music to make you feel whatever it touched in you, not to keep you entertained by a visual designed to make you a gaping monkey, going through the restrictive emotional pathway designed by committee for a pop band. My aunt Josie had turned me on to Random Acts after a friend of a friend sent her a Facebook link with a video of one of their concerts at some college near Boston, and I¡¯d been hooked.


    Joe yammered something in the background through the mouthpiece of my phone, but we both ignored him.


    ¡°You¡¯re never naked on stage.¡± I could hear the tone in my voice ¨C accusatory, as if he¡¯d deprived me of more of that gorgeous body.


    ¡°The camera hides the truth. I don¡¯t wear pants when I record, and there¡¯s a long line of groupies giving me blow jobs.¡±


    ¡°Trev!¡± Joe pleaded, his tinny voice. ¡°If she¡¯s about to go down on you, would you please at least tell me where you are so I can get started on this road trip?¡± Heavy sigh. ¡°And so I don¡¯t have to hear that shit. It¡¯s bad enough having to rescue your sorry ass. No way do I want to hear you getting a hummer.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not about to go down on me,¡± Trevor said into the phone. I hadn¡¯t decided that one way or another, actually, but now that he mentioned it¡­


    ¡°I guess I¡¯m driving 600 miles into the middle of the corn fields to come and get you.¡± Joe sounded about as happy about that as I was when I had to bail my grandma out of the drunk tank.


    ¡°26 Old Farm Road. Peters, Ohio. 44454. Got that?¡± I practically shouted. Joe needed to get off the phone. Now.


    My hand began stroking Trevor¡¯s shaft, the feeling foreign and wonderful all at once. For the past year I¡¯d waited with bated breath for each new video of his concerts at colleges, bars, and other venues ¨C some groupie had even posted a four-minute video of one of his first performances, at a friend¡¯s Bar Mitzvah. Twenty-seven videos in all, and my aunt had to be the one to bring me into his world of that chocolate voice and those Jack Daniels lyrics. Who would have ever guessed that a preppy boy from Massachusetts would be Trevor Connor? His act was so ¨C God, the clich¨¦ made my teeth hurt ¨C soulful and road weary, like someone who had lived on the streets and been an eco-terrorist, all rolled up into Jack Kerouac and Ivan Illich, with a touch of Greenpeace and Anonymous thrown in for spice.


    My turn to turn him on. He¡¯d electrified my mind and soul for so long, from afar. Whatever God there was in this crazy universe dumped Trevor Connor from Random Acts of Crazy in my lap ¨C or, rather, I was about to be in his lap ¨C and I didn¡¯t need to be given more than the tiniest of hints to grab whatever I could from this fleeting encounter.


    Because it would have to last me a lifetime.


    ¡°So,¡± his breath hitched as my fingers played up and down his mushroom cap, ¡°you got that, Joe?¡±


    ¡°Where is it?¡± Joe¡¯s voice was getting tinier. Trevor¡¯s hand that held the phone began to drop away as his body reclined, softening. Oh, how I loved this kind of power over men. Enjoying it with someone who seemed to be so purely sexual was going to be a treat. Giving Trevor that was like giving a gift of pleasure that I saved for men who respected me.


    Or something like that. I could talk myself into a lot of convoluted things and debate a firmly held conviction into the ground. Right now, though, what I firmly held was his marble-sculpted member and what I wanted was to taste him in the most intimate way possible.


    Just because I could.


    ¡°My house,¡± I answered. ¡°Right near the big truck stop. Just call if you get lost.¡± Trevor¡¯s eyes went loose and unfocused as I threw the hat in the back seat, his hips lifting the tiniest of distances off the seat, reaching out for more of my touch.


    ¡°Got that?¡± Trevor asked Joe again, his voice melting into a hiss, eyelids closing as I bent down and wrapped my lips around his pink tip.


    ¡°Yep. See you in about, oh, thirteen ¨C ¡± Snap. Joe¡¯s voice ended. Trevor slammed the phone shut and sank his hands into my ragged waves, fingertips on my scalp and one palm sliding down the back of my neck. No pressure ¨C just a yearning to touch me as my mouth filled with more wet to cover him, tongue loving the feel of his pliant skin against my taste buds. You would think that a guy who¡¯d just spent the past day completely nude, riding on the interstate would taste nasty, but it was like licking a fruity, citrusy lollipop, with a touch of musk.


    Deliciously erotic and exotic, the aroma of Trevor and the way he called out my name in a tortured gasp told me everything I needed to know, my face buried in his lap, his thighs tensing as I flicked my tongue tip against the long flesh line running down to his ¡¯taint.


    Slicked up shafts call out for a practiced hand, so I began to milk him, achingly slowly to draw this out. When you get a chance to give your internet crush a blindingly-good night of sex at a rest area, you don¡¯t hurry or skimp. My world view about sex is something like Dan Savage¡¯s: I aim to be good, giving and game. One more thing, though: gone in the morning. Harboring illusions about guys wanting me beyond the booty call just makes for emotional pain that lasts longer than a frat boy¡¯s orgasm after a lap dance. No, thanks.


    Trevor was the kind of guy who could have 10,000 of me whenever he wanted. So right here, right now, he wanted me ¨C and me he would have. I needed to make this so good for both of us that it would fuel my dreams ¨C until I gave up on them.

 Page 5

    A gentle tug on my hair made me look up to find a loopy grin plastered across his face, the eyes warm and caring. ¡°Hold on there. I want to make sure we take care of you, too.¡±


    Huh?Advertisement


    Trevor¡¯s warm hands slid under my shirt, then stopped as he leaned across the stick shift to come in for a kiss.


    ¡°Oh, shit!¡± he declared, looking past me out the window. Familiar blue and red flashes caught the periphery of my vision. Cop car. Staties, most likely. Trevor¡¯s hand reached into the back seat and flailed for his hat, the only piece of covering we had in the entire car unless you counted a crumpled McDonald¡¯s bag, which at this point might very well need to count.


    Because Trevor deserved a break today.


    ¡°Damn it,¡± I whispered under my breath as Trevor put his hat back on and we watched the lights. Our lucky night (or not), for they sped on by, leaving us with racing hearts and erect nerve endings, both a sign of frustration and arousal that neither could ignore.


    And yet¡­this was a message from whatever power managed this fucked-up universe of atrocious timing. I could tell from the disappointed look on Trevor¡¯s face that he understood, too, that we needed to find a different way through the next thirteen hours before his friend came and got him.


    With a heavy heart I turned to him, mouth open to say the words, and then he lunged at me and licked the words away, his mouth eager and needy, those hands on my breasts and around my back, clinging to me and making me feel special. Trying to explain it defies the feeling, the hot breath between kisses in my ear, how those hands possessed me, the push of his torso against mine like a communion of bodies. Sensual and sultry and defiant, what his body said to me as he ate away the space between us was let me take you.


    My body answered hell, yeah!


    But where? My car was all-too-public, and now that we¡¯d had a taste of fear of law enforcement, it made no sense to allow ourselves to be caught like this.


    The screech of metal against metal assaulted my ears as he pulled back, that wicked grin on his mischievous face inviting me to join him as he put one finger over his lips in a shhhhh gesture and opened his door.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± The night was oddly warm for early May in Ohio, especially our part, where the remnants of giant snow piles could be taking up whole parking spaces still, trickled down to little ice bergs along the perimeters of parking lots. This was more a light flannel shirt and tent night, neither of which I had for him, my own shirt keeping me just warm enough, but offering absolutely zero to cover naked tight-butt man as he unfolded himself from my car and stood, beckoning me to climb out and follow him on antics my pulsating core begged me to engage in.


    No need to ask twice. Scurrying out, I shoved my keys in my purse and grabbed it, then walked around his side, astounded by how tall and lithe he was, body like a lyric of flesh. An idea hit me ¨C Jesus, Darla, could you be any stupider?


    A quick scurry backwards and my hands pulled my keys out of my purse and I popped the trunk. Score! A cheap Mylar blanket and my old raincoat, bought at the Goodwill in Kent on a crazy night of nightclubbing a few months ago.


    Trevor¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°You had this the whole time?¡± he gasped, pointing at the coat.


    Warmth flooded my face as a wave of embarrassment hit me, hard. ¡°It wasn¡¯t at the top of my mind.¡± I handed him the coat, which he held in his hand, a pensive look on his features as the moonlight brought his handsome face into stark relief. I grabbed the Mylar blanket and began to unfold it.


    He grabbed my hand and we sprinted to a grove of pine trees a good distance from the shit-brick building, far away from prying eyes and the streetlamps designed to make such pit stops safer.


    Who needs safe when you want to have your brains fucked silly, to come under the moonlight in waves of need so pent up it¡¯s almost painful to release them?


    Not me. I spread the Mylar blanket out as if we were on a picnic, about to feast on some tasty little snacks. Which we were.


    Kinda.


    Pulling me down to the ground, Trevor got himself comfortable, my raincoat bunched up like a pillow and the moonlight spilling over and illuminating him like some sort of painting in a museum. Except I couldn¡¯t have sex with a painting in the Louvre (well, not legally), yet here I was, about to touch and explore and feel this one.


    I cringed as his sculpted ass nestled itself on a bed of pine needles, the Mylar blanket so small it barely held one body. ¡°You OK?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I will be when I¡¯m in you,¡± he growled. Growled! ¡°I¡¯ve never done anything like this before,¡± he said softly, his hand caressing my jawbone as I lay down next to him.


    It made me laugh. ¡°That¡¯s nice, but you don¡¯t have to lie. I don¡¯t need a line to convince me to sleep with you, Trevor.¡± Maybe I¡¯d become cynical a little too early in life, or maybe it was just from being in a town where the height of sensuality was a pole dancing bar, but this was a little too suave for my needs.


    His hand froze and he frowned. ¡°It¡¯s not a line. I mean it. I¡¯ve never slept with anyone outside at a rest area while hitchhiking naked.¡± His lips pressed into an impish smirk.


    ¡°So I¡¯m popping your naked hitchhiking in Ohio cherry?¡± I laughed, his hand unbuttoning my pants, breath hot on my shoulder, the night air and his focused attention making the world pinpoint into nothing but him and me, our bodies like a little dimension that crowded out the rush of cars speeding on the road behind us, the glare of security lights in the distance, the flutter of new moths riding light breezes.


    ¡°You should be honored.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m ¨C ¡± With a powerful pull my jeans were down around my knees and his mouth was on my belly, tongue licking a little trail to a place most guys around here would plow but not, well ¨C


    My fingers ran through his wavy, blond hair and it felt like I could do this forever, just rest on a cheap rescue blanket under a layer of pine tree branches that blocked out the moon, the clouds, and the rest of the world. My needs were small. A rest area on an Ohio interstate was like the penthouse suite of the Times Square Marriott right now. As long as I had Trevor with me, preferably naked and aroused, the world was all mine.


    Mine.


    And then the searchlight gone and ruined everything, a blinding, harsh, artificial ray of all-consuming white light that made us both pull back and fling our arms in front of our eyes, like a still picture from any standard alien encounter movie.


    To my everlasting, supernatural horror, I would have preferred aliens over what came next: the voice of the last man I fucked shouting, ¡°Get your naked ass off Darla right this fucking second, or I¡¯ll shoot!¡±


    Trevor


    The first time I stared down a searchlight, it was the Wayland cops catching me and some friends on the baseball field at the high school, chugging cheap beer someone¡¯s older brother had gotten for us. We thought we were so badass, a bunch of ninth-graders breaking all the official rules, getting chewed out not by our parents, but by the cop, about how our permanent records would be ruined and we¡¯d never get into a top-10 school. The fucking cop was worried about our chances at Harvard because we drank a few cans of beer.


    Can you blame me for sucking down every drug I could get my hands on for the next four years, to find some sort of escape from being so tightly controlled that law enforcement officers were like school counselors?


    Call it a hunch, but I had a feeling this cop didn¡¯t give a shit about whether I¡¯d be able to get into Harvard or not. Holy shit, was that a shotgun he was pointing at us?


    It was.


    Being naked, with my face against Darla¡¯s bare belly, was about the most vulnerable situation I could be in. Add in a shotgun, which made my raging boner become a sack of tiny potatoes, and the first deep rumblings of fear coursed through me. I really could die right here, right now, without ever seeing my family again. Never perform on stage again.


    Never make love to Darla. Ever.


    Because some yokel cop pointed a gun at us.


    ¡°Jesus H. Christ, Davey, get that damn gun off us,¡± Darla shouted, struggling to prop herself up on her elbows as I backed off her, slowly, my skin cold now from the night air. ¡°Way to kill the mood.¡±


    The light and gun lowered slowly, the man peering out at us. He was wearing a uniform and a badge, and had a beer belly that made standing up defy the laws of physics. ¡°You OK, Darla Jo? What¡¯s this guy doin¡¯ to you?¡±


    ¡°You know him?¡± I whispered.


    She struggled to pull her pants up, face flushed and loose, with a touch of anger and embarrassment I began to resent ¨C not that she didn¡¯t have every right to feel all that, but the intrusion made my fists clench and my temper rise, protective and defensive of her. I wanted to be the one she was thinking about right now. More than that, I wanted to be in her right now. Darla was so responsive, so eager, and so willing ¨C man, if we had an entire night together, and, preferably, an actual bed¡­the places we could go.


    My needs were very basic these days. Pants. A bed. I might as well have been galaxies away from Sudborough, where camping meant no mints on the pillow and denying a kid his cell phone for an hour was akin to waterboarding.


    ¡°I do, indeed, know him,¡± she hissed furiously, fingers clumsy as she struggled to button her pants. ¡°What the hell are you doing here, Davey?¡± she called out to the cop.


    ¡°I got off my shift and was driving by and saw your car. Figured it broke down again and you needed some help.¡± Davey frowned at me, his features already drawn into a deep scowl by nature, it appeared, which meant the frown made him look like an angry lunatic. Tall and big in a way most men weren¡¯t in my area of Massachusetts, he had a beer gut but arms and legs that were normal, a bit muscular but mostly gone to pasture. Coloring like mine, but the blue eyes were a rheumy and yellowed, faded like something that spent too much time in beer-soaked sun. He was older than us ¨C maybe thirty? ¨C and the adrenaline that fear had pumped through me receded like his hairline, fading into a bald calm.


    ¡°Get some clothes on, man,¡± he sputtered, turning away.


    ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± I answered honestly, reaching for the blanket, which I wrapped around me. It felt like a lifeline, to finally have something that I could use to cover myself. Simple pleasures. Stripped down to nothing, I was finding myself more than I ever had while I was surrounded by so many riches. Seriously ¨C give me Darla, pants, a good burger and some condoms and I had found the meaning of life.


    ¡°What do you mean, you can¡¯t?¡± he bellowed, marching toward me. The way he walked told me a great deal; I could outrun him easily, and this was going to be more about using our wits than any brawn.


    Except for the wild card of his shotgun.


    ¡°Davey, get the fuck out of here,¡± Darla charged. From the way she used her voice and the arm that stretched out, pointing to his car, it was clear she had no fear for the cop, and a part of me cringed in horror as I rose up in awe. Hot damn, she was one tough, determined woman. No sickly, gym-toned BU girl would defy a cop like that. She might call Daddy and get his lawyers to chase like yippy dogs after the police force, after the fact, but face-to-face confrontation like this, no holds barred? No fucking way.

 Page 6

    I was charmed, and another piece of me ¨C not the erect rod that pushed against the thin blanket, either, though it was completely under Darla¡¯s spell ¨C fell a little further for this amazingly open, completely real chick in front of me.


    A half grin tugged at my mouth and I tried to suppress it, feeling an alternating current of sappy lust and protective anger, the two feelings like oil and water. Stepping closer to her, I made sure Davey knew I was here, and I wasn¡¯t backing down.Advertisement


    And that¡¯s when I got a good look at his badge.


    ¡°Security? You¡¯re a mall cop?¡± I barked. Laughter poured out of me. ¡°Since when do mall cops get shotguns?¡±


    His face screwed up in anger and Darla shot me a look that screamed shut up. Oops. ¡°Since I¡¯m off duty and carry it around for protection. And I¡¯m the one who should be laughing,¡± he protested, shining the light up and down my body, the reflection off the Mylar nearly blinding. ¡°I¡¯m not the naked man going down on the ex-girlfriend of the guy with the shotgun, Mr. Alien Man.¡±


    Fuck. My mouth got me in trouble again.


    Wait. Ex-girlfriend?


    Darla¡¯s eyes widened and she shook her head tightly at me. ¡°Ex-girlfriend?¡± I mouthed.


    She shrugged. ¡°Slim pickings,¡± she whispered.


    No shit.


    ¡°What I do is none of your business, Davey,¡± she shouted back, blowing air out of her mouth to push a loose batch of curls off her forehead. She reached over and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the car.


    ¡°It¡¯s my business when I find some naked stranger attacking you,¡± he protested, fumbling after us and already panting after 200 yards of fast walking. My legs barely felt the near-run she was pulling me at, her body fueled by sheer anger.


    ¡°The fact that you cannot tell the difference between attacking and making love is one of the many reasons I dumped you!¡± she screamed back.


    I came to a dead halt. ¡°Huh?¡± What the hell did that mean, and why did it make me want to punch him? Clearly not watching, he bumped into me from behind, then ricocheted back a few feet, nearly falling on his ass. ¡°Darla,¡± I said in a low voice. ¡°Did this guy hurt you?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± he squeaked, his tone an octave higher suddenly, a protesting sound. ¡°Hell, no!¡±


    ¡°Davey couldn¡¯t hurt me because he couldn¡¯t find anything to hurt, Trevor,¡± she explained, searching her purse for the key to the car. ¡°He could have used that searchlight in his hand, a GPS device, an iPad with Google maps and a bright, glowing red light on the hood of my clitoris and still missed the mark.¡±


    ¡°Hey, what the hell does that mean?¡± Davey protested.


    ¡°See?¡± she said, smiling, her face a fake grimace of sarcasm. Finding the key, she opened the car, leaned over, unlocked my side (no power locks?) and I climbed in.


    ¡°Get some clothes on!¡± Davey shouted to me, impotently standing there, shining the searchlight right in my eyes just because he could. The shotgun in his other hand made me nervous but Darla didn¡¯t seem to care. ¡°I¡¯m gonna tell your mama about this, Darla. It¡¯ll be all over town in a few minutes.¡±


    She placed her right hand over her heart and mocked him. ¡°Oh, my reputation is about to be ruint! Absolutely ruint by Davey telling everyone in Peters that he caught me fucking a stranger on the Interstate.¡± The weird way she shifted her accent, like an overdone drawl meant to mock him, whooshed right over my head, but it meant something to her. And to Davey, who glared, beady-eyed and furious. She started the car, the pug-pug-pug of the engine¡¯s rev a relief; it meant escape.


    ¡°It will!¡± he screamed, red-faced and bulging-eyed.


    She put the car in reverse, backed up, and then pointed it toward the parking lot¡¯s exit. ¡°Davey Rockland, I¡¯ll tell you what. You go spreading the truth around town. What you¡¯re saying is true, and I don¡¯t give a shit about the truth. It¡¯s the lies I care about.¡±


    He stared back, dumbfounded.


    ¡°So here¡¯s a bit of truth I¡¯m happy to share with the town.¡± She held up her pinkie finger, raised her eyebrows, and stared directly at his crotch.


    He blanched. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t.¡± His face was slack and defeated, the shotgun at his side the way you might hold a purse, or a backpack, the searchlight pointed down and his paunch even bigger as he sagged.


    That giant head of ragged curls and blonde love turned and stared at me, her eyes reflecting the massive war of emotions that must be raging inside her ¨C lust, fear, anger, betrayal, arousal, contempt, hatred, and so much more. Wild and uncaged, she was fighting for something I didn¡¯t understand, and the petty, schoolyard nature of their banter made me want it to end so we could go back to our little bubble and, mostly, so I could take her and fuck her nice and slow, until we were both tired enough to stop.


    Which would likely be never. Did never stopping work for her?


    ¡°I already did, but he doesn¡¯t know that.¡± My grin came without warning, and my hands reached for her neck, body stretching over the gearshift to kiss those red lips, to take in more of her essence, to connect and ¨C


    Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Davey was in his car, which was about as crappy as Darla¡¯s, the shade of old, faded shit with a candy apple red replacement roof. ¡°I¡¯m gonna tell your mama, Darla. Picking up aliens in the corn fields on I-76.¡±


    ¡°Watch out, Davey,¡± she shouted back. ¡°He has one hell of an anal probe.¡±


    Screech. Davey peeled out and Darla descended into a fit of giggles, which then shifted into great whoops of laughter and then ¨C just about what I expected.


    Tears. I put the emergency brake on and pulled her to me, nestling her in my arms the best I could, across a gear shift. Her hot face slid against my chest as her tears lubricated my skin, her body heaving a bit with sobs. Mumbled words made no sense through her sniffles, until she sat up and looked at me, eyes red-rimmed and feral.


    ¡°Welcome to Ohio! The heart of it all.¡± Maniacal laughter as she avoided my eyes and seemed to come down off her angry high, deeply embarrassed for something I didn¡¯t understand. As far as I was concerned, she was amazing, someone I enjoyed spending time with and wanted to get to know better, weird life and all. So much of my life back in Mass felt robotic compared to this, like I was attached to a lung machine that breathed for me, a computer that decided what I ate, studied, thought, did ¨C felt. Here, though, I could take deep breaths, could feel a bit dizzy, but had as much space and air and time as I wished.


    And I could feel whatever I wanted, and right now, I wanted her.


    A kiss was the only answer I had, and for Darla, that seemed to be enough. Given what I had on me, that was all I could really give. Literally, because I wasn¡¯t giving up the Mylar blanket or my hat. Once a man gets a taste of luxury, he wants to hang on to it. As she melted into me, a hunger for all that she was filled me with desire, a raging powerful sense that I was enough.


    And if this crazy, blasted-out trip was about learning that lesson, then thank God for contraband peyote and brash blondes.


    Chapter Four


    Darla


    The feel of Trevor¡¯s soft lips on mine mixed with my own salty tears nearly snapped me in two. God damn Davey and God damn Mama and God damn this podunk town where nothing good ever happened and I felt like the only ambitious crab in a pot full of slacking motherfuckers who grabbed at me with their claws and dragged me back in, over and over, every time I tried to do one God damn thing that made me feel better about myself, or to experience a flash of brilliance about life outside of this God damned place.


    Right now, Trevor was like a god, even though I knew he wasn¡¯t. Not really. And he would disappear as soon as his friend Joe arrived, so I needed to ignore the crabs (OK, that just sounds weird¡­) and take my chances while I could, savoring every second of those sweet lips, his gentle hands, his caring soul and his hot, hot body.


    Time to get even realer and show him where I lived. My bedroom door had a lock on it, and with a loud enough fan and some music, I could fake a sense of privacy so we could make love and I could pretend it would last forever.


    Or, at least, an hour. I could live with an hour. Was it too much to ask for an hour of pleasure with the lead vocalist of Random Acts of Crazy, Trevor¡¯s tongue caressing me randomly right now, his hands on my hips and one palm sliding up the hot skin of my ¨C


    ¡°Stop,¡± I gasped. ¡°Let¡¯s go to my place and we can have a, you know.¡± The word escaped me, my mind still reeling from the pleasure of what we¡¯d almost done, his lips on my navel, aiming lower, how it felt to be touched as if my pleasure were his only goal. So far, he hadn¡¯t said a thing about his own needs, and I¡¯d imagine he had a case of blue balls that made Veruca Salt look tiny.


    Wait, Veruca wasn¡¯t the big round blue one. That was¡­that was¡­that had felt so good I couldn¡¯t think¡­.Violet Something. Violet¡­Violet¡­. The word. Snap out of it, Darla, the other word!


    The word. Four posts. Mattress. Box spring.


    ¡°Bed!¡± I shouted. ¡°The Mylar blanket and the occasional whiff of the stale bathrooms was lovely and romantic and all, but a bed would be even better.¡± My mind raced as the words came out of my mouth, because the trailer where me, Mama, and my uncle lived? I wasn¡¯t sure it was much better, after all, than a Mylar blanket and that unidentified smell.


    Eek.


    I was all in, though, and if he turned his nose up at the way I lived, then who cared? He¡¯d leave soon and I wouldn¡¯t have to deal with any of his judgment, right? Just reveling in what I¡¯d already gotten from him, what he¡¯d allowed me to give, would keep my mind and heart occupied for a good, long time.


    Anything else right now would be extra.


    Trevor seemed to like extra.


    As I pulled out from the parking lot, he wouldn¡¯t stop looking at me, his eyes drifting across my features. Self-conscious, suddenly, in a brand new way, I forced my eyes on the road and made my heart calm down as much as possible, letting myself revel in being admired. Saying anything right now would interrupt him, and that would be the comfortable thing to do, right? My inner critic told me to put myself down, that my wild, matted blonde hair and my too-tight jeans that stretched over hips wider than a goal post were turn offs, that he was only staring at me because he was stupid enough to be caught naked on the Interstate, hundreds of miles from home, or because, because, because¡­


    A calmer core inside told me to shut than damn inner critic off and let my inner goddess (no, not that one) shine through. Maybe that¡¯s what Trevor saw right now, as we plugged along I-76 until we reached my exit, the glow of the gas station lights drawing me like a moth to a flame. My entire life consisted of the same eight or so highway exits, the same twenty or so roads, and all I¡¯d ever known was embedded in these corn fields, the flat horizons, my few ventures out to go to an indoor water park or to Cedar Point.


    How strikingly different his life must be from mine! I¡¯d managed a few classes at the state university extension, but life and money and more heaping doses of life got in the way. My Aunt Josie had made it out, shaking off the crabs that snatched at her ankles in the big pot of Peters, Ohio, her escape my model in how to find my way to Something Better than working shifts at that very gas station that pulled me closer to our trailer.

 Page 7

    Trevor¡¯s warm hand sat on my thigh now, resting there as if it had every right to the skin. That was a feeling I could get used to right easy ¨C having him claim me, acting as if I were his and he could just touch me and tell the world I was taken. Taken. How full that felt, so complete and rich and real. Men in my world didn¡¯t elicit these emotions in me, rendering instead a sense of tolerance, a mild appreciation to be taken out for a cheap Friday prime rib special, to be escorted to the latest action movie at the cineplex, and to be ridden in the backseat of a car or in their shared apartment because, well ¨C because.


    What else do you do with a life you didn¡¯t choose and can¡¯t get out of? You adapt and take whatever crumbs you can find so you don¡¯t let your soul or body starve.Advertisement


    Trevor burst out laughing suddenly, the rich baritone exuding a combo of sleep deprivation, mystification, incredulity and a touch of madness. The sound made me smile and it was contagious, too ¨C we devolved into a cluster of giggles until he gasped and said:


    ¡°I am so glad that you, of all people, picked me up on the road.¡±


    ¡°Well, Jeffrey Dahmer was busy.¡± Damn, there I went. Deflecting and making silly jokes when he paid me a compliment. I looked down and wondered what on earth he saw in me, dirty jeans and fat thighs pouring out over the sides of the bucket seat. Stop that, Darla, my wiser mind shouted. He likes you because he just does. Enjoy it. Let the man make his own choices.


    He¡¯s choosing you.


    ¡°He¡¯s dead,¡± Trevor said, nodding.


    ¡°He¡¯s from Ohio,¡± I prattled on. What a fucking turn-on, talking about a serial killer cannibal. Maybe my dating problems weren¡¯t about the gene pool after all.


    ¡°What¡¯s your house like?¡± he asked, changing the subject and turning what had been an awkward joke into an even worse mess. My house? What house? We lived in a double-wide trailer that was older than me, with mice living under it and plumbing that was about as reliable as Lindsay Lohan on a movie set.


    ¡°You¡¯re about to find out,¡± I stammered, turning onto the road that led to my trailer park. Broken down cars and spare lumber littered the lawns of an increasing number of houses as we drew closer to my home, as if the trailer park were a magnet for trash and debris.


    ¡°Whoa. Tornado?¡± Trevor asked as he gaped, watching the scene fly by, pointing to the piles of random crap in people¡¯s lawns. ¡°Lawn¡± was giving them too much credit, the tufts of grass poking up here and there like remnants of hair on the scalp of a long-time chemo patient. A chicken coop in one yard leaned so far to the right it looked like it was doing pilates, suspended in midair by a series of vines I would wager were poison ivy.


    ¡°Um, sorta,¡± I answered, my voice sing-songy and my gut tight with a groaning fear and wretched sense that This Would Not Go Well. The man I sat next to about to get one hell of an education you don¡¯t find at an upper-crust Boston college. If he thought my flip phone was out of date, what was he going to say when I parked in front of the faded, aluminum-sided old trailer with the crooked porch, torn screen and clutter that made the television show Hoarders look like Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous?


    Real Life, meet Fantasy Life. Bringing home Trevor Connor from Random Acts of Crazy hadn¡¯t even been anywhere near my actual Bucket List of life goals. I had wanted to meet him, of course, since the first time I heard his smoky voice as he seemed to sing his way into my clitoris and my heart, but inviting him to a house with yellow walls ¨Cnot from paint, or some Martha Stewart magazine photo, but from decades of Mama¡¯s chain smoking, and linoleum held together with asbestos and apple juice spills ¨C ground in just how bad my life must look to someone from the outside.


    What was Massachusetts like? I drove right past the park¡¯s entrance and asked him that very question. Spending a little more time roaming dark country roads meant delaying the inevitable panic that was about to infuse my cells when Trevor met Mama. I could drive without thinking, the roads were imprinted in my mind, the map so embedded in me I could leave for fifty years and come back and still get around in the dark, blindfolded. Buying myself some time, I figured it couldn¡¯t hurt to feel him out and get a sense of what his life was like, so I could compare.


    And cringe. Knowledge is power, though ¨C right? If I knew what he lived in, how he functioned, what income level is family was at, then maybe I didn¡¯t need to worry so much. There must be poor people in Sudborough. Maybe he was one of them.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s like lots of places, you know? We¡¯re not rich.¡± He craned his neck around and spotted two guys sitting on the hood of a rusted out Cutlass, sucking off the teat of some 40s in paper bags. ¡°Uh, not poor. Just, you know. Middle class. Everything is all New Englandy and the people are fake. Half the children are geniuses and we have to be diagnosed with ADHD and medicated to get extra time on the SATs so we can prove how perfect we are. You know.¡±


    Heh. Around here, half the children are diagnosed with ADHD and medicated so they qualify for SSI for their family income to go up by $700 a month, thereby doubling it. Maybe we weren¡¯t so different after all.


    ¡°Your fake sounds better than my real life,¡± I muttered as I recognized Old Mike, one of my mom¡¯s exes, on that hood, standing and unbuckling his belt to take a piss. I hit the accelerator and whizzed by before he could whizz on my car.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Those eyes searched my face and I inhaled slowly, turning the car onto a small road that I knew would circle us back eventually. The early May air made the trees sway a bit, their branches dotted with the tiny, unfurling green buds that would soon become lush leaves, making this bleak road a fertile, pleasant drive and, thankfully, hiding some of the junk that dotted the front yards along the path. Trevor seemed genuinely perplexed, as if he didn¡¯t notice how fucked up my life really was, from my junky car to my stupid ex finding us having sex at a rest area to the rotted out shells of cars along the way to my house, all clues that pointed to a grinding sort of working-class life that made me nothing like him.


    ¡°I mean that you are someone who is clearly accustomed to way more than I have,¡± I answered quietly, cracking my window and taking a deep breath, then tentatively, hopefully, reaching out and patting his hand. He grabbed mine and clenched it with a beseeching pressure that made my heart grow.


    ¡°What?¡± he asked, more naive than I¡¯d take him for.


    ¡°Trevor, you go to Boston University, don¡¯t you?¡± I remembered that from reading his bio over and over and over on his band¡¯s website.


    He nodded, his face relaxed and neutral. ¡°Sure. Where do you go to school?¡±


    ¡°Uh, Convenience Store University. I¡¯m majoring in selling gas and cigarettes.¡± It took so much effort to keep the bitterness out of my voice. ¡°U.S. News and World Report ranks it, well¡­it¡¯s pretty rank.¡±


    His jaw clenched. ¡°I¡¯m not a snob,¡± he said, squeezing my hand and then patting it. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you didn¡¯t go to college.¡±


    ¡°I did, actually,¡± I piped up, my voice so chipper it squeaked and offended me. Stupid people pleaser in me ¨C I couldn¡¯t bury it as much as I wanted. ¡°A few classes. Local branch campus.¡±


    He brightened. ¡°What did you major in?¡±


    Oh, boy. Here we go. ¡°Anthropology was my goal.¡± Half the people around here had no idea what anthropology was, and the other half told me I was an idiot to major in something so useless, and why not get my CNA so I could make $10.50 an hour at the local nursing home and ¡°do something¡± with my college edumacation?


    ¡°I know some anthro majors. It¡¯s good for grad school and museum work, mostly.¡± He peered at me as the car hit the end of the big loop and we headed back toward my trailer. If I weren¡¯t so afraid of the events that were about to unfold I would have hugged him in appreciation for not laughing at me, for so casually accepting my education choice as if it were normal and fine and perfectly reasonable. What a world he must live in if people knew what anthro was and respected it as a life choice. My heart ached to go there.


    No more stalling; the clock read 12:13 a.m. And I was getting tired. We needed to crash somewhere, and we might as well do it where there was a bed and a roof.


    He was pointedly looking at me. Oh. Yeah. An answer. ¡°I just took the classes because they taught me a lot about why humans are as fucked up as we are.¡±


    ¡°I majored in political science for the same reason,¡± he answered. I snorted. ¡°No ¨C really!¡± he protested. ¡°That and because my parents pressured me into it to go to law school,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Are you going?¡±


    His turn to snort. ¡°That¡¯s what everyone says. I got into plenty of good schools, and I¡¯ll join the six-figure debt club soon. But¡­¡± His voice trailed off.


    ¡°But you¡¯d rather go on tour,¡± I finished for him. Something in the way his eyes went wistful, how his hand curled into a fist, the way his eyes went hooded when he talked about his parents ¨C it made me wonder how good he really had it. Whatever Sudborough was like, it clearly wasn¡¯t what Trevor wanted. Music was it ¨C so why didn¡¯t he just do that?


    I was about to ask when I slowed the car down, snaking my way past trailer after trailer to reach mine. Trevor frowned. ¡°What is this place?¡± His face was a mask of revulsion and bemusement, a look most people couldn¡¯t pull off. Each trailer was different from the other, but none of them was the Taj Mahal, you know? Ours was smack on the low end of the spectrum of living here, but at least we had fully functioning utilities.


    Well, this month, at least. Any month that came within two months of tax refund season was good for running water and heat.


    The rest was a crap shoot, a game of Musical Utility Bills. Would the water be on today, or the lights ¨C or both? You just never knew. From the way Trevor had eyed my flip phone with a look like I was pressing a fresh log of dog crap to his ear, I had a feeling that his ¡°fake¡± life involved far more financial stability and luxuries compared to mine.


    And I¡¯ll bet he never, ever ate meat from a can.


    I had spent so much time and energy in these short hours worrying here and there ¨C when I wasn¡¯t damn close to being pleasured under a pine tree in a rest area on the interstate ¨C worrying about what Trevor would think about my house, my Mama, my life when it hit me that I had no choice but to bring him home. Scant attention, though, had I paid to what Mama might think of my bringing home a buck naked young man covered only in a Mylar blanket and a cowboy hat.


    If Davey had beaten me home ¨C and I suspected he had, the man had a cell phone for God¡¯s sake and even if it was only a flip phone it meant that he could make a goddamn phone call ¨C then Mama was about to encounter one of the strangest things her child had ever brought home.


    Now, mind you, I¡¯d brought plenty of crazy shit home, including twin brothers I¡¯d won in a wet t-shirt contest. Don¡¯t ask ¨C it¡¯s a long story and right now you want to read about the rest of this one. That one, I can get to it later, but I doubt it. Let¡¯s just say law enforcement officers from three different counties were involved and when someone tells you they¡¯re eighteen, don¡¯t believe me. Er¡­them.

 Page 8

    As I pulled into our parking spot, two dogs and a cat with three legs limped off. Trevor turned and looked at me with a tentative smile. ¡°Home?¡± he asked.


    ¡°The Taj Mahal,¡± I said, trying to play myself off as being outside of this life, Miss Disingenuous, as if Oh, dear ¨C what happened here? Why am I living in this? ¡°I wasn¡¯t kidding.¡±Advertisement


    I tried to look at it from and outsider¡¯s eye. Around here a double wide was bigger and better than a single wide. It conferred a kind of status to you that said, yeah, I may be trailer park trash ¨C but at least I¡¯m double wide trailer park trash. I suspected such nuances weren¡¯t on Trevor¡¯s radar screen.


    He gave me one of those looks that I¡¯d read about in books but I¡¯d never actually had someone project at me. It was a slightly sickly, polite look of extraordinary pity mingled with something else that made his eyes go from that beautiful ocean blue to a faded grayish color, reminding me of a pulsating vein under extremely thin skin.


    His hand that had rested on my thigh squeezed slightly and then it moved, fingertip under my chin. Our eyes met and I wanted to close mine, to sink into this last moment when we could still live in this crazy little bubble of a few hours stolen between a hitchhiker and a crazy lady, all tumbled along like stones being polished by fate.


    ¡°I don¡¯t judge,¡± he said and I laughed, ropy strands of giggles being pulled out of me like anal beads from the star stripper in a moderately hardcore club ¨C a little bit painful but one hell of a show for the person watching.


    ¡°Trevor, everybody judges, and this,¡± I pointed to the house, ¡°shit, I¡¯m judging it.¡±


    His shoulders slumped a little and he looked out the window again, peering around the dust spots on my windshield. I tried to take it in through his eyes. The gutter that hung off the left side of the roof, fourteen or fifteen garbage bags filled, probably, with Mama¡¯s recycling. Every few months she convinced somebody to drive her up to Michigan and turn in the ten cent cans. It wasn¡¯t nearly as interesting a story as the Seinfeld episode about it.


    Trash, just pure trash, littered the little patches of grass around the driveway and the porch really did slump at about a twenty-five degree angle on one corner, meaning you had to kind of bend your shoulders and neck to walk in to reach the front door. For $380 a month we paid lot rent, and that included our water, sewer, and supposedly our garbage. That was about all Mama could afford, her disability check not much more than twice that.


    I¡¯d been working some kind of a job since I was nine, from a dollar an hour yard work up to turning fifteen and lying about my age to make the glorious minimum wage at a truck stop a few exits down. I lost that job when Mama couldn¡¯t afford the gas, and luckily I turned sixteen shortly after and picked up the gas station gig I held now. When my car didn¡¯t work, or Mama¡¯s didn¡¯t, or we didn¡¯t have gas money, I could walk or hitch a ride.


    It made me think that in some ways I was just like Trevor, because right now we were both hitchhiking through life and we were both stark naked. Except him? His nudity was on the outside.


    I wished we could trade places.


    Trevor


    I knew people lived like this but I always figured it was part of an episode on one of those A& E series on cable television. Holy shit! No, really, actual shit. Animal shit from the looks of it, strewn all over the neighbors¡¯ side yard where a chain link fence held six¡­seven ¨C I lost count ¨C dogs. Were those pitbulls and puppies in there? It made my dick shrivel up and my balls crawl into my gut.


    Once again that vulnerable feeling set in, because when you¡¯re naked and the only thing protecting you from the world is a cowboy hat and a Mylar blanket, it would be an aberration not to feel unsafe.


    If this is where Darla lived, then my sense of admiration for her actually shot up. She seemed so funny and deep, with an outlook on life that just took in whatever happened and rolled with it in a way that no tight-assed woman I generally met back at home would ever act. Even the sluts, the worst of the worst, the whores¡¯ whores at home were so controlling, using unwritten rules of life and social graces that seemed to be ingrained in us from preschool to make every interaction pre-programmed, nothing spontaneous unless it involved some sort of substance that altered your consciousness.


    I didn¡¯t need any of that here. In fact, I think that whatever I¡¯d taken must have been out of my blood by the time we pulled into her driveway because I was stone cold sober and I had a feeling that that was the only way I was going to get through the next experience here.


    I told her I wasn¡¯t judging her ¨C but I lied. This made me, first of all, appreciate the fuck out of the four bedroom, three bath, bonus room with a game room/bar in the basement, house where I¡¯d grown up in Sudborough. Dad commuted all week and some Saturdays into the city and Mom had returned to work when I had hit first grade. They could be prim, and proper, and priggish, and fake, and plastic ¨C but damn, we had way more than Darla did.


    I felt bad for poking fun at her flip phone, for pointing out the rusty holes in the floorboard of her shitbox. What I was looking at, sitting right here in the comfort of her car, was like something we¡¯d watched in an eighth grade documentary ¨C some PBS episode about poverty in America.


    She said she¡¯d gone to college and a massive wave of protectiveness hit me, of wanting to rescue her, to take her away from all of this. And yet, here she was, my rescuer. The one who found me stumbling, high as a kite, six hundred miles from home. So who was judging whom?


    And who should judge whom?


    She opened her car door and then paused, shutting it again, turning to me. Her hand covered my hand, which covered her knee now, rubbing slowly, soothing us both.


    ¡°Trevor,¡± she said with that sweet voice that spoke of beer and roasted corn and fun in a field of wildflowers, a kicked back kind of energy that made my erection turn the Mylar blanket into a tent. Oh, God no, I thought, the last thing I can do is walk in that trailer and meet her mother with a fuckinghard-on pointing at her.


    ¡°Trevor, there¡¯s something that you need to know about my Mama,¡± she started and the tone in her voice made my dick wither like a vine cut off at the root.


    ¡°Yeah?¡± I asked.


    ¡°She¡¯s umm¡­¡± Darla sighed. ¡°Well, she¡¯s¡­¡± What? my mind filled in. She¡¯s what? Drunk? Crazy? Fat? Schizophrenic? A criminal? A murderer? Really a man? ¡°She¡¯s¡­she¡¯s, well,¡± Darla stumbled.


    Oh, boy. Of all the things that I could say about Darla in the past couple of hours of getting to know her, fumbling for words was not one of them. Whatever she was trying to spit out, it made my body go tense, made my eyes narrow and I could feel every bone go on alert, every muscle at the ready for whatever I needed to know.


    ¡°She¡¯s real picky about her cooking.¡± I didn¡¯t expect that. ¡°And she also talks about sweepstakes non-stop.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± I said, shaking my head, palms up. When I lifted my hands up it made the Mylar blanket drop a bit and Darla¡¯s eyes drifted down to check out the one part of me that I hadn¡¯t managed to put in her.


    ¡°Yeah, and umm¡­. She¡¯s gonna wonder why you¡¯re naked.¡±


    ¡°Most people would, Darla.¡±


    ¡°No, actually you aren¡¯t the first¡­¡± Darla¡¯s voice went quiet.


    ¡°I¡¯m not the first what?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not the first naked man I¡¯ve ever brought home.¡±


    She cut the conversation short, opened her door, stepped out and slammed it shut. I followed suit, wondering what the hell that meant and we walked up rotted out, wooden boards that used to resemble steps and then entered this cave-like collapsed porch. Without any ceremony, Darla opened the front door. The scent of cigarette smoke almost knocked me backward. I¡¯ve performed in some serious dive bars, in basements with no windows with horrible ventilation, in rooms not much bigger than my mother¡¯s clothing closet, but this was like eating cigarette smoke with a spoon. I plugged my nose instantly by shoving the back of my tongue up against the roof of my mouth and breathed through my lips.


    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± Darla said turning back, almost making me trip off of the crooked stair. ¡°She¡¯s a chimney, too.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I kind of noticed,¡± I said.


    ¡°Why are you talkin¡¯ funny?¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Because I¡¯m trying not to breathe through my nose.¡±


    ¡°That bad?¡± she said, wrinkling hers.


    I nodded. ¡°You can¡¯t smell it?¡±


    ¡°I guess I¡¯m used to it,¡± she shrugged.


    As we walked into the kitchen, two friendly eyes stared at me from under layer after layer of fat. I wasn¡¯t quite sure whether the person before me was female or male. Two cats began rubbing up against my legs, their fur so soft they had to be kittens. A quick glance down told me I was right. My sense of touch seemed heightened, as if being without clothes for so long had drawn out a proprioceptive connection to a tactile dimension.


    That, or I was still a little high. My stomach chose that exact moment to make the loudest gurgle possible, an annoying rumbling that reminded me I was absolutely famished.


    ¡°You brought home an alien from the rest area, Darla Jo?¡± a mouth said, opening under the eyes. The eyes flashed over to Darla, who reached for my hand with a friendly squeeze. The voice was female, and had that craggy, curmudgeonly sound that plenty of old people in New England seemed to cultivate.


    Then she coughed, a phlegmy, gross sound that made it seem like she¡¯d hock up a lung and the kittens would feast on it tonight. My hand instinctively went for my pocket ¨C the one that didn¡¯t exist ¨C because I wanted to call Joe and talk to someone, anyone, from my fake life back in Sudborough. Some deep core of politeness kicked in, though, the part of me that was nice to teachers even while my mind screamed asshole! behind my eye sockets.


    Darla¡¯s mom wasn¡¯t an asshole, though. Her hair was neat and combed in a style that reminded me of the pictures my mom showed me of the late ¡¯60s, of Grandma dressed in bouffant hairdos and sleeveless dresses that looked like they were made from curtain cloth. I remembered my grandma wearing one of those plastic bonnets whenever it rained, to protect her curly helmet head, and I was pretty certain that if it started raining and this woman needed to go outside, she had one of those plastic hats stuffed in a purse somewhere.


    She stood. I forced my jaws together so I didn¡¯t gape. The limp was pronounced and her face was friendly, with Darla¡¯s pale skin that flushed easily with exertion, and brown eyes under brown hair that was so dated. Darla¡¯s dad must have blonde hair, like me. I wondered where her green eyes had come from.


    Hmm.


    Darla whispered in my ear. ¡°She¡¯s missing a foot. Don¡¯t look. She isn¡¯t a fan of having her business talked about.¡±


    My business was wide open and on display for everyone, so I could certainly sympathize.


    ¡°Cathy,¡± she said, reaching out to shake my hand. Her fingernails were thick, neatly trimmed, and a shade of yellow I normally only saw after a bunch of us ate Ethiopian food in Cambridge, our nailbeds stained by the abundant turmeric.

 Page 9

    ¡°Trevor.¡± I nodded and tried to stay as pleasant as possible. Keeping my junk covered with a thin Mylar blanket now being snagged by kittens¡¯ tiny, curious claws meant that I was a little too overexposed.


    And exhausted. The reality of everything was settling in, and I could feel a deep irritability with the world welling up inside me. I went back over my list of needed things, and amended it to be, in no particular order:Advertisement


    Clothes.


    A meal.


    To fuck Darla.


    A few hours of sleep.


    Darla let go of my hand so I could shake her mother¡¯s hand and be friendly, but to my surprise she slipped into another room, twisting her body around multiple piles of newspaper that lined the edge of the room. Cathy gestured for me to sit.


    And that¡¯s when it got awkward.


    ¡°Darla, you¡¯re bringing another naked man home? What is with you?¡± she shouted in the direction Darla had disappeared. I tried not to look at anything, and especially not at my own dick, as I worked to sit down and keep my groin completely covered with what felt like 2.2 square inches of Mylar. An instinct to take off my hat and shove it over my now-limp dick went away fast as Cathy just stared at me, slack jawed, waiting for Darla¡¯s response. Her ear cocked in a really obvious manner, she was a sitcom caricature. A bad sitcom starring Jeff Foxworthy or Drew Carey.


    Wait. Another naked man? Darla wasn¡¯t kidding?


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my fault this time, Mama. He was standing right by the side of the road.¡±


    ¡°With his Twinkie hanging out?¡± Twinkie? I looked down, my hips a little loose as I started to bend down to sit. I beg to differ, I thought. If anything, it was a baguette. A full-on, French baguette.


    I sat up tall and wrapped the blanket around me, only to have Darla tap me on the shoulder. As I turned, I saw Cathy staring at my, uh, baguette. Darla¡¯s face was a mask of a fake smile, horrified eyes gleaming bright and shiny, like green pennies in the sun.


    ¡°Here.¡± Shoving an armful of clothes at my midsection, she forced me to wrap one arm around the bundle and pull harder with the other, the Mylar stretching and probably pulling so hard against my ass Cathy could see which moles were where.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I gasped, bent over like a freak. ¡°Where can I¡­?¡±


    ¡°Change back there, in the bathroom.¡± Darla looked like she was holding herself together with duct tape and Xanax right now. Why did she act so strange? Sure, the house wasn¡¯t exactly nice, but it wasn¡¯t a horror show, either. Plenty of frat houses looked like a more structured version of this. Spend a few nights at an apartment in Allston where eight BU guys cut off from family funds share a two-bedroom place and start naming the cockroaches and you get a sense of filth. Darla¡¯s trailer was run down and cluttered and it smelled like Philip Morris died here, but it wasn¡¯t that bad.


    Whatever shred of pride remained, I lost when I entered the bathroom, which was about as big as an airplane toilet, but with a bucket-sized tub. The clothes she brought me said 3X on the shirts labels, a t-shirt and flannel button-down that was more like a tent than clothing. The pants fit remarkably well, though, a bit loose but doable. If she¡¯d handed me underwear I¡¯d have looked like Justin Bieber getting caught climbing the stairs, pants so low they kissed my anus, but at least I had something ¨C anything ¨C to cover myself. A pair of flip-flops with the U.S. Flag and the words ¡°Jones Insurance¡± stamped on them rounded out the look.


    Gratitude and relief seeped in as I made my way back to Darla, the sensation of cloth against my skin a bit unreal.


    But I was clothed.


    Three more items on my list to go. A huge growl from my guts told me which to check off next.


    ¡°I suspect you¡¯re taking him out back,¡± Cathy said, her voice going up at the end like a question but the words a statement.


    Darla nodded and then smiled, a surprise flash of happiness that caught both me and her mother off guard. She¡¯d seemed so dour since we¡¯d come in, and embarrassed and skittish, which wasn¡¯t like her ¨C not the woman I¡¯d known for the past few hours.


    Not the woman I felt myself falling for.


    Chapter Five


    Trevor


    I could feel my breathing change, each breath deeper, harder, stronger than the last as the moment slipped by second by second. Darla grabbed my hand and pulled me back out the front door, under the crazy crooked porch and then down onto the earth. The flip flops felt foreign and so did the pants. My nakedness had lasted for so long that I¡¯d become accustomed to it, and now I had both hands free again, no Mylar to use as a sort of fig leaf.


    She took me around the corner and then walked straight up to a little junky shed, the kind of thing my parents would have had removed from their property long ago. Moss grew into the roof, so much that I started to wonder if it was one of those green-roof experiments, a biodiversity project that maybe she¡¯d started back in eighth grade.


    No ¨C it was just that neglected.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°Hang on,¡± her voice held a tone of hope and pride that made me even more intrigued, and that made me feel comfortable and in my own skin again. She pulled a key out of her pocket and slid it into a padlock, unclicked it, unlooped it and then opened the latch. The door creaked so loudly it sounded like the hinges must be rusted shut. As she pushed gently on the door there was a moonlit darkness to the tiny space.


    I expected a musty, earthy odor like every potting shed I¡¯d ever been in, with a little bit of mildew, the smell of fertilizer and a smattering of loose tools, and maybe a gasoline soaked lawnmower. She turned, fumbled for something on the right and then, a little click, the sound of a lamp. The room illuminated instantly and showed something like a little dream house in the middle of so much less.


    ¡°What is this?¡± I asked again.


    She pulled me in, my feet scuffling against carpet, and then she gently shut the creaky door. She had a small bolt on the inside and slid it shut. The shed couldn¡¯t have been more than 8¡¯X8¡¯, with one tiny window that I noticed was open ever so slightly, not even an inch. Rope lighting, the kind people use to string around houses at Christmas time, was neatly attached to the perimeter of the ceiling, lending the room its glow.


    The walls were a rich purple and the floor, covered in different squares of carpet, was a mishmash of colors that made it look like a patchwork. There was a small bed, like a dorm room twin, off to one side, taking up most of the left half of this place and then a little table, a cheap card table with four metal legs, on it a hot plate and under it a small dorm fridge. There was a coffee maker, too, and my mouth began to water.


    Food.


    I hadn¡¯t eaten in ages but I was also hungry for something other than a meal right now. I reached for her, the warm, soft glow of this little world she¡¯d built making me want her even more. My stomach betrayed me, though, growling even louder than before. She pulled back and laughed, her face open and wanting again.


    ¡°Trevor, you must be starving,¡± she said, her face dawning with the realization. ¡°When was the last time you ate?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know how the hell I got here and you expect me to remember the last thing I ate?¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡± She gestured for me to sit on the bed, which turned out to be soft, like memory foam topped with down. I rested, stretching out, my ankles hanging over the edge of the small bed. But it felt like relaxing on a California king at the Omni in downtown Boston.


    She pulled various things out of the refrigerator and then turned on the hotplate. The clattering of a pan made me sit up. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Do you eat eggs?¡± she asked.


    I chuckled. ¡°Are you kidding me? You¡¯re going to make me food now? Here?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    The room smelled like eucalyptus and lavender, a lush, heady scent of escape, of something divine being sought. I watched as she poured oil into the pan and then, in an interesting interpretation of an omelet, she just cracked the eggs, threw in cheese and something I couldn¡¯t name, and then sprinkled a bunch of spices on top.


    ¡°I can¡¯t do a full omelet,¡± she said, turning her head to talk to me over her shoulder. ¡°But I can at least make you a scramble that will make your stomach shut up.¡±


    I watched her from behind, that heart-shaped ass turned upside down, her legs thick and strong, her shoulders moving as her arms cooked for me. No one cooked for me. Hell, my mom didn¡¯t even cook for me. Everything was prepackaged and made up and if you wanted something made from scratch, you pretty much had to wait for a holiday or to go over to a friend¡¯s house where the mom actually cooked.


    Something stirred inside me ¨C and it wasn¡¯t just my ever-anxious penis. This little shed that Darla had turned into some kind of sanctuary for herself, it was like my parent¡¯s basement for me. That felt so stupid to even think because her life was nothing like mine. A pang of ingratitude struck me. What an ungrateful little shit I had been, thinking that the fake, plastic life forced on me by my parents was something I needed to suffer through.


    Look what she had created for herself in the middle of all this misery. It made me feel inadequate. It made me feel like a wimp. I didn¡¯t want to go to law school. I wanted to sing, I wanted to go on tour, see what I could make for myself from this world that I loved to taste and touch¡­. I wanted to take music and turn it into this ¨C a thing that looked shabby on the outside, but was beautiful and whole from the inside, all I really needed. And because that could only be some part time side gig that my parents barely tolerated, I thought that was real pain, a real dilemma. Compared to what Darla had overcome, I could see I was a fool.


    Darla


    Letting Trevor see my little hideaway was worse than stripping naked and walking down the middle of the street where all the bars were downtown on the first day of hunting season. Thank God he had taken it the way I had hoped ¨C with a sense of delight. I had mixed feelings about that look on his face, though, because it was so different from the one that had crossed his faced when he¡¯d walked into the trailer and seen Mama.


    I had a love/hate relationship with my relationship with Mama. This wasn¡¯t the life that I was meant to live, and when the owner of the trailer park had told me, a few years ago when he caught me smoking pot in the potting shed, that I could use it however I wanted, I took him at his word. Hey, don¡¯t blame me ¨C smoking pot in a potting shed sounded really, really funny at 4:20, you know? I¡¯d dispensed with most of that, though, by the time I¡¯d graduated high school. Getting high was just a way to escape and if you were never really going to escape, why bother?


    Painting the walls had been easiest. Finding a can of discarded but unused paint for five bucks at the recycling center a few towns over meant that I could cover the walls in a bright color that made me happy. Anything but yellow. Anything but yellow would do.


    The bed was a funny little contraption. I went on the internet and looked for plans for a simple bed, and it turned out I could do it with some thick pieces of joist, plywood, and a lot of really hokey, propped up things that kept the bed up. An old memory foam roll, and strangely enough, a down comforter, had come from the small college about half an hour away where my uncle had gone ¨C not Mama¡¯s brother, but daddy¡¯s brother.

 Page 10

    A long time ago, Josie had told me that if you go to the colleges after the May term ended, you could find some really awesome stuff ¨C and she¡¯d been right. If my Toyota weren¡¯t so small, I would have filled it with much more but at least I got this, right?


    I had enough money to buy a couple of things for nice and cheap at yard sales and the Goodwill. That¡¯s how I acquired the coffee maker, my table, some kitchen utensils, a few pots and pans. The real coup had been that dorm fridge. It had taken two years of searching the dumpsters at the local college, but I¡¯d finally found one that worked.Advertisement


    And now I had my own little home. Mama didn¡¯t mind if I ran an extension cord through the window to give me some electricity. That had been good enough.


    Nobody knew what I had made out here. Not even Mama ¨C I wouldn¡¯t let her in. She probably couldn¡¯t walk all the way over, anyhow. Walking had been hard enough with her foot missing, but then the weight that had gathered with time, turning her into a different person altogether, like moss overtaking a roof until it is the only thing holding it up.


    This was the real me. That¡¯s right ¨C this room, this little thing. This is where I went to escape all the shit from people like Davey, where I listened to Trevor over and over again, to his beautiful naked voice. Not just him ¨C I had other favorites, like the Parlotones, Thermal and a Quarter, and other weird-ass shit that nobody in this little town had ever heard of but me. So it was all mine. It was mine the same way that a lot of my memories I didn¡¯t talk about were mine.


    And now Trevor really was mine, at least until his friend came and took him away. Until he went back to whatever world he lived in that was so alien from mine. Mama had called Trevor the alien, wrapped in silver, and so had Davey ¨C but they were wrong. They were wrong.


    I was the alien. A long time ago, I had accepted that.


    So if I was an alien and Trevor was an alien then it was time for two aliens to get funky.


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re not expecting fancy,¡± I informed Trevor as I finished cooking eggs and slid them onto one of my two plates. I had no appetite, so I wasn¡¯t going to bother, but I handed it to him with a fork and he dug into it as if I had given him caviar and filet mignon.


    ¡°Oh, my God,¡± he groaned.


    ¡°That bad?¡± I said, flinching.


    ¡°Oh, Darla. This is unbelievable. What is in this?¡±


    He ate half the plate before I could open my mouth to answer. ¡°It¡¯s just eggs and some cream and a bunch of cheese and some ham and¡­I don¡¯t know, a little garlic, tarragon, and some pepper.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s like something from Top Chef,¡± he said.


    ¡°Now you¡¯re just flattering me.¡±


    He flashed me a comfortable, saucy grin, the kind of look that you give someone you have been with for a while, someone who can read your signals, who can know from the slightest fold in the skin around your eyes whether you¡¯re having a good day or a bad day. Whether you want to be fucked or be made love to. Whether you want to be alone, or to cry on their shoulder.


    And then he said, ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am, I am.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, stalling for a little time, my heart and my throat and my eyes welling up with some deep uprising of emotion that I had no right to own. ¡°I have a secret to tell you, Trevor,¡± I said, walking over.


    He was sitting up on the edge of my bed, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his head bent over the plate. He stopped eating and looked up at me, again with a half smile of something intimate and more than just sex ¨C or maybe I was just reading that. I have a tendency to do that.


    ¡°I¡¯m a sure thing,¡± I whispered inches from his face.


    He swallowed hard. We stared into each other¡¯s eyes for way longer than we should have. I broke away first and then laughed, the sound tinny and uncomfortable as I felt myself ruining this.


    Dammit. Dammit, Darla, why do you always do this?


    He swallowed a few more bites ¨C good God, did the man ever chew? ¨C and laughed, a throaty sound of something special, a vibration that I would save inside my heart forever, to pull out when I needed it most.


    ¡°Darla,¡± he said quietly, nodding. ¡°I¡¯m a sure thing, too.¡±


    ¡°Then there¡¯s no rush, is there?¡± I said, letting myself go serious.


    ¡°No rush,¡± he answered, reaching out, brushing a stray strand of hair out of my face. The sweetness of the gesture made me swallow and pull back, tenderness cutting through my shields and turning the entire night into something more than I could handle.


    He dropped his hand, finished eating, and then walked over and set the plate on the table. He looked funny in my uncle¡¯s clothes, the pants hanging down so low I could see the top of his ass crack. It was mighty fine, with little dimples at the top of each buttock, his lower back tight. His spine was clearly visible, not from sickly skinniness, but because his well developed, well-formed tendons and bone had honed his body from the privilege of his life ¨C just as his lyrics intuitively honed angst and heartache and pain into hope.


    He turned and he stood in the glow of the cheap Christmas lights that I¡¯d scavenged from God knows where. And then he said the words that I never expected him to say.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Darla but I need to use the bathroom.¡±


    Trevor


    Darla burst out laughing and I felt myself crawl in my skin a little bit but I couldn¡¯t help it. I had ignored nature¡¯s call for who knows how long, and something about sitting here and filling my stomach made me need to go. It felt like the least romantic thing I could have blurted out but dude, when a dude¡¯s gotta go, a dude¡¯s gotta go.


    Besides, I knew what was coming. We both did. We were exhausted, and horny, and tired, and horny, and frustrated. And did I mention horny? With the inevitable in front of us I figured maybe I could slip back into the trailer, take a quick shower, and at least be as ready and raring to go as possible.


    She looked me up and down and shook her head. ¡°Of course, Trevor. Of course you can go to the bathroom. You probably want to shower too, don¡¯t you? How long have you been on the road?¡±


    I looked around this little cottage, a hippie version of a hobbit home. ¡°Well, there¡¯s no clock. I don¡¯t know what time it is.¡±


    She reached into her pocket and took out her phone. ¡°It¡¯s nearly 2 a.m..¡±


    ¡°Shit,¡± I said as she opened the door and led me back out, over to her mom¡¯s house.


    ¡°That¡¯s OK,¡± she said. ¡°Besides, I probably should help my mom check her sugars.¡±


    ¡°Her sugars?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s diabetic,¡± Darla said, her eyes averted, her voice floating next to me in the dark.


    A cool breeze slipped across my neck, my body warm from the tiny space we¡¯d just shared, by my full stomach, and by the clothing which I was starting to get used to again.


    The wall of cigarette smoke hit me again when we opened the door, but not quite as fiercely this time. Cathy looked up from her spot at the table and said, ¡°What are you doing?¡± to no one in particular.


    Darla held a contraption like a label maker out to her mom. ¡°Check your sugars, Mama. Trevor¡¯s gonna go and freshen up.¡±


    Cathy looked me up and down and smiled, her face heavy but her warmth evident, making me smile back. ¡°Well, I would imagine wherever Darla found you, you¡¯re gonna be dirty.¡±


    ¡°Mama,¡± Darla said, her voice scolding and a little bit ashamed. I didn¡¯t like it. I didn¡¯t want her to turn away from what I¡¯d seen in her, from that creature who created something so good out of so much that wasn¡¯t. She was a conundrum.


    She led me back to the tiny, cramped bathroom and handed me a clean, threadbare towel and steered me away from the medicated shampoo, handing me something involving colored hair. I couldn¡¯t help myself and just reached out, shut the door, and grabbed her in my arms.


    She melted against me, our bodies separated by two layers of clothes now, the feeling weird. My mouth found her and she responded, lips parting quickly. Whatever we¡¯d been holding onto, or holding back from, we allowed to spill over right here, right now in this tiny, cramped bathroom, her back shoved against the door, my ass pressed into the corner of a sink more cigarette-burned than I¡¯d ever seen in any dive bar bathroom.


    I didn¡¯t care, my hands roaming through her lush hair, down to find fistfuls of ass. Her hands sliding under my unfamiliar t-shirt, reaching to that sensitive spot just where my ribs met my shoulders, making me shiver, making me rise up to take her with no more waiting.


    But she decided to exert control, pulling back, pushing gently until I had to move slightly to the right to avoid being penetrated by the corner of that sink. She held her head down, then looked up, all bliss and full of hope.


    ¡°You freshen up Trevor. Meet me back at my place. That¡¯s where this belongs, not here.¡± She looked around. The shower was covered with soap scum but the room smelled of bleach. It had been cleaned recently but, like so many other things in Darla¡¯s life, it was worn, neglected, the towels faded and old, the walls pockmarked and stained, the room designed for function but not for anything else. This life she lived seemed to have no room for purple walls and glowing lights that created an atmosphere of something more.


    My arms wrapped around her and she leaned in, her cheek pressed against my chest, sighing deeply. And then she pulled away and turned around. The door opened before I could stop her.


    ¡°Go ahead, Trevor. Take care of everything and then,¡± she said, locking her eyes with mine, her face intense and so deep I wanted to fall into her eyes and just live there forever, ¡°and then come take care of me.¡±


    ¡°Jesus Christ, with an offer like that ¨C ¡± Unsnapping my pants was a chore because Darla¡¯s words had made me rock hard in an instant. I scrambled to turn on the shower, which was about as low flow as you could possibly get, like a baby bottle squeezed listlessly upside down. But hey, I couldn¡¯t be choosy these days, and while it certainly wasn¡¯t the four-head shower and jacuzzi tub I was used to at home, it was a shower and I could wash the crud of being naked on the road for a day off of my poor body.


    Poor body.


    As if. My body was rocking right now (pun intended) and about to rock Darla¡¯s world.


    Relatively clean in three minutes, I threw my clothes back on and stopped for a minute, fumbling through the drawers attached to the tiny sink. If I guessed just right¡­yup, there it was. A brand new toothbrush, still in its dental-office wrapper.


    Certain they wouldn¡¯t mind if I used it, right? I pulled it out, threw the wrapper in the garbage, found a half-squeezed tube of toothpaste and brushed my teeth for the first time in days. It felt like getting high and having a massage at the same time. But nothing would be better than what I was about to do with Darla.


    I stuffed the toothbrush in my back pocket and quietly opened the door. There was no sign of Darla anywhere as I peered down the hallway, past the stacks of newspapers and magazines and what appeared to be an entire box of Christmas themed potholders, new with tags on them. I saw Cathy slumped in her chair, a light snore pouring forth from her mouth.

 Page 11

    Pausing, I let myself take a couple of breaths and really thought about this for a minute. My dick didn¡¯t want me to do that but something deeper in me, the part where song lyrics poured out without effort, like paint filling a canvas on its own, told me to stop and think. Think, Trevor. This really wasn¡¯t all that different from home. My mom was likely to be asleep in front of our TV right now, her last whiskey sour diluting on the coaster on the end table next to her, the ice cubes melting with the vestiges of alcohol. The house disheveled until the maid service came that week and the quiet, the 2 a.m. preternatural calm. I could link my home to this place and strip away the differences.


    Darla was somebody who wanted more but had decided to ¨C no, had resigned herself to ¨C take what the world laid out for her. And in my own, completely different way, that¡¯s exactly what I had done. I slipped past Cathy and outside, off the crooked porch. My footsteps crunched through whatever made up the door yard and thwacked against my soles, the flip flops little better than nothing. My hand shook, just a little, as I reached up to open the door to Darla¡¯s carved-out little piece of paradise.Advertisement


    Darla


    Mama¡¯s sugars had been fine, which surprised me, but her issues were an afterthought, my brain so full of candy and fog and Trevor and ¨C oh, dear God, all of it. I wanted to will all of the crazy, all of the neglect, all of the daily grind away and just focus on him. I¡¯d gone into the back bathroom and done as quick a cleanup job as I could, a washcloth, a toothbrush and some dental floss like magic potions in a witch¡¯s bag.


    I needed to beat Trevor out to my little shed to prepare and be ready for what was coming. It¡¯s funny, when I picked him up on the side of the road and found myself wanting him, that¡¯s all it had been. Just wanting a romp, something novel. An experience that just got me out of my head and out of my life and gave me some crazy yarn to spin, sitting at a bar, telling stupid stories to other people as we descended into drunkenness.


    I wasn¡¯t so puritanical that I wouldn¡¯t have a beer or eight when the time was right. My pot-smoking days were few and far between, and unlike so many people I knew, I didn¡¯t get stupid drunk. Unlike two thirds of my graduating class, I had other forms of entertainment besides Netflix and altered states.


    For me, it was the music ¨C and now I had my real life lyrics in physical form before me. The maker of so many of my dreams walking up the steps to my little dream maker home. I¡¯d spun this place into what it was as a haven. It started out because I couldn¡¯t stand the smell of stale cigarettes ¨C at least that¡¯s what I told myself.


    And now as Trevor walked in, the creak of the door hinge like a prayer being answered. He closed it, slid the bolt into its proper hole and then turned to me, hair damp and perfect, darker, clinging to his scalp. Those blue eyes right on me.


    Then he said, ¡°Come here.¡±


    I took the deepest breath I could muster as Trevor kissed me, his hands roaming all over my ass and back, taking me in like he was greedy for me. My hands did the same, finding tight muscles and loose clothes and a slightly-stubbled jawline that made me want to scratch myself against it forever, inhaling the sweet scent of Trevor and my own soap and a pureness.


    Lavender and eucalyptus were my favorite scents, sprinkled liberally throughout my little home, wafting through my senses as he explored me with hands and mouth and ragged breaths that spoke a language so different from what we¡¯d said to each other even at the rest area.


    Something had shifted. Something had changed. Showing him my life and making myself naked before him in a completely different way made him more there. Our there was more there and damn it if he didn¡¯t use those large man palms to pull my ass up and grind his hard, needy erection into me.


    ¡°Sure thing,¡± I murmured when we came up for air between kisses, the glow of my Christmas lights making us seem warmer than I ever imagined I could be. Time to take things nice and slow, to let this little cocoon just be. Letting go of my worries about what he thought of my life was my biggest challenge until right now.


    And then it just unfolded and dropped, like an apple that decides to release itself from its ripe little connection to the large tree. His fingertips grazed my face, as if memorizing the lines of my cheekbones, my lips, and I opened my mouth to take his index finger in, sucking and laving it, his groan my victory lap.


    Well, not quite. That would come much, much later.


    He held me and leaned me back, slowly, down to my tiny little bed, his arms and legs strong enough to gently stretch us both with little effort. So strong, so controlled ¨C no man had done that before, a move you would see from a prince resting his princess in a bed of roses. All I had was a down-covered memory foam mattress and that was more than enough as his hands touched every part of me, cupping my breasts and inhaling me, seeming to revel in just my very presence, as if I were enough.


    Without asking, he tugged my shirt up and I helped him, my silent yes an eager response to a question he never had to ask. The confidence was something new to me ¨C Trevor wasn¡¯t taking, and he wasn¡¯t assuming I owed him something. This was a partnership, two people enjoying each other, and it was his sense of respect for me that was the biggest damn turn-on ever, making me pulse and throb because at the core of my being I¡¯d always wanted this and here he was, handing it out effortlessly, eyes trained on mine, sharing a sense of something bigger than us both.


    I could live like this forever. A sob crawled up my throat and I swallowed it down, the joy of finding this so great I nearly cried. Then a cold wave of air hit my chest as Trevor stripped me, his hands at my waistband, pulling my unbuttoned pants down.


    ¡°What about you?¡± I murmured, eager to touch his nude body once more.


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen me naked already,¡± he whispered, eyes excited and impish. ¡°Time to even things out.¡±


    Time seemed to move at a snail¡¯s pace and all at once with him, and as he peeled off my pants and then glided my panties down my thighs like a man who made it a form of worship, I braced myself for the full unveiling. What would he think? A full body like mine is one thing when it¡¯s crammed in a shirt and pants, but under the glow of my lights, on my tiny little Hobbit bed, would he find me beautiful? Was his haze of desire just a blend of polite gratitude and leftover peyote?


    All I needed to do was to look into his eyes and see what I was searching for, as he inhaled sharply and stripped naked to his own words. ¡°Oh, Darla, you are so beautiful.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to say that,¡± I blurted out, as if some inner demon was working to sabotage everything good and whole in my life.


    ¡°I know I don¡¯t have to. I want to,¡± he replied, stretching out naked and lovely and manly and just so Trevor. Our bodies were long and parallel now, the heat of skin like a thin line between us, both on our sides and facing each other, my breasts full and dipping a bit, gravity winning where it came to being a bit lusher than most. It seemed to turn him on, his hands filling with me, his mouth coming to taste my neck, my clit beginning to respond and my V welling up with warmth and wetness that craved him. Finally, finally, finally we could cleave and connect and I could ride him blind.


    Seconds passed and he pulled back, one hand deep in my hair, the other making its way to find my soft, red nub and when he did ¨C ah, that alone was almost enough to make me come.


    His mouth was so lush and searching, and then his hands lifted my hips, beckoning me to straddle him. I bent down, first, and grabbed my purse. This was embarrassing but a necessary step. No babies for me (yet), thank you. I handed him the foil wrapper and he nodded appreciatively, rolling on the condom with a respectful grace that made me want him even more.


    Not that that was possible.


    The slide of his hands against my skin, the sound of his breath along my shoulder, how he just was, all Trevor and strong muscle and warmth and flame, his hands moving me and urging me to climb on top of him, my body feeling free and real once more and forever ¨C it made me close my eyes and just feel. His fingertips tickled my ribs, making me shiver as I became a bit coy, not letting him enter me just yet, wanting to stretch the moment out long enough to kiss that incredible mouth one more time, our lips touching and then hungry.


    My head nearly exploded as his hand slid in my hair and grasped a handful, gently but firmly pulling my head back as his eyes sought mine. Most guys didn¡¯t kiss much during sex, much less look at you. It was like all that was there was body parts and hands. This? It was more like all that was there were our souls, and the flesh was an afterthought.


    ¡°Darla,¡± he murmured, the word suspended in the air between us, as if hung by the moon and stars and some sort of life force that drove the universe. Inhaling felt like a form of supplication and as our eyes remained locked I fought my usual inclination to look away, to be unnerved by the depth of emotion that flowed between me and another person. No expression, no deflection, no defenses.


    It fed my hungry heart. Each breath infused love into my soul, and even if it wasn¡¯t the kind of love that lasted, it was here for this second, for this inhale, for this instant, suspended in time. If I couldn¡¯t have this forever, I could have it now and be nourished and treasured and enjoyed. How many people could say that?


    ¡°Yes?¡± I answered, unsure suddenly, a bit muddled in the head by all of this, with a body raring to go and shaking with anticipation. Whoever I¡¯d thought Trevor Connor was, it had been a cardboard shadow compared to the man under me, the man who, as I let my thoughts come back into focus, stole another kiss.


    His hands rested on my hips, face serious. ¡°I¡¯ve never felt this way before.¡±


    Oh. Oh! Oh! Oh! Please mean it, please mean it, please mean it, my mind screamed and my heart prayed. Don¡¯t forget me! my wetness shouted, lost in the fray.


    We were about to get to that.


    My answer was to shift, just enough, so that the tip of him was right at the gateway to my body, the groan from his sensual mouth all the response I needed. In the light of the moon and the glow of all we¡¯d created here, I slowly lowered my body over him, enveloping his hard offering, and then sunk into the deep pleasure of our bodies joining, the hot, full feeling quenching so many needs in me that I thought I¡¯d gone to heaven.


    Trevor stretched one arm up and under his head, as if relaxing after a hard day of work, the pensive grin on his face so gratifying. His other hand reached down and slid between our bodies, reaching for my ¨C oh!


    ¡°What are you ¨C ¡± I started to ask, and instantly I knew exactly what he was doing, touching and stroking my clit in a way that made my sex walls clamp down, hard, the distance from heightened arousal to OHMYGOD as long as one of his fingers.


    Somehow, he sat up, his ab muscles turning into little bulges of rock-hard yumminess as my hands dug into his chest and ribs, my pelvis rocking to his fingers as they played me like a guitar string. ¡°What am I doing, Darla?¡± he asked, husky and gravel and sandpaper in his voice ¨C but perfect silk in his touch.


    ¡°You¡¯re playing me,¡± I gasped. No man had done this before ¨C touching my little nub as he was in me, making all the pleasure points cry out at once. Trevor took the lead and, from under me, rocked his hips, pumping his ass up and pulling back, some sort of athletic control I couldn¡¯t fathom allowing his body to move with incredibly fluid grace. It was holy. It was surreal.

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    And it rocked my world.


    ¡°No,¡± he whispered, sliding himself in, then out, pulling back and speaking through gritted teeth as his fingers played a lovely imagined melody, ¡°you¡¯re playing me. You¡¯re like a hot, wet vise.¡± He pulled the arm behind his head out and stroked my breasts, pinching in time to his thrusts up. I leaned down and pressed my hands against his shoulders, a smattering of hair damply stuck to his forehead, his eyes leaving that intense gaze and going unfocused. We were both so, so close, and then ¨CAdvertisement


    We tipped over together. A wave of cotton and spirit encircled us, making my ears rush with pumping blood and found dreams as wave after wave of climax crashed over me and Trevor, his hips thrusting himself so hard into me I cried out from the pleasure-pain of being delved into so deeply, of being known so thoroughly. A strangled groan of ecstasy made his neck tighten and he was oh, so beautiful in that split second, an image of abandon and release and I was doing that to him. Me.


    And then my own screaming orgasm flushed through my entire body, from the top of my head to my toes, all wracked clenching and unremitting joy, hips shifting and demanding he fill me and move me with more, more, more. I cried out and the hand he¡¯d been using on my sweet spot stroked my face, fingers tracing my lips, giving me a taste of myself, the act of wild eroticism adding to my climax, bursting me to an explosion that went on and on, endless, taking me some place so pure I could only be, living in full communion with some divine kind of love that was a blend of our breath, our sweat, our juices, our touch and moan and ¨C


    Our everything.


    Like everything, though, it couldn¡¯t last, my body struck dumb for burst after burst of this sensuality, Trevor¡¯s own orgasm pounding into me and making me feel so honored, so needed, bodies in concert and playing a song we hadn¡¯t even created yet. As the throbbing receded slowly, I found myself first hearing our breathing, my body panting while Trevor¡¯s took slow, deep inhales to steady himself. A slickness connected us at the pelvis, my hips and mons covered with what I realized was my own juices, his safely contained in the condom (thank goodness), my body more primed and responsive than ever.


    My naked soul was so grateful. I leaned down over him, pressing my lips to the soft spot under his stubbled jaw. His hands covered my back, then one came up along my hair line and pulled my messy mop off my face. The grin we shared said all the words that, spoken out loud, would have sounded stupid.


    So we stayed silent, until Trevor said apologetically, ¡°I need to take care of this,¡± and I slid off him. Having him out of me felt like an immediate emptiness I didn¡¯t like but didn¡¯t know had been there before. Sore and a little befuddled, I just watched his dimpled ass as he walked away, took care of things at the trash can, and came back to the bed, pulling a cotton blanket we¡¯d thrown off the edge onto us.


    And then we just spent a long time breathing together. It was all we needed.


    Trevor broke the silence first, which was fine with me, because I had no idea what to say. There wasn¡¯t any kind of class at my high school or college for what to say after fucking a naked hitchhiker in a potting shed.


    ¡°Can I ask you a strange question?¡± Trevor asked, stroking my arm from the shoulder down to the elbow in a long, languid, gentle way that made me feel like a little baby having its back rubbed to sleep. It felt divine and he could ask me whatever he wanted at this point.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± I said, sleepy and sated.


    ¡°What happened to your mom¡¯s foot?¡±


    That was not the question I was expecting and it shook me out of my trance. ¡°That¡­that happened when I was four,¡± I said, my feet and hands going numb at the change of topic.


    Trevor had no idea what he had just asked and if he kept prying I was going to curl inward like a potato bug in too much sunlight. He seemed to sense that he¡¯d encroached on some sort of place where he wasn¡¯t wanted but I could tell he wasn¡¯t going to back off. A creepy-crawly feeling covered my skin, marching on like soldiers in combat, not in a rush, but steadily progressing to get in place to defend.


    ¡°What kind of accident, Darla?¡± he whispered in my ear. His hand froze and then the whole of his palm pressed against my shoulder, warm and comforting the way someone treats you when you¡¯ve lost someone you loved and they don¡¯t know what to say.


    ¡°Car.¡± I was reduced to one syllable answers. Nobody really talked about this. I was only four when it happened and even I didn¡¯t really have the words to tell Trevor what I knew he wanted to know. Layer by layer he had penetrated ¨C and no, not just sexually ¨C me. Now he was going in deeper, like a prince with hedge clippers, trimming away the thorns to get to the castle to rescue the sleeping princess which, I supposed, would be me in this analogy.


    Or maybe my pain.


    ¡°The car accident,¡± he asked, ¡°were you in the car?¡±


    Oh, how I had wished I had been, at least when I was little. For so many years I¡¯d wondered how different our life would be if I had been in the car with Daddy and Mama, with Aunt Marlene and Uncle Jeff.


    ¡°No,¡± I said, shaking my head. My heart went still and zoomed up all at once and it became hard to breathe, hard to feel, hard to stay here with Trevor who, for some godforsaken reason, kept asking more. It was almost like he genuinely cared and wanted to know more about me because ¨C well, why? Asking all these questions had to mean something, right?


    He gently pulled my shoulder toward him and I had no choice but to respond, the bed so tiny I couldn¡¯t exactly pull away or I¡¯d fall off. He was the only man I¡¯d ever had in here, so this was all new on so many different levels. First of all, this was not a bed made for two people. I rotated my body, my hips sliding against wetness, a proud sort of blooming inside me recognizing that it was a symbol of what we¡¯d just done.


    Face to face, I couldn¡¯t hide anymore but I could close my eyes because his right now were searching, and deep, and questioning. That was the problem. Trevor was taking all of this far too far. What I thought was supposed to be some fun, something wacky, something to add to my list of Stupid Things That Darla Did For Stupid Reasons was quickly becoming Something That Darla Had Always Hoped Could Be.


    I knew how this would end, though. His friend was coming, taking him away and then I would just become some joke that Trevor told to his friends. A story about how he got high as a kite and found himself in Ohio and some crazy fat chick picked him up and fucked him. That¡¯s all I needed to be, right?


    That¡¯s all I was.


    I was fooling myself if I thought that what I wanted so desperately to see in that look from him was really there.


    On the other hand, what did I have to lose, giving him what he was asking for? Sure, I could chip off a chunk of my heart but hell ¨C nobody else was asking for it right now. The leap was easier than I thought. I just opened my mouth and let shit pour out. Except, this time, it wasn¡¯t shit.


    It was true.


    ¡°When I was four and when my Aunt Josie was eleven, my mom and dad, and Josie¡¯s mom and dad, were out on a double-date ¨C I don¡¯t know whatcha call it when you¡¯re married.¡± I smiled, but I could feel it not even reach my eyes ¨C and it definitely did not reach Trevor¡¯s face. His features had gone slack, his eyes a little narrow, focusing all of his attention on my words, one hand pressed against my hip, pulling the lower halves of our bodies closer.


    ¡°My Uncle Jeff was driving and he probably had some beers in him ¨C that¡¯s what I guess, I don¡¯t know. We don¡¯t talk about it,¡± I said, my stomach tightening. ¡°Umm¡­¡± I stumbled, trying to find the words. Eighteen years of being told this story and I still didn¡¯t really have the right words. ¡°So¡­umm, Uncle Jeff was driving and he was in the front seat and so was my daddy, and my Mama and Aunt Marlene were in the back and Uncle Jeff didn¡¯t see a semi truck that was backing into a driveway across the road ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Oh, God,¡± Trevor said, his voice husky and shocked.


    ¡°Yeah. Oh, God. Oh, God is the right thing to say, Trevor.¡±


    ¡°So your dad¡­¡±


    He left the question out there. ¡°He passed. And Uncle Jeff did too, instantly. At least that¡¯s what I¡¯m told. I was only four, so I don¡¯t really know the details.¡±


    ¡°And your mom lived, right?¡± Trevor said.


    ¡°Well, obviously. She¡¯s not an apparition.¡± I tried to smile at my own joke but we both just gave each other a sick look.


    ¡°And your aunt?¡±


    ¡°She lived. She had brain damage bad enough to be at the Cleveland Clinic for six weeks. They weren¡¯t sure if she¡¯d live but she did. Me and my Aunt Josie had to live with the assistant librarian until my mama got out of the hospital, and then Josie lived with us for a while until her mom was back.¡±


    ¡°Why the librarian?¡±


    ¡°Uncle Jeff was the head librarian here.¡± He just nodded, his chin sliding up and down the skin between my neck and earlobe.


    ¡°And she¡¯s OK? Your aunt who was in the accident?¡±


    I thought about all the ways that that question could be answered, my mind floating through answers in nanoseconds, as if someone had picked up my brain and thrown it through the air in a giant arc. And then I chose the easiest answer. ¡°She lived. She¡¯s here.¡±


    We both sighed. I looked up, having focused on his shoulder to get through the explanation. I expected to find pity in his eyes. What I found instead was his face coming toward me as he planted the gentlest of kisses on my forehead and stroked my cheek.


    Something troubled in his eyes told me he had a story, too, but now wasn¡¯t the time to pile more sadness on top of my own. I wasn¡¯t really surprised. Everyone has a sad story ¨C around here we have more tragedy and misery than most places, but no one¡¯s really poor in those. If bad luck and terrible timing were a currency, our whole trailer park would be on a Forbes list every year. In time ¨C which we didn¡¯t have much of ¨C maybe I¡¯d hear Trevor¡¯s story.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say,¡± he said.


    ¡°Neither do I.¡±


    In the stillness, all we heard was our breath. I snuggled against him, pressed my cheek against his heart, enjoyed the throbbing of it against my jawbone. His stomach gurgled and I mumbled, ¡°Don¡¯t make me make you another crazy omelet.¡±


    He laughed and then kissed the top of my head, the pressure so fatherly it almost brought tears to my eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve been through so much,¡± he said.


    ¡°So have you,¡± I answered. We both knew that was lame.


    A deep rumbling in his diaphragm burbled through me. ¡°Darla, I¡¯m a fucking pussy compared to you.¡± His words were mumbled and a bit slurred with sleep, arms loosening as he settled in, snuggling down and kissing my cheek. Before I could answer (then again, what was I supposed to say to that?) his breathing went even and my sweet Trevor Connor was out cold, slumber overtaking him in the wake of our lovemaking.


    We had popped my shed¡¯s cherry.


    Chapter Six


    Darla


    Tap, tap, tap. I looked over to the window and saw a strange man¡¯s face peering in. This wasn¡¯t the first strange man¡¯s face I had ever had peering in my window but it was the first strange man peering in this window because nobody, not Davey, not even Mama, ever came out here. I¡¯d kept it quiet for so long I just assumed no one knew where it was. So, why was this man ogling me and Trevor?

 Page 13

    I looked down. Trevor¡¯s naked ass was poking out, half his body covered by my blanket and half his body covered by nothing at all. I, on the other hand, was giving quite a show, way more flesh exposed and plenty of the good parts. Trevor¡¯s arm covered my belly, but my ass and tits and curves were on display like some sort of potting shed peep show for the weirdo who was now mouthing something I couldn¡¯t read.


    Narrowing my eyes and staring at him more didn¡¯t make a difference, so I needed to get my ass out there. If I stood up, though, he¡¯d see me naked. It¡¯s not like plenty of men hadn¡¯t, in this area at least, but I didn¡¯t feel like showing off just now. Especially after I had just peeled back every layer of my body and soul for Trevor.Advertisement


    Tap, tap, tap. Trevor shifted and then snored and I shooed my hand toward the window. ¡°Turn away,¡± I said in a croaky half whisper, half loud voice, trying to keep from waking Trevor but succeeding only in sounding stupid.


    Miraculously, the man figured out exactly what I wanted and turned around, the back of his closely cropped hair showing up in stark relief even if I hadn¡¯t really caught a good look at him in the front. Wiggling into my jeans and my blouse, I figured what the hell, and skipped the underwear. I didn¡¯t need a bra to tell some guy to go away.


    I tiptoed over to the door and opened it. Creak it went. Damn! I didn¡¯t oil the hinges, I didn¡¯t do anything to the outside of this pile of wood. I didn¡¯t want to tip anybody off to my little place. As I opened the door and light shone in I gasped, the sound abrupt and halting, even coming out of my own lungs.


    There, before me, stood the most perfect man I¡¯d ever seen in my entire life. I don¡¯t mean perfect like Trevor, who was, objectively speaking, the most perfect man. I mean physically perfect, like God¡¯s hand reached out of the sky and custom sculpted the face, the body, the look, every bit of it. It was as if whatever it had taken to make this ideal human being had involved sucking all of the good out of the men in this part of north-central Ohio, an uneven distribution of exceptional quality that had been poured into this specimen, making every other man look like a gremlin. Fat gremlins, around here.


    ¡°Uh¡­uh¡­I¡¯¡¯m ¨C ¡± I stuttered. ¡°Um¡­yes?¡± I said, my mouth going dry, my throat clicking as I swallowed. I had just found the most exceptional man last night, standing naked by the side of the road and he¡¯d turned out to be one of my biggest music crushes. And yet, every part of my loins ¨C once again ¨C were on fire for this Greek god.


    ¡°Is Trevor here?¡± he asked.


    I could have watched this man¡¯s face move, the muscles twitching and turning, bending and dancing in perfect harmony with the words that came out of those luscious, perfect, symmetrical lips and been happy in that kind of stupor forever, as if his features were a kind of meth that didn¡¯t cost anything but your dignity. Like a child who caught Santa, I gawked, dumbfounded and shocked by the implications of finding out what I¡¯d thought had been imaginary was real.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± the man said slowly, as if I were a bit slow. Which, right then, I was. ¡°Excuse me, but I¡¯m looking for Trevor Connor.¡±


    He looked around me, craning his head, and then stepped back as if self correcting, too polite to barge in. No barger was he. This wasn¡¯t some alpha male-wannabe who came in all cocky. Instead, it was like looking at a Calvin Klein model or one of those breathtaking men in Vogue you knew was gay ¨C gayer than gay.


    Oh, please don¡¯t let this one be gay, I thought.


    Oh, for God¡¯s sake Darla, another voice popped in. You don¡¯t need to be thinking about what this guy does with his dick when you¡¯ve got your own dick in the bed behind you.


    Down, girl.


    ¡°Uh¡­yeah. Yeah,¡± I stammered. ¡°Trevor¡¯s right here.¡±


    I pulled the door open, the creak sound making Trevor groan and then shove a pillow over his head to block out the light. My wits came back and I sighed heavily, enjoying searching this man¡¯s face as I said, ¡°Joe! You must be Joe.¡±


    His features broadened, stretching with relief. I wanted to lick him all over and make all his worries go away. Stop it, I slapped myself on the inside. Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, Trevor.


    ¡°Oh, thank God he¡¯s here,¡± Joe said. ¡°Because I went to 26 Old Farm Road which is here,¡± he pointed two feet away at the trailer, ¡°and once I got to the front door¡­¡± He looked down at his shoe as if dismayed. The bottom of his pants was torn and his shoe, which had been a nice white leather Nike, was now torn along the edges and had deep black streaks on it. ¡°After my foot fell through a rotten board on the porch, I pulled it out. By the way, do you live there?¡± he asked. Answering ¡°yes¡± was clearly not the correct answer as his brow furrowed and he scowled the most adorable scowl I¡¯d ever seen. It was like watching a kitten frown.


    ¡°No,¡± I said ferociously. ¡°No. No, no, no, no, no,¡± I added, shaking my head. What the hell was I doing? Of course I lived there.


    ¡°I live here,¡± I said, turning, my hand smacking against the side of the shed, a little piece of rotten board falling off and clattering to the ground, failing to help me in my lie. We looked at each other, equally embarrassed. Except, we were both embarrassed for me.


    ¡°Oh, so¡­umm, a person in there, I wasn¡¯t sure who the person was, but the person¡­¡± If he said the person one more time I would have no choice but to smack him. It was obvious he couldn¡¯t tell whether Mama was a man or a woman. She got that a lot. Probably, it was the low smoker¡¯s voice combined with her weight. That and the fact that she hadn¡¯t done anything with herself since Daddy had died. Eighteen years is a long time for a woman to go without anything special.


    No, not that. Get your mind out of the gutter. I mean no makeup, no nice clothes, nothing. She just ate and watched her stories on TV, and went on the Internet and entered sweepstakes contests and lotteries. If that seemed about as pathetic as it sounded, that¡¯s because it was. On the other hand, we had more swag than you could ever imagine. Corporate logos on t-shirts and water bottles and little stuffed animals from all sorts of products ¨C you need something like that, stop by the trailer and grab whatever you want, as long as Mama¡¯s not looking. No one needs three hundred pop can cozies, right? Except Mama. All of it her winnings, as she called it, cluttering up the trailer but it gave her something to look forward to whenever the mail came.


    ¡°That¡¯s my Mama,¡± I said quietly. His eyes widened. I would have read him the Communist Manifesto in the original German if I thought that there was a snowball¡¯s chance in hell that I could just stare at him. The planes of his cheekbones were entrancing, the way the skin folded around his eyes, dark and sophisticated, an exquisiteness to the waves of his bluish-black hair. He had the bone structure of a model and the whole package of a man who was beauty personified.


    Composing himself, the gears turning in that gorgeous head, he finally replied with: ¡°OK, yeah, her. Well, so, Trevor¡¯s supposed to be there.¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s here with me.¡±


    ¡°This is your house? You¡¯re Darla?¡± he asked.


    I pulled the door shut quickly and then realized that my breasts were hanging right around my bellybutton. Dammit! I actually did need my bra. And shoes would help too. ¡°Just a minute,¡± I said, my finger in his face buying me a second as I scurried back into my little home.


    Fumbling to pull off my shirt, I looked down at Trevor. Should I wake him up? Tell him Joe¡¯s here? This was going to be the end, and any second now he¡¯d be gone. This couldn¡¯t be the way that it ended. And yet, it had to end, didn¡¯t it?


    I felt kind of stupid, now extra stupid, for telling him what had happened with Mama and Daddy¡¯s accident. There was really only one person I could talk to about that and she was out in Boston right now. Why was I thinking about Aunt Josie when I had the most incredible man I¡¯d ever found by the side of the road ¨C OK, the only man I¡¯d ever found by the side of the road, but he was still pretty fucking incredible ¨C in my bed, covered in my scent, my juices, our minglings still floating through the air. And then another guy, standing outside my little house, waiting for something.


    Whatever it was, I needed to figure out how to give it because pretty soon people were going to start to really nose their way in to my business.


    Socks. Shoes. Bra. A little deodorant and a quick brush through my hair and I stepped back outside, grinning wide. Again I was dumbstruck. It was like looking at someone not quite human. When Joe smiled politely, of course his teeth were perfectly straight and so even it was as if they¡¯d been filed down. Dimples appeared as the smile deepened into a grin and he said, ¡°Trevor¡¯s passed out?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said slowly, nodding.


    ¡°Did he get high again?¡± There was a resignation in Joe¡¯s voice and I took the moment to search his body up and down; yellow Polo shirt, faded jeans, white sneakers ¨C nothing special in the clothes department. He could have been any guy in Cleveland, or Columbus, or Pittsburgh, but the way he wore them, how the clothes hung on his angles, on his bulging muscles was¡­all of this was making me drool and sigh and turn into an insipid idiot.


    So it was time to just be a regular idiot and say, ¡°No, not high. He¡¯s just tired.¡±


    ¡°Ahh,¡± Joe¡¯s eye¡¯s twinkled. ¡°You rode him hard.¡±


    I pulled my face back a bit. ¡°That¡¯s awfully presumptuous of you.¡±


    ¡°What is?¡± he said languidly, a sharp contrast to the nervous man he¡¯d been just moments ago.


    ¡°Assuming I slept with Trevor.¡±


    ¡°Not a commentary on you, Darla,¡± he said, protesting, holding one palm out. ¡°I just know Trevor too well. There¡¯s no way he would be picked up by a woman hitchhiking naked and not sleep with her.¡±


    Joe


    I¡¯d spent the better part of the last two hours this morning being chewed out by Trevor¡¯s mom, who kept asking where he was and demanding I put him on the phone as I catapulted myself as fast as possible through the lost journey down I-76 in the bowels of Pennsylvania and, now, Ohio. I had the set of clothes he¡¯d abandoned in his basement, along with his iPhone and wallet. Idiot.


    Of all the fuck-ups Trevor had been involved in, this was easily the biggest one and it tasted a little too much like one of those Hangover movies, which are very funny in a frat-boy way but that leave much to be desired when you¡¯re the friend who has to rescue the main character. If this woman Darla had a Capuchin monkey in that little potting shed where Trevor was snoring behind her, then that was it. I was done.


    Darla came out of the shed, closed the door and smiled at me like a crazy, wild woman. What the hell had Trevor gotten into? This place looked like something out of My Name Is Earl. This wasn¡¯t funny anymore. Eleven hours of driving had been bad enough. Doing it alone, listening to all of the recorded lectures for my health care law class, which I had to get an A in, in order to secure my spot at BC Law, had been bad enough. But showing up here and being ocularly devoured by this curvy, bouncy chick who had just bagged Trevor was over the top.

 Page 14

    Ruining one of my brand new shoes on her porch made me resent the trip even more. Most of all, though, I knew that Mrs. Connor was going to rip me a new asshole if I didn¡¯t get Trevor home immediately. Of all the parents among my friends, the Connors were the most controlling. Trevor didn¡¯t care, but that¡¯s because most of us wanted what our parents wanted for us. He didn¡¯t.


    It was seamless and easy to just say, ¡°Sure, OK, what do you want me to do?¡± But Trevor was different. Trevor was a wild, wild beast. The kind of guy I admired and wished I could be, but who scared me, too, because I couldn¡¯t grasp how my best friend since kindergarten had turned into a complete stranger when it came to everything music. Once we started our band it was like a demon rose up from him and made everything irrelevant ¨C unless it was music. Our music. Playing bass was an afterthought for me, something I squeezed in so I¡¯d have an excuse to hang out with Trev. At first it was just us ¨C he played guitar and sang, while I fumbled around and taught myself how to do some basic chords. We added Trev¡¯s next-door neighbor, Liam, and a drummer from the debate team at the neighboring high school, Sam.Advertisement


    A band was born. Trevor drove everything, though, from the rehearsals to gigs to just being a fucking maniac about it. He was like Tucker Max on the prowl for pussy ¨C except Trevor wanted sound. Harmony. Awesomeness through the chords and the lyrics and all of it, like a man possessed. Getting high after practice was the only way to get him to come down.


    That he stole all my stolen peyote and ended up naked wearing only a guitar held some sort of symbolism, but right now I couldn¡¯t dissect it. Literary essays weren¡¯t high on my priority list.


    She wouldn¡¯t stop staring at me, this Darla chick, standing in the sun with her mouth open a bit, lips glistening. I got that a lot. Women kept calling me all sorts of names like a young Patrick Dempsey, only cute, or ¡®that Italian dude from Vogue¡¯. My parents had pushed me into modeling but I didn¡¯t like it. Too much attention ¨C not my style. This whole mess with Trevor was too much attention, Darla now openly watching me, making me think she was a little unhinged.


    I could see what Trevor saw in her, though, There was something kind of magnetic about her. She wasn¡¯t particularly our type ¨C as if we had a type. We didn¡¯t really have much choice in the women that we interacted with ¨C it was more whatever was there, like eating at a buffet and thinking that those were your only choices, ever. There were no women who looked like her at school and when she said, ¡°How about we go get a cup of coffee?¡± I had a feeling she didn¡¯t mean Starbucks.


    Trevor snorted awake just as she said the words and then sat up, his rock hard dick poking out from under the thin blanket. He looked just like he¡¯d looked the night of his party, completely naked, a smattering of hair down his chest thickening where it thickened on all of us. The fucker had that perfect athlete¡¯s body completely effortlessly, never needing to work out like I did. He just could jump on a bike and go for a hundred mile ride or take a kayak out for a ten mile journey without conditioning his body in between. It filled me with instant rage to think how effortlessly everything came to Trevor ¨C even wild women.


    ¡°Hey, Trev, fancy meeting you here,¡± I said. Darla snickered.


    ¡°Oh, God, Joe, you¡¯re here.¡± If that was supposed to be a tone of gratitude it wasn¡¯t even close.


    ¡°Yeah, about that,¡± I said, pulling out my phone. ¡°Your mom is psycho right now.¡±


    ¡°Fuuuuuuuck,¡± he groaned, holding his head in his hands.


    Darla walked back into her¡­whatever you call this shack, and motioned for me to come in. I walked in. Cool little place she built, actually. Did she live here? Is this how it worked in trailer land? A chicken half-flew past, some kind of guinea hen that looked starved. A kitten followed it. It was missing one leg and had a pink bow around its fluffy white neck, like a quality control reject from the Hello Kitty factory.


    Darla stood with her back to us, off to my right, while Trevor leaned back and plunked his head on the pillow, grinning madly at me. I rolled my eyes and looked for a place to sit down. There wasn¡¯t any so I just grabbed a spot on the floor, on a carpet square that reminded me of kindergarten. She had a bunch of them strewn in neat little patterns around the floor. I guessed this shed was about what? 8¡¯X8¡¯? Something like that ¨C no bigger than the one we used to store our tractor mower in at home. If this was her home then Trevor and I were worlds away from Sudborough.


    She opened a can, the snick of a seal being broken, and then I watched her do something with a manual can opener. They still make those? I heard the sound of water pouring and then the slow gurgle, a sound I knew from my Grandma¡¯s house. It was a coffee maker, the kind that used a basket filter and had a pot. Not like the one at home ¨C we used the Keurigs now or Mom pulled out the espresso machine.


    Trevor looked at me and said, ¡°What the hell happened to me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, man,¡± I said. What the hell did happen to you? I thought. ¡°Like I told you, you took all that peyote.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the one who got it,¡± Trevor protested.


    ¡°I got it out of the evidence room. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d sit down and eat all of it.¡±


    ¡°All of it? I really ate all of it? I thought I must be remembering that wrong.¡±


    Darla turned around, her eyes wide with surprise. ¡°You ate all of it?¡± she asked Trevor. He just shrugged. Whipping around to me, she asked, ¡°How much was there?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I held my hands up to try to indicate the size of the bag and Darla started choking with laughter.


    ¡°Holy shit, Trevor! No wonder you were high as a fucking kite when I found you and that was¡­how long? Twelve hours? More than that? After you went missing. You¡¯re crazy.¡±


    The look he shot her was more intimate than anything I¡¯d ever seen him give anyone, including me, his best friend. ¡°It got me here, didn¡¯t it?¡± he said.


    She softened and smiled back, matching his affection. ¡°I hope,¡± she said, ¡°it won¡¯t take another giant bag of peyote to get you to come back.¡±


    Trevor


    I had never been so happy to see Joe in my entire life ¨C and that included the time someone at school had stolen my shirt from my gym bag during gym class and replaced it with a Yankees t-shirt on opening day. He¡¯d saved me from having the shit kicked out of me in our Boston suburb. That had been super lame compared to this. What kind of friend drives eleven hours to rescue you, goes into a trailer park that might as well have been the streets of New Delhi compared to Sudborough, and rescues you?


    If I was so grateful to see him, why was I also so sad that he was here? Making love with Darla last night had been unbelievable, wild and carefree, tender and powerful. She instilled in me a sense of what it must feel like to break every rule in your life, to reject the pre-programmed set of guidelines that made everything function on autopilot. I wanted to run away from everything, ignore final exams, set aside my law school acceptance letters, reject my parents¡¯ notion that I needed to become a lawyer ¨C tell them all to fuck off and just go out on the road and sing my fucking heart out.


    Maybe I could convince Joe to join me. A laugh escaped me and Joe and Darla looked at me again as if I were a little unhinged, a little dangerous. And they were right ¨C I was. There is nothing more dangerous than someone who comes to realize that the reality they¡¯ve been force-fed isn¡¯t the only option.


    ¡°You know, your dick is pretty amazing, dude, but put something on and cover it up,¡± Joe said.


    I threw a balled up sock at him and he threw one back so I slipped the sock over it, then stood up.


    ¡°We¡¯re Random Acts of Crazy, not the Red Hot Chili Peppers,¡± Joe chided.


    The coffee maker sent out the most delicious scent of java. It was probably just some cheap brand of coffee, and not the espresso I¡¯d become accustomed to, but I didn¡¯t care. Anything would help right now to give me some focus, take away my caffeine withdrawal and make all of this last a little longer. I was going to leave Darla any minute now, go back to my life ¨C and it felt like having something ripped from me fiber by fiber, bone crunching against bone.


    Darla frowned, then took a really good look at Joe, at me, my erection, and back to Joe. ¡°Oh my God, you¡¯re Joe Ross, aren¡¯t you?¡± She gawked at him, triggering some twisted bit of jealously in me. Women looked at Joe like he was some kind of museum man, an animated sculpture from Roman or Greek times. Any other woman and I wouldn¡¯t have cared.


    Darla? For some reason, I cared.


    He shrugged. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the bass player for Random Acts.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, scuffling his foot on the floor and looking down. Of the four of us, Joe was the most humble, the guy who thought he was along for the ride just because he was my best friend. He was also the least committed to the idea that we could break out as a rock band. I don¡¯t think, though, that it was because he didn¡¯t think he had what it took, or that he didn¡¯t think that we had what it would take to make it big. It¡¯s more that Joe was the one who was the biggest conformist, the guy who did live that pre-programmed life because it was what was expected of him.


    Stolen peyote excepted. That was a crazy outlier moment for him, the first time I¡¯d ever known him to be so bold. He¡¯d shrugged it off as no big deal, but it made me wonder.


    ¡°So you¡¯re telling me I have two out of four members of one of my favorite bands sitting in here in my little purple passion place ¨C ¡± Joe made a snorting sound, a choked noise of shock, ¡° ¨C and we¡¯re about to enjoy a cup of coffee like polite strangers?¡±


    I took two steps toward Darla and cozied my sock covered dick up against her hip, leaning down, breathing quietly into her ear. ¡°It¡¯s your pink passion place that I like most. And we¡¯re not strangers anymore,¡± I hissed.


    She pressed against me and I heard Joe clear his throat. ¡°Ahem¡­Get a room, guys,¡± he said.


    ¡°You¡¯re in it,¡± Darla announced and grabbed my balls, gave them a gentle, playful squeeze.


    Darla


    If you had told me a week ago that I would have Trevor Connor and Joe Ross from Random Acts sitting in my little purple passion place I would have told you you were crazy. There are a lot of things you could have told me that would have made me tell you you were nuts.


    Most of them had happened to me in the past twelve hours.


    But this one? The two hottest guys from my favorite band? Un-fucking-real. It was like the time space continuum had ripped into shreds and poured out all the hope and joy in the universe into the armpit of Ohio and added a huge jar of Nutella to it. It seemed so domestic, so June Cleaver of me, to pour a cup of coffee for each man. I only had two mugs in my place because why have more than two when no one ever came here? Just me. What was I going to do, have a third mug for the stray cat or for the neighbor¡¯s chicken that roamed all over the place?


    The two men, Joe on the floor, Trevor sitting reclined on my bed, my uncle¡¯s tube sock still covering his now limp penis, made for quite a picture. If I were the type to go on Facebook and record every fart, sigh, and perceived insult, who photographed, non-stop, every moment of my life as if the only way to remember it was to capture it in an image like someone who was brain impaired and needed that chronicling, then I¡¯d have been snapping pictures like crazy. It was unfortunate that I didn¡¯t do that, really, and that anyway, my cheap little flip phone didn¡¯t have that feature, because this would be one hell of a picture.

 Page 15

    Instead, I blinked slowly, as if my eyes were a camera shutter, so that I could freeze my brain, extract the memory at any given time of the bliss of just this. Aunt Josie wasn¡¯t gonna believe it. She didn¡¯t believe half the shit that came out of my mouth, but she really wasn¡¯t gonna believe that I could have a dream-come-true moment like this. We¡¯d both given up on dreams, probably the night our daddies died.


    She¡¯d been begging me to move in with her ever since she¡¯d got out of this hellhole, but I¡¯d been held back in by Mama and all her needs. It felt good to have my needs fulfilled and as Trevor sipped his coffee he looked at me, puzzled, and said, ¡°What about you, Darla?¡±Advertisement


    Oh my God, could the man read my mind? Was I that transparent? ¡°What about me?¡± I said, a cagey tone seeping in.


    Joe set his cup down, looked at Trevor, looked at me and said, ¡°He¡¯s right, where¡¯s your coffee?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m fine,¡± I said, not wanting to admit that I didn¡¯t have another cup.


    Trevor stood, pulled the sock off himself, and started to get dressed.


    ¡°About time,¡± Joe said, taking another sip.


    ¡°Hey, man, I spent twenty-four hours buck naked doing God knows what.¡±


    ¡°I know what you were doing,¡± Joe said, shooting me a jaunty, slightly naughty, incredibly evil little grin.


    ¡°We were only doing that part of the time,¡± I said innocently, batting my eyelashes. ¡°I have no idea what happened to him before I found him.¡±


    ¡°Nevertheless,¡± Trevor interrupted. ¡°I¡¯m getting dressed now but it¡¯s not my natural state anymore.¡±


    Joe snorted, coffee almost spraying everywhere but he held it in, a general politeness and decorum in all of his actions. As I spent more time with the two of them, even these twenty minutes or so, I saw how much of it was in Trevor too. There was a gentility that was bred into them ¨C or maybe it was just forced into them ¨C by so many years of being taught, or scolded, or both. It was what people around here would call snobbery ¨C or in a more slang way they would say, You think you¡¯re better than us?


    There was a tone of that in both men, that kind of politeness, that kind of polished pattern to their words, the perfect grammar (unless they were talking smack on purpose), the near-flawless eye contact, the gestures that were well thought out and sophisticated. The whole way that they operated in one smooth, collected, classy way. No one in my life acted like this ¨C and for sure no man in my life acted like this. I just liked watching the two of them, but I especially liked watching Trevor¡¯s body as he slipped into the ill fitting clothes ¨C which prompted Joe to take a final swig of his coffee, hand me the cup, and jump up out the door.


    ¡°Wait, don¡¯t get dressed yet.¡± He held up one finger and sprinted outside.


    ¡°Which is it?¡± Trevor complained. ¡°You want me to get dressed. You want me to not get dressed. What the hell?¡±


    ¡°Maybe he wants a threesome,¡± I joked, winking at Trevor ¨C who went dead still.


    He turned around to me with exquisite clarity and said, nostrils flaring, eyes widening, hands reaching out for me, ¡°Is that an option?¡±


    God knows what I might have blurted out ¨C my mouth seems possessed half the time, conduit for God the other half ¨C so I was grateful when Joe burst back into the room holding a small paper bag, the kind you get at really nice grocery stores that we don¡¯t have around here.


    ¡°I brought you a change of clothes,¡± he said, shoving the bag at Trevor.


    Still staring at me, Trevor seemed reluctant to end our conversation. I was grateful, though, for Joe¡¯s intervention saving me from needing to answer a question no man had ever asked and that I¡¯d assumed no man would ever ask. Around here, a threesome meant some good ol¡¯ boy who got so drunk that he hired two women to come service him because he forgot about the first one and then ended up too drunk to perform for either of them but owed one fuck of a lot of money.


    Trevor¡¯s idea, though, had an edge to it, something that would tip us into a new dimension. I wanted to make sure before I answered that he meant what I thought he meant. Even if he didn¡¯t, the better route was to say nothing. So, thank you Jesus, thank you God, thank you Joe.


    Breaking eye contact, Trevor looked in the bag. ¡°Awesome,¡± he said, nodding, pulling out a cotton t-shirt that had some sort of joke I didn¡¯t get on it, a pair of jeans that slipped onto him like a glove, his own socks, and a pair or Merrills. He dressed with unthinking familiarity and grace. Now he just looked like any old college student.


    Fumbling under the bed, he found what he was searching for and put the straw hat on his head.


    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± Joe asked, laughing.


    ¡°Beats me.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what he had on him when I met him,¡± I said. ¡°Well¡­not on him. All he wore was a guitar and a collar.¡±


    Joe gaped at me. ¡°A guitar?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it. Just standing there on I-76 with his thumb in the air and a big old silly grin on his face.¡±


    ¡°When you put it that way, who wouldn¡¯t stop for him?¡±


    I opened my mouth to respond, but Trevor stopped me cold.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Trevor whispered, his hand snaking over my hip. The way he touched me, like he possessed me ¨C I liked it. His lips were next to my ear and I shivered. ¡°Thanks for last night.¡±


    I turned around, found myself in his arms and looked up. ¡°No, the pleasure was all mine,¡± I said, smiling.


    Joe cleared his throat and stepped outside. ¡°We really need to get on the road,¡± he called out. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the sorry one,¡± Trevor said, his eyes full of mourning. I imagine mine were filled with more. He kissed me softly and then suddenly, like a drowning man, his hands were all over me, grabbing my ass, sliding over my ribs, cupping a breast. The passion was like a dying man going after his last meal before execution. I felt it too, the desperation, but the words that kept going through my head weren¡¯t going to come out.


    No, they weren¡¯t. Dammit.


    I wasn¡¯t going to ask, I wasn¡¯t gonna say we¡¯ll meet again or you can always come back or any of the other things that raced through my brain a million times a minute because I wasn¡¯t going to be that girl. I wouldn¡¯t beg. I wouldn¡¯t plead. If someone like Trevor Connor wanted me he knew damn well where I was and he could find me. The hurt I¡¯d risk from asking would wipe away all the pleasure and the fun of the past day. I could risk having my heart broken by having him leave, but I couldn¡¯t risk having him break my heart by saying he wouldn¡¯t come back.


    ¡°Hang on,¡± he said, pulling away breathless ¨C and then he trotted outside and said something to Joe.


    Joe came back in and said, ¡°Can I get another cup of coffee before we hit the road? I¡¯m exhausted and Trevor can drive but ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± I stopped him in mid-sentence, poured him a cup. ¡°It¡¯s good. It¡¯s all cool. Where¡¯s Trevor?¡±


    ¡°He just went out to talk to his mom.¡±


    ¡°Oh, OK,¡± I said quietly.


    For some reason I could hold it together when Trevor was in the room, next to me, his scent filling the air, but Joe was a stranger. He sat in silence. I didn¡¯t know too many people who could do that. Actually, I didn¡¯t know any people who could do that, including me. His body was tight, a bit nervous, as if he weren¡¯t quite comfortable in that beautiful skin of his. I wondered why not. If I looked as perfect as he did I¡¯d walk around all day admiring myself and being the most comfortable person in the room.


    My mind clung to that brief little interlude just so that I could keep the tears at bay. Trevor was leaving, this madness was done, and my life¡­well, the clich¨¦d thing to say would be my life would never be the same but that was a big load of shit and I knew it. My life would go back to being the same. The same thing every day, the same job which, by the way, I had to be at today at four o¡¯clock, working a stupid four to nine shift. The same everything. Trevor had come into my life ¨C a hitchhiker who took me for a ride when it came down to it. And now Joe was here to take Trevor back to his world and leave me stewing in mine.


    I looked around my little cottage and suddenly it seemed so silly, so child-like. A little girl¡¯s attempt at an escape from a very dismal reality. Maybe that was it? I thought as I let the tears fill my eyes, because fuck it, if Joe was gonna see me cry, Joe was gonna see me cry. When Trevor came back in he¡¯d find a red-faced Darla and if I was never gonna see him again then why did I care?


    I felt like a little four year old again, confused and not knowing why I was so sad, except now I was twenty-two and I knew exactly why I was so sad. Because I was losing the one guy I¡¯d ever responded to on every level and that had to be OK. I had to be OK with it.


    But I wasn¡¯t OK.


    ¡°So you play with Random Acts of Crazy,¡± I said to Joe, hearing the shake in my own voice, hoping he was polite enough to pretend it wasn¡¯t there.


    That blindingly beautiful face turned to me. He leaned back in his chair, a little awkward now, but trying to give the impossible impression of casualness. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Oh, boy. This one was talkative.


    ¡°And are you going to keep going on tour with Trevor?¡± I said slowly, trying to figure this guy out. Breathe, Darla, breathe, I told myself. Get through the moment and you¡¯ll be OK. Trevor will be back in a minute. Let the man¡¯s mom chew him out. Let him come back and say his goodbyes.


    Joe looked completely stumped by that question. ¡°Tour? We¡¯re not ¨C we don¡¯t do this seriously,¡± he said, shrugging.


    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡± I said, incredulous. ¡°You realize how much of a following you guys have online?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s online,¡± Joe scoffed, waving his hand. He took a sip of his coffee and peered at me as if completely oblivious to the force that those men had become in indie music circles. As our eyes locked, we held the stare for a few seconds longer then we should have and then I broke away because it was weird. Like, really weird. There¡¯s no way someone like that would want someone like me.


    You said that about Trevor, a voice whispered in my ear.


    Yeah, another voice said, and he¡¯s leaving.


    Joe


    Well, this was awkward. More awkward than walking in on Trevor and Darla naked ¨C or nearly naked. I could see what Trevor saw in her even though this woman was nothing like any of the chicks he normally banged. She was big, curvy, and what people would call full-figured back in my grandmother¡¯s generation. In Massachusetts other women our age would call her fat and maybe she was, a little bit ¨C but there was a deep confidence in the way that she moved her body that made her seem more substantial, more present ¨C more there. Like someone who was real and grounded and firm.


    Nobody back home would have given her two looks. Our friends would have just passed her by, so I wondered why Trevor picked her. The more I watched her, and then the more I tried not to watch her, the more I was drawn to something.


    But where the hell was Trevor? This was taking too long and I was sick and tired of being chewed out by his mom. We needed to get on the road so I could get him back at a reasonable enough hour that all of this could just go away. Plus we had finals coming up. I wasn¡¯t going to blow my senior year finals and not be able to go to law school in the fall. That would be the biggest fucking nightmare of my life and the fallout from my parents would¡­well, even Trevor wasn¡¯t worth that.

 Page 16

    Something in the way Darla shifted her head made me turn and look, and I saw tears in her eyes. Oh, shit. Of course she was upset. Trevor was that kind of guy that you got upset over. At least, the chicks did. He had this way about him that made people feel bigger, and better, and smarter, and wilder than they really were. Which is exactly why I had to be careful around him ¨C because if I wasn¡¯t careful I¡¯d find myself driving six hundred miles through the night to pick him up from one of his crazy schemes.


    Oh. Wait. That¡¯s exactly what had just happened to me.Advertisement


    Instinct made me want to reach out and say the right thing, to comfort her, but what are you supposed to say? ¡°Hey, it was nice meeting the girl Trevor banged last night and uhh¡­see you¡­never?¡± There wasn¡¯t a script for this. No professional development class offered by the on-campus career center taught you what to do when your band mate takes too much of your stolen peyote and winds up in a state you¡¯ve barely heard of with a girl who lives in a potting shed. Or, if there was, my mom and my academic advisor had never signed me up for it.


    Speaking of moms, Trevor¡¯s was probably ripping him a new asshole right now. Man, that bitch could scream. Everybody had wondered what happened to Trevor. I still didn¡¯t remember. I just woke up passed out in the basement of his house and he was gone. All that was left were his clothes, and thank God he had called me, finally, because lying to his mom had been getting harder and harder.


    Judy had been the one to figure out that he really was gone. His shoes were still there, his clothes, his phone, his wallet, everything, and all that was missing was his acoustic guitar. And Trevor. He and I had eleven hours of driving ahead of us, and I supposed that I would learn the story. It would probably be another Trevor story, some half-assed, half-fiction, half-real yarn that he would spin to make everyone come out looking good and to make his own folly seem amusing.


    He was half Tucker Max and half Jack Kerouac all tied up in a Gordon Gekko bow. Of all the guys I knew and had gone to school with over the years, each one of us groomed for med school, law school, an MBA, and in rare cases a Ph.D., Trevor was the one who had the whole package ¨C but he was also the one with the biggest rebellious streak. Seeing what that looked like now, as we were about to launch fully into our trajectories, was kind of scary.


    Trevor


    Walking out of Darla¡¯s little place, I stepped out into the sunlight, feeling the warmth on my skin, making me realize just how crazy the past who the hell knows had been. Had it really only been thirty-six hours since I¡¯d been in my own basement back in Sudborough? Two thirds of that time I had no memory of, and of the rest I remembered every second of. The past twelve hours with Darla like an entire lifetime lived in half a day.


    How could I walk away from that? I felt my gut tighten, my chest swell, muscles in me coming alive that needed to be there, and exercised, and moved, and pushed to some sort of limit. I wanted to go and run a hundred miles, or ride a bike around the country, to swim across a great lake, to do anything but walk away from her.


    A fleeting image of going home with Darla in tow made me laugh, a little too maniacally on the inside. My mom would fall over in a dead faint if I brought someone like her home, and my dad would probably give me an atta boy and then purse his lips with disapproval and pour himself another Seven and Seven when he realized I was serious.


    Besides, she had a life here. Opening up to me last night, cradled in my arms, she¡¯d told me all about what had happened to her and damn, did I feel like a fucking fool. But her life was not mine and mine wasn¡¯t hers, so this had to end. I had to leave, right?


    Walking outside, I punched my mother¡¯s phone number into my phone and she picked up on the second ring. ¡°That better be you, Trevor,¡± her sharp voice cut through the glass of the iPhone.


    ¡°No Mom, it¡¯s Whitey Bulger.¡±


    ¡°Ha ha, very funny. If that¡¯s your way of telling me that you¡¯re a criminal on the run then we have a big problem here, mister.¡±


    I closed my eyes and felt my balls crawl up into my groin again. ¡°No. No crime, Mom. Other than the crime of not being under your thumb all the time.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± she snapped back.


    ¡°It means whatever you want it to mean, Mom.¡±


    ¡°Where are you?¡± she asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m just hanging with Joe.¡± In Ohio.


    A snort came through the phone. It sounds like a fart. ¡°Joe Ross has been lying thorough his teeth to me. I¡¯ve been talking with his mother and ¨C ¡±


    ¡°And what?¡± I countered. ¡°She¡¯s going to put him to bed early tonight? Ban him from playing with his Nintendo for a week? C¡¯mon, Mom. We¡¯re men. With lives.¡±


    The sharp inhale of a shocked gasp was all I heard for a long moment. ¡°Just come home,¡± she finally said. Never one to be wishy-washy, the steel in her voice made me grit my teeth. If Mom said jump, I was supposed to say How high? Not Fuck off.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get home eventually.¡±


    ¡°Get home as soon as possible,¡± she said. ¡°Your dad¡¯s really worried about you and so am I.¡±


    ¡°I know you are.¡±


    I was supposed to feel some sort of genuine affection and gratitude for the fact that she was worried about me, but right now I was pissed and didn¡¯t give a shit what she thought. She always wanted to know exactly where I was and what I was doing. I was a twenty-two-year-old man who was about to go into law school. When did I get to do what I wanted when I wanted and how I wanted?


    I heard whispering and then two voices arguing in the background, Mom popping back in a little louder than she should have been. ¡°OK, honey, so I¡¯ll see you. Be home within an hour.¡±


    Click.


    An hour. Yeah, right. My tongue rolled along the inside of my jawline and I could feel the muscles in my neck tightening, a familiar flash and heat of anger making the back of my skull go cold and hot, the alternating chill a flag for doing something ridiculously inappropriate.


    That was her phrase: ¡°That¡¯s ridiculously inappropriate,¡± she would say all the time when I was a child. Ridiculously inappropriate. She used it so much I almost named our band Ridiculously Inappropriate. If she¡¯d have allowed us to have a dog it would have been called ¡®RI¡¯.


    A few deep breaths didn¡¯t calm me down. Looking at the outside of Darla¡¯s little hovel did. In stark daylight it all looked worse. There was no real grass to speak of on the side of her house and the trailer was actually three or four different tones of a dull gray on the outside, with sections of the aluminum siding dented as if someone had kicked it all around the side, the holes about two feet off the ground, divots in the metal.


    A chicken, a little scrawny creature with red and brown feathers, cackled by. Probably the same one that was chased by a three-legged kitten earlier. Just standing here, letting the breeze float across my angry skin, my hair heavy against my scalp, the trailer park coming to life with people walking by and peering at me in confusion ¨C I took it all in.


    My life on the iPhone ¨C all the contacts, the phone calls, the text messages, the data plan where I downloaded and uploaded an electronic existence ¨C that wasn¡¯t real. It had seemed real for so long, back home and at school, that I found myself surprised by how little I cared about all the electronic messages.


    What was real right now was in front of my face, some sort of existential creation that I had conjured in a peyote haze. Whatever had gotten me from Massachusetts to Ohio, buck naked with a guitar and a hat, was more powerful than any edict my mother could hand down, stronger than any song I could sing at some college bar in some fake, plastic suburb of the fake, plastic region of the fake, plastic life that had been carved out for me.


    A deep wellspring of hunger for more, for dirt, for Guinea hens and dented siding, and sunlight, and wind and self possession built up in me like bile stuck in the back of my throat. As I walked back to the shed I saw Joe¡¯s car. The car I was supposed to get in in a few minutes and be carried back to my mother, back to finals week, back to my summer internship, and back to that basement sanctuary where, thirty-six hours ago, something deep in me had stripped down to the marrow and functioned on a completely different level, escape my only goal.


    Going back right now would be admitting defeat, to say that the impulse that had brought me here was irrational, that it was the outlier, that it was abnormal. What if that was wrong? What if everything I¡¯d been taught, everything I¡¯d been told, everything that I had been was abnormal and this¡­this turned out to be the truth?


    I made my way carefully into the trailer, needing a two-minute shower to cleanse my body and my thoughts. Cathy wasn¡¯t at the table, which was a relief. Gingerly, I walked down the little hallway into the bathroom, where a quick shower got me back to baseline, even if it didn¡¯t really diffuse my anger. Walking out into the door yard, the blinding light of the sun reflected my inner blinding rage.


    As if my hands were possessed by the same spirit that made me find my way here, something outside of me and yet deeply guided by an inner core that knew exactly what it was doing, I popped Joe¡¯s hood and started to randomly pull little tubes and wires, yanking not with abandon but with a precision that belied my ignorance about cars. I carefully tucked the little tubes and wires in so that it wouldn¡¯t be obvious what I¡¯d just done and then gently closed the latch.


    If I was right, I had just bought myself a few more hours here, my hands doing the dirty work of my inner soul. That I needed to steal a few hours by destroying the one method home pinged through my mind like a bullet ricocheting in an echo chamber.


    Joe shouted, ¡°Hey, Trevor! Come on!¡±


    A grin tickled my lips but I bit it back. My hands flexed into deep fists that made the small muscles around my knuckles ache. I¡¯m coming alright, I thought, but on my terms.


    Joe


    Trevor saved me from my own thoughts by bounding into this whatever-you-call-it¡­this purple shed¡­and saying, ¡°That was unpleasant.¡±


    ¡°What was that?¡± Darla said, wiping one tear out of her right eye.


    He ignored her, which I thought was a little brutal, and just looked at me. ¡°I just talked to my mom. She hates me.¡±


    ¡°No surprise.¡±


    ¡°She hates you, too.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. She says you were lying to her all night.¡±


    ¡°I was lying to her all night.¡± Darla blinked hard, over and over, the way you do when you¡¯re struggling to contain emotions that are so strong you don¡¯t want to display them and be vulnerable. She might consider me a pretentious asshole from Massachusetts but that didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t understand how hard it was to put up a good front when your heart told you to do anything but.


    ¡°Yeah, she figured that out.¡±


    ¡°No shit, of course they figured it out, Trevor. They always figure it out and we just lie because that¡¯s what we do and they scream at us because that¡¯s what they do.¡±


    ¡°Thanks for taking the heat.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome. Now get your ass in the car and let¡¯s go home.¡± A sympathetic part of me wanted to reach out and pat Darla¡¯s hand or assure her she would be OK after we left. Another part didn¡¯t care, and was more worried about our pissed off parents. Finals week was far too close and this rip in the fabric of our lives needed to end. Now.

 Page 17

    I stood up, walked to the threshold and figured I needed to give them a few minutes to say their goodbyes. A hard look at Trevor and I said, ¡°I¡¯ll be out in the car. I expect you in a minute.¡± And then I looked at Darla, her face turned away from me as Trevor stood over her, hands on her shoulders, a soft look on his face that was different from anything I¡¯d ever seen him direct at a chick.


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯ll be out in a minute,¡± Trevor said absentmindedly.Advertisement


    Then Darla turned and looked at me and said, ¡°Pleased to meet you, Joe.¡± She opened her mouth to say something else and then snapped it shut.


    ¡°Likewise,¡± I answered, nodding, and got the hell out of there to go wait in the car. I knew she was lying ¨C she was anything but pleased when it came to meeting me. She wanted me gone, and I was about to obey her every wish.


    Trevor was the one holding us up.


    Chapter Seven


    Darla


    As Joe walked out, I realized this was the moment. I had to steel myself for it, I had to be strong, I had to make sure I didn¡¯t make a fool of myself so I did what I always do and I opened my mouth and I blurted out the stupidest shit possible.


    ¡°I would love to see you again, Trevor,¡± I said. ¡°The next time you decide to eat a stupid shit amount of a mind-altering substance and travel naked six hundred miles, give me a visit.¡± Wink. Oh, God. I might as well have said ¡°Y¡¯all come back now, ya hear?¡± and thrown cornbread at him.


    He smiled gently, his fingers touching my cheekbones, traveling down to the nape of my neck, making me want to blurt out even stupider words, like I love you, like stay, like make babies with me, like take me with you, like write a song about me ¨C and I was damn close to saying all of those things but he just leaned in and shut my mouth up by pressing his against it.


    The kiss wasn¡¯t a goodbye kiss. It was more chaste than anything we¡¯d shared over the past handful of hours and that¡¯s what finally made me cry because it was less about passion ¨C which we¡¯d had plenty of in handfuls and spurts (no pun intended) ¨C but this was a kiss of sorrow, a kiss of regret, a kiss so sweet and endearing and apologetic and nostalgic that I could feel it ten years ago and ten years hence.


    What was Trevor doing, giving me a kiss like that? Bearing his soul to me with his lips, with his tongue, with fingertips that touched all the crying parts in me, all the aching cells, the mourning skin, the sad, sad heart that beat just for him right now. Everything I felt was so melodramatic and gratuitous and carved out of a Darla that I liked to pretend wasn¡¯t there. Trevor made me real. Trevor made me come out. The me that I always imagined was there, undamaged, untouched by the years of wondering what if? What if Daddy hadn¡¯t died? What if Mama had been OK? What if I¡¯d gone to college? My own what if ¨C thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster ¨C would never be what if I had just driven past the naked rock star by the side of the road?


    I may be stupid and I may make foolish choices but that one¡­that one I would never regret.


    Trevor¡¯s mouth pulled away and his eyes sought mine. ¡°It¡¯ll be OK,¡± he said. ¡°And of all the people in the world and of all the places in the world, Darla,¡± he leaned over and kissed my forehead and pulled back, that jaunty, sultry grin like warm chocolate. ¡°The next time I decide to escape my own life, naked and ready for anything, I¡¯ll make sure I¡¯m headed west.¡±


    Joe ruined what would have been an absolutely perfect Hallmark moment ¨C if Hallmark had a demented line of cards for shitstorms like this ¨C by thumping through the door and shouting, ¡°My fucking car won¡¯t start!¡±


    Something in Trevor¡¯s eyes was a little too mischievous for me to think that this was just a coincidence but I kept my mouth shut. Trevor¡¯s eyes widened, real big like a little kid trying to lie, and then he let his muscles relax. It was very intentional, as if he were focused on trying hard not to look like a liar, which I¡¯d been able to spot since I was a little kid.


    ¡°Really? Well, that¡¯s weird,¡± Trevor said.


    ¡°Shit!¡± Joe said. ¡°Shit, shit, shit.¡±


    ¡°Well, why don¡¯t you both go look under the hood?¡± I said. Four eyes lasered in on me as if I had just proposed that they perform a bowel resection.


    ¡°Look under the hood?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Just go see. Maybe something¡¯s loose or¡­I don¡¯t know.¡±


    Trevor looked at me, cocked his head and widened his eyes. I don¡¯t know what he was trying to communicate but I decided that I would just stop talking because as Mama always said I open my mouth and stupid shit pours out. So, if this was one of those times, then short of having him kiss me into silence, I would have to just do it myself.


    Not the kissing part, but the keeping my mouth shut part, which was a hell of a lot harder than it was for most people. See, I can¡¯t even stop talking right now.


    ¡°Is there a mechanic out here?¡± Joe snapped, waving his arms wildly as if ¡®out here¡¯ were some sort of giant field where the only thing you could see were alien crop circles and certified auto technicians.


    ¡°Yeah, there are plenty of them,¡± I said. ¡°Every guy in this trailer park¡¯s a mechanic. At least they¡¯re an amateur mechanic because around here you don¡¯t take your car somewhere unless it¡¯s an absolute emergency and¡­¡± I let my voice trail off. ¡°Hell, if my uncle were here I¡¯d tell him to come out and take a look.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not around?¡± Joe asked, looking nervously toward the trailer.


    ¡°No, he¡¯s a long haul trucker. He¡¯s out on the road, he won¡¯t be back until¡­¡± I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at it ¨C it read 11:19. ¡°Until a lot later today,¡± I said. ¡°And the first place he¡¯ll go is Jerry¡¯s Bar.¡±


    ¡°Great!¡± Joe shouted. ¡°So what am I supposed to do? What are we supposed to do? Your mom is going to kill us, Trev.¡±


    Joe¡¯s face had a tight kind of horror to it like a very prim and proper person who was reacting to a situation and trying to keep it within the bounds of the whole prim and proper thing but was actually unraveling on the inside. It was strange to watch because around here nobody bottled up their emotions when it came to anger. Of all the things we felt we were entitled to feel, anger was number one in this town.


    Trevor slipped his hand in my back pocket, leaned down and whispered, ¡°I guess this isn¡¯t goodbye just yet.¡±


    I shot him a dubious look, eyebrows flying high and said, ¡°Huh.¡±


    He grinned and we walked out to go and look at Joe¡¯s car.


    My mind formulated a plan: I would take a look under the hood and figure out just what kind of mess we were dealing with and then find someone here who might be able to take a look at it. Then again, anybody who was gonna look at the ca ¨C


    Oh, my fucking sweet Jesus!


    As we got within sight of Joe¡¯s car I realized just how difficult this one was gonna to be. It was a BMW and I don¡¯t know nothing about brand new cars like that, but this thing looked to be so clean, so shiny, and so new it might as well have been in a womb.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡± I said. ¡°What is that?¡±


    I don¡¯t think I¡¯d ever seen a car that didn¡¯t have a rust spot on it, much less one that looked like an alien spaceship. Might as well have been, at least ¨C and yes, I know that¡¯s hyperbolic. But it was like Joe had landed here with some new technology that people wouldn¡¯t understand for the next twenty years.


    See, we all drive beaters, unless you¡¯re someone who drives a work truck for a living and then you get a decent Ford from your foreman. So, the trailer park was filled with old, rusted out Cadillac DeVilles, Chevies of assorted ages ranging from the Chevette to the Caprice, a lot of Ford F10 trucks and absolutely no foreign cars of any kind unless you count the rusted out, old VW van over in Mr. Jenkins¡¯ side yard which was currently acting as his chicken coop.


    Helping Joe get his BMW fixed was going to be about as easy in this town as finding someone fluent in Croatian. That didn¡¯t mean you wouldn¡¯t find someone, it just meant that it was gonna take a while, that we would have to increase our search radius ¨C and that, whatever the result was, no one was going to be happy. Except for Trevor, who was suppressing a grin and grabbing my ass like it was discontinued and would not be available in stock for ages.


    Joe climbed in the front seat, shoved the key in the ignition and turned. Ruur ruuur ruuur rur. It wouldn¡¯t turn over. He was going to drain the battery if he kept going. He slammed his hands against the wheel and screamed some rageful, guttural growl that almost made me laugh because the combination of his perfect, exquisite face, gorgeous, graceful body, and that scream was comical. I couldn¡¯t take him seriously. Trevor started giggling too. Joe just started muttering and grabbed his phone and texted someone.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m doing a search.¡±


    ¡°Oh. What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m searching for BMW dealers in this area.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°You¡¯ll have to go to Cleveland or Pittsburgh for one of those.¡±


    ¡°How far is that?¡± he asked, naive and innocent.


    ¡°I¡­uh¡­¡± I stumbled. How could I tell him that we were talking about a fifty plus mile tow? ¡°A good hour.¡±


    ¡°Shit!¡± he screamed. ¡°There¡¯s no one in town who can fix this?¡±


    My mind sorted through the options. Who could possibly¡­? And then I thought about how close to home the answer really was.


    ¡°There is only one guy,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯s not a BMW mechanic but if anybody can fix it, it¡¯s him.¡±


    ¡°Who is it?¡± Joe shrieked. He looked at his phone and said, ¡°Damn it, you¡¯re right. Goddammit! Nearest BMW dealer fifty-eight point four miles. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my uncle,¡± I said.


    Joe went pale. ¡°But you said he¡¯s not home until tonight.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he¡¯s not. He¡¯s probably not home until more like nine or ten o¡¯clock.¡±


    Like Trevor moments ago, Joe seemed to take all the tension in all his body and forcibly melt his muscles, as if programmed to trigger some kind of relaxation inside of him. He took a couple deep breaths, leaned back in the driver¡¯s seat and stared up at the visor, sighing. ¡°OK, there¡¯s nothing I can do about this.¡±


    He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a small baggie, and started stuffing tobacco into a pipe.


    Wait ¨C that wasn¡¯t tobacco.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I hissed, running over to the window.


    ¡°I¡¯m toking up,¡± he said. ¡°I have to do something to chill out here. This is ¨C I can¡¯t believe ¨C my mom is going to freak. I¡¯m already ¨C ¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t do that here. Not in public,¡± I said. ¡°If you wanna do that come in my house.¡±


    He looked at the trailer. ¡°No fucking way I¡¯m going in there with your mom in there.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean my little house.¡±

 Page 18

    ¡°The shed?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I do it right here? It¡¯s perfectly legal.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I screeched.


    Then his face closed off and he shoved the baggie under his crotch, the pot spilling out a few little pieces onto the floor. ¡°Oh, shit, that¡¯s right. We¡¯re not in Massachusetts.¡±


    ¡°No, Dorothy, you¡¯re not in Kansas anymore,¡± I said. ¡°What does not being in Massachusetts have to do with anything?¡±


    Trevor came up behind me and whispered in my ear. ¡°In Massachusetts it¡¯s decriminalized if you have under an ounce.¡±


    I pinged my head between the two of them, looking at them. ¡°You drove through how many states? Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, New York, and now Ohio with pot in your glove compartment? Are you out of your fucking mind? And you two are going to be fucking lawyers? Pfft. I don¡¯t know what kind of education they give people in Massachusetts but it sounds like you two got an F in basic common sense.¡±


    Joe sheepishly stuffed all his paraphernalia back into the baggie and under the seat. ¡°Sorry,¡± he grumbled.


    ¡°Around here, that could make someone lose parole.¡± Shaking my head, I saw a guilty confusion fill Trevor¡¯s face. ¡°Just be discreet and don¡¯t let it near the trailer. Mama would kill me.¡±


    Joe laughed. ¡°Back home it¡¯s a $120 or so fine.¡±


    Everything came easy for him, didn¡¯t it? In Massachusetts, even drugs were no big deal.


    This was starting to get out of hand. Hah! Starting? I could tell I needed to take control. These two amazing, virile men standing before me and I was the one who had to exert my authority. You do what you have to do, right? So I said, ¡°Look, let me go take my pathetic little flip phone here,¡± Trevor rolled his eyes and Joe got a puzzled look on his face, ¡°and go call the person I know who can help us. The problem is, yeah, he won¡¯t be back until late tonight but he can help. You OK with that?¡±


    I stared hard at Joe. It was pretty obvious that the only answer was yes. ¡°Yes,¡± he said.


    Good boy.


    I marched away and fished the phone out of my pocket, dialed my uncle¡¯s number and waited.


    He was a big man, quiet, and had helped raise me¡­when he was home. Being a long haul trucker meant that he wasn¡¯t home that much, a night here and there on the weekends and then longer stretches if he was out of work. From what Mama said he wasn¡¯t much like my daddy who had been a bit more cultured, if wild ¨C she always said that I got my wild streak from my daddy and I got my intelligence from her. I don¡¯t know how much of that is true because I don¡¯t remember my father.


    At least, I don¡¯t remember much of him that hasn¡¯t been tainted by other people¡¯s stories of him, as if the re-telling grounded it in my mind, making it real. Maybe that¡¯s why it was so strange to have Trevor here, and now Joe, because if I felt more real when I was with him then what was real? But right now I didn¡¯t have time for any of that.


    Uncle Mike answered the phone. ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s up there? It¡¯s Darla.¡±


    ¡°Yup, I know. I got caller I.D..¡±


    ¡°Umm¡­. I¡¯ve got some friends here with a broken car and I¡¯m wondering when are you getting back?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m back tonight ¡¯round nine.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m off my shift at nine. Can you meet us here at home and take a look?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. What kind of car is it?¡±


    ¡°Umm¡­.it¡¯s a¡­what year is your car, Joe?¡± I shouted.


    ¡°2013.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a 2013 BMW.¡±


    Silence. That¡¯s about what I expected for an answer.


    ¡°What kind of friends you got there, Darla Jo?¡± he asked slowly.


    ¡°New friends,¡± I said, doing my best Chippie Pete imitation. ¡°New friends.¡±


    ¡°Darla, the only people in our area who drive a 2013 BMW are people driving through.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said. ¡°But they¡¯re friends and it¡¯s broken so can you help or not?¡± The pain of what he¡¯d just said was like a stab in my ribs. I had to breathe through it like a stitch in my side that would eventually go away if I just ignored it enough.


    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll be there,¡± he said, yawning.


    ¡°You tired?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m always tired, sweetheart, but I¡¯ll help you.¡±


    ¡°OK, thanks.¡± Click. He hung up before I could and I went back and said, ¡°He¡¯ll be here around nine tonight.¡±


    Joe looked at his phone and checked the time. ¡°That¡¯s almost ten hours.¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no other option?¡±


    ¡°Nope. Welcome to Ohio, the heart of it all,¡± I said.


    Trevor slung an arm around my shoulders. I could get used to this. ¡°What are we going to do for the next ten hours?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, reluctantly. ¡°It¡¯s more like five hours,¡± I said, thinking it through. ¡°I have to work at four.¡±


    ¡°Where do you work?¡±


    ¡°The gas station.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a career,¡± Joe muttered.


    ¡°Around here, it is,¡± I said. The rich boy, snotty stuff was coming out, just like with Trevor and my phone and I wasn¡¯t gonna take any of that shit.


    Trevor nudged him and then shook his head slightly. Joe picked up on it and said, ¡°Fine. What the hell are we going to do around here?¡±


    He looked around and spotted a naked two year old running down the steps of a trailer with a naked one year old following, stumbling along in the path while their mom chased after them with bath towels. Trevor laughed and pointed and said, ¡°I already did that. Let¡¯s find something else to do.¡±


    ¡°What do you do?¡± Joe said.


    What I had thought was standoffish, I was quickly realizing, was some kind of an insecurity in him that he masked with an irritable snobbery. At least, I hoped I was right because otherwise he was just an asshole. I thought about it ¨C five hours, nothing better to do, daytime in early May.


    It was time to find a bowling alley.


    Joe


    ¡°Bowling? You want to go bowling?¡± Was she crazy? You had to be fucking kidding me. My car broke down in the middle of the set of My Name Is Earl and Trevor and Darla wanted to go bowling? Why on Earth would they want to go bowling? I took another good look around. Naked children wandering on the dirty ground? Check. Chickens roaming aimlessly? Check. Buildings falling apart and endemic poverty persisting in a trailer park? Check. Darla living in a rotting shed that would be condemned by the Sudborough Town Inspector in about three seconds? Check.


    Bowling it was. I imagined that was probably the only thing people did around here other than drink. If nobody could look at my car for the next ten hours, then at least they could do something to keep themselves occupied.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look good, dude,¡± Trevor said.


    I took another look at the clock ¨C 11:31. A wave of exhaustion hit me as I remembered that I¡¯d been driving all night, and then a sickly nausea seeped in to my bones, crawling up my balls and into my gut. My life wasn¡¯t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be back home, starting to study for finals, making sure that all the ducks were lined up in a row so that I could get into the right Honor Societies, graduate with the right awards, get my law internship all set up for summer. Then I could have a crazy ass, wild party at the end of graduation, which would include Trevor and the other guys from the band and just let us have a fuck of a good time. It wasn¡¯t time for that letting go, yet, and driving six hundred miles to get Trevor from some haze-induced state wasn¡¯t part of my plan ever. And now they wanted to go bowling?


    ¡°You guys have balls,¡± I said, my mouth feeling pasty and my head swimming. Her little shed was tiny and I wasn¡¯t sure what we were supposed to do. I¡¯d been up for nearly twenty-four hours, driven for nearly half that alone, and was bone tired in more ways than one.


    ¡°Well, no, the bowling alley has balls. I don¡¯t own one,¡± Darla said. She shot Trevor a smirk. I rolled my eyes.


    ¡°Ha ha, very funny.¡± The last thing I wanted to do was go bowling, but it looked like we were stuck here for the next ten hours and I didn¡¯t know what to do.


    And then, it hit me. ¡°Darla, your car works, right?¡± I looked over at what I assumed was her car. It had more rust than blue and it looked like it had been a Toyota in an earlier life. We walked over to it, now standing in front of her shed, the door open, sunlight illuminating the shabby interior. It was cute ¨C like a thrift-shop version of the princess cottages that dotted the backyards of my friends¡¯ houses when we were in preschool.


    ¡°It will get you wherever you need to go. Not Sudborough but you know¡­the local gas station or a place to get something to eat.¡±


    ¡°What about a hotel?¡±


    ¡°A hotel?¡± She and Trevor said the words in unison, skeptical.


    ¡°Yeah, a hotel. I¡¯m exhausted and if we¡¯re going to be here until at least ten o¡¯clock at night I¡¯d at like to get some sleep.¡±


    Darla pointed to the bed in her shack. ¡°You can sleep there.¡±


    And that¡¯s where my brain just unraveled. ¡°Umm¡­yeah. No.¡± I looked at the room, the bed, a couple of men standing in front of Darla¡¯s broken porch, smoking cigarettes and looking like they had about eight teeth between the three of them. ¡°I really couldn¡¯t put you out,¡± I said.


    What I really wanted to say was, I¡¯m freaked out and I need a comfortable bed that I control without the stink of Trevor and Darla in it and without the sense of boundary crossing that this entire world represents. This was about as foreign to me as being drop shipped to Beijing. At least I knew a few words of Chinese.


    ¡°Why waste all of that money,¡± Darla said, ¡°when you¡¯ve got a perfectly fine place right here?¡±


    Something in my face must have made her stop short because that¡¯s exactly what she did. Trevor¡¯s face shifted from bemusement to neutral ¨C he knew; he got it. I suspected he was secretly relieved that I was suggesting a hotel. This was so out of our norm that it was my educated guess that, as the peyote wore off, he was growing increasingly uncomfortable.


    Darla¡¯s eyes narrowed and I could see I¡¯d offended her. This was a woman you didn¡¯t cross.


    ¡°I see,¡± she said. ¡°Joe, my friend, let me direct you to the Waldorf Astoria. It¡¯s over there, beyond old Jenkins¡¯ farm, behind the outhouses. Meanwhile, the Biltmore is two exits up, past the hog slaughtering factory. And then, of course, we have the Marriott Suites, which are in Cleveland. For you, sir,¡± she said, her voice syrupy and sickly, making my heart feel heavy.


    A thin thread of guilt came out of nowhere ¨C why in the hell would I ever feel guilty for wanting to take care of myself, for wanting to take care of me and Trevor? Extricating ourselves from this crazy, blonde bitch was natural. If my car hadn¡¯t broken down we¡¯d be out of here, right?


    Trevor put a hand on her arm and whispered something in her ear. A flame of anger and rage plumed inside me and I tamped it down instantly. No time for letting my emotions get the better of me. It was time to be reasonable, rational and logical. Logic dictated that we needed a room so that Trevor and I could peel ourselves off of this woman, this¡­groupie? Random Acts had groupies in Ohio? That was cool. She seemed to know who Trevor was and seemed to like the music. That part was awfully odd.

 Page 19

    ¡°Let me tell you something, Joe,¡± she said. ¡°There¡¯s really only one hotel nearby ¨C it¡¯s at a truck stop. The room¡¯s gonna be a little bit bigger than my place and yes, you¡¯ll have your own bathroom. You won¡¯t have to go in and talk to Mama about what she won in her online gambling this week. And the rooms are gonna smell like cigarette but not quite as bad as my trailer. It will be nothing like my little shed here. And you can have your nice little calm life back for a few hours where you don¡¯t have to rely on the hospitality of people who scare you.¡±


    ¡°Fuck, no. You don¡¯t scare me,¡± I retorted.Advertisement


    She raised her eyebrows, looked at Trevor, looked back at me. Something in the way she studied my face made my pants tighten. She had a curvy, devil-may-care attitude about her. The way she shifted her hip, the swell of her breast against her ribcage, the jaunty smirk ¨C and then there was the fact that she was right ¨C she¡¯d hit the bullseye. These people scared me. Lots of things scared me. How could someone I¡¯d never known figure that out so fast?


    If she could, in the middle of nowhere, then what would the world know about me when I went out into it? I had to be a pitbull in order to function in big law. That was my parents¡¯ goal and mine, right? Mine ¨C my goal. I decided to try being a pitbull back.


    Before I could open my mouth, Trevor interrupted both of us. ¡°Let¡¯s just take him where he wants to go,¡± he said to Darla.


    She started to protest and he cut her off with fingertips to her lips. It was a gesture I¡¯d never seen anyone do to a woman and I expected she¡¯d blow up at him but instead, she popped one fingertip into her mouth and sucked on it through a grin. Holy shit. If I¡¯d been uncomfortable a minute ago, now I was so hard I was stratospherically crawling out of my skin ¨C for a much better reason.


    Trevor pulled back and some sort of look passed between the two of them that made me feel like I was intruding. ¡°Besides,¡± he said quietly, ¡°if he has his own room then you and I get this to ourselves,¡± nodding his head toward her little broken shed.


    Darla


    ¡°You two argue about whatever it is that you wanna do while I go take a shower,¡± I said, escaping the back and forth between these two. My body still tasted like Trevor¡¯s mouth, smelled like both of us, and needed a good, full cleansing. Kind of like being dipped in a baptismal pool. My new existence needed that kind of reset and my heart needed that kind of purity because, even though we¡¯d been handed these extra hours, that was it. After that, my new life would leave me in a puddle of misery and nostalgia.


    That, though, was better than what I¡¯d had before I¡¯d picked up this naked soul. Walking back into the trailer, I saw where Joe had put his foot through the rotted out porch. Dammit! I knew the floor was going, I just didn¡¯t think it was going to go that quickly. Some furry creature of indistinct origin scurried under there and I hoped to God it wasn¡¯t a swamp rat from the nearby wetlands.


    When I walked into the trailer, Mama was in her place at the kitchen table and she looked up and just shook her head slowly. ¡°Two men, now, Darla? Really?¡±


    ¡°Not at the same time, Mama,¡± I said, laughing at her, waving a hand as if the idea were so extreme that no one would ever think to do such a thing. Liar, a voice in my head whispered. Oh God, at the rate I was going I was gonna have more voices in there than a goddamn tryout for American Idol.


    The shower spray was non-existent. The water pressure was down, which meant somebody was washing clothes or running the dishwasher right now. If it was Mama I¡¯d be surprised. Most of the cleaning that got done around here was by me or Uncle Mike when he was in town. Maybe she was having one of her better times. That would be nice. When Mama was going through a good phase it meant that the world was easier to take.


    As I washed the parts of my body that Trevor had touched most, the soap stripping away his essence but not his memory, I felt a twinge of regret. The scent of him was burned into my brain, the pressure of his fingertips, the friction of his skin against mine a sultry memory. It didn¡¯t have to be just a memory. What we¡¯d done already, of course, was stored away, nice and neat in a compartment in my mind that I could draw from whenever I needed it. New memories could be made in the next couple of hours and I didn¡¯t think that bowling was gonna be one of them.


    Washing my hair, discovering we were out of conditioner and cursing myself for not keeping track of that, I realized that when I blew dry my hair I was gonna look like a giant Chia Pet. Better to leave it damp and down and let it curl up than turn into a frizzball. I found some clean clothes in the dresser drawer of what you could loosely call my room ¨C it was taken over mostly with trinkets that Mama had won over the past five or six years using online sweepstakes and gambling to keep herself busy.


    Every once in a while she won something nice. One year she got a couple hundred dollars and a night at any hotel she wanted and she picked the water park and sent me and some friends. Another time, she won a really nice two week trip to Italy, all expenses paid, but it turns out when you win things in a sweepstakes you have to pay the taxes on the value of the thing or trip and we couldn¡¯t afford it. Someone else got Mama¡¯s trip to Italy and we just got a story to tell.


    I walked back clean and ready to take on the rest of the day only to find Trevor and Joe whispering to each other furiously, Joe darting glances at me that didn¡¯t look inviting. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I asked.


    Trevor slid his arm around my waist and smelled my wet hair. ¡°You smell nice,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°It¡¯s coconut chemicals,¡± I whispered back.


    That made Joe go from sour to smirking. It was a small victory but I¡¯d take it. ¡°Joe definitely wants to go to the hotel,¡± Trevor said, frowning.


    When I made eye contact with Joe, it was like falling into a pool of beautiful. I wanted to swim in it forever. I shouldn¡¯t have had these thoughts but I did. It was like I was cheating on Trevor right in front of his face but I wasn¡¯t. I wasn¡¯t interested in Joe, I just kind of wanted to marvel at him. Nobody around here looked like him. Nobody.


    Around here, adolescent acne meant that you had adult scars, crooked teeth just were, and walking with that kind of fluidity and grace, well, you didn¡¯t get that way working at the gas station, bagging groceries, or framing a house. You especially didn¡¯t get that way driving truck, spending seventy, eighty, a hundred hours a week on the road, hunched over a wheel.


    ¡°I can take you,¡± I said. ¡°No problem.¡±


    Trevor looked at me and his eyes widened a little, then he smiled. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Joe


    ¡°Alright,¡± she turned to me. ¡°Get in the car. We¡¯ll take you to the hotel. Do you want to go bowling with us first?¡±


    I yawned. I swear to God it wasn¡¯t fake. The exhaustion of dealing with Trevor¡¯s disappearance, with his mom, with the drive, my broken car, all of it was wearing on me.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to throw that in,¡± she said as we walked over and I opened the back door. I could see parts of the asphalt beneath us under her car and wondered if I needed to put my feet through to make this thing run, like something out of a cartoon. She started it up and it was surprisingly quiet, Trevor crawling in the front seat.


    As he sat down he said, ¡°Oh! My ass feels weird.¡±


    ¡°What did you guys do last night?¡± I asked.


    Darla let out a loose peal of laughter that made me start to like her a little bit. ¡°We only used the strap-on once,¡± she said.


    Trevor punched her lightly on the shoulder as she started the car. He turned around and said, ¡°No, I mean I only rode in the front of this car naked. Not being scratched by the torn vinyl is a luxury.¡±


    Turning around to catch my attention, Trevor kept glaring at me in ways that clearly expressed that he thought I was being rude ¨C but it looked like Darla had figured out my point of view. What a treat to be considered for once. Trevor¡¯s selfishness pervaded this entire experience, from the moment he disappeared ¨C no, actually from the moment he ate all my peyote ¨C right up until the second Darla reappeared. All I wanted right now was my own room, my own space, my own bed. Later tonight, if the car could be fixed or tomorrow morning ¨C God, I hoped it wasn¡¯t tomorrow morning ¨C then away we went and I could escape from this chaos.


    Fuck Trevor. Fuck, fuck, fuck Trevor. He stood here arguing that I should shield him from his mom, that I should stay here at Darla¡¯s little¡­whatever you call that thing¡­and that I should stop being a snobby asshole. I didn¡¯t think I was being a snob. I just ¨C I mean look at this place. I was being a realist.


    Darla¡¯s little shitbox got us on the road and we put put putted on the interstate up one exit. She pulled off to one of those buildings that looks like it could be a factory, a hospital, a hotel, or a registry of motor vehicles ¨C it was that nondescript. Hotels just didn¡¯t look like this back home. At least not in Eastern Mass. Maybe out west in the boonies.


    Oh. Right. I was in the boonies. Ground Zero of the boonies. The prototype for ¨C


    ¡°Here it is. The luxury five-star hotel of northern Ohio.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to keep digging it in. I get the point.¡± I was tired and pissed and she kept going on as if I were some kind of snob and I was pretty fucking sick of it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you do get the message, Joe,¡± she snapped back.


    Now it was Trevor who looked at us like he was watching a Wimbledon game.


    ¡°You¡¯re jealous,¡± I snapped back. ¡°I drive a nice car, we come from a nicer place, I have nicer things, yadda yadda yadda. It¡¯s not my fault you live this way.¡±


    I could tell from the look on Trevor¡¯s face that I¡¯d crossed a line ¨C and I could tell from the way that her face reddened that I¡¯d hit a nerve.


    ¡°You just proved her point, you asshole,¡± Trevor growled.


    ¡°I think she¡¯s proving mine.¡± I got out of the car as fast as I could, four eyes glaring at me as if they could somehow erase the fact that they were wrong with the sheer force of anger. I didn¡¯t care. This was so out of the realm of anything I had ever wanted to experience that I figured Trevor had gone half mad again. We weren¡¯t on some reality television show. This wasn¡¯t Big Brother ¨C Ohio Edition or An Idiot Abroad ¨C U.S. Version. This was me being treated like shit for coming out here and rescuing Trevor in the boonies.


    Whatever had happened to turn me into the bad guy, I didn¡¯t even know what to think. I didn¡¯t know why they were both being so weird. I slammed the car door shut and something distinctly metal echoed in the air, a dropped piece of something. Darla didn¡¯t even flinch, so I didn¡¯t point it out.


    ¡°Thank you for the ride,¡± I said. Just because they thought I was an asshole didn¡¯t mean I lost every bit of decency. I wasn¡¯t going to give them any more ammunition against me.


    ¡°You¡¯re most welcome,¡± she said tartly as she squealed in reverse out of the parking lot. I watched them drive off until the car disappeared, and then looked around. At one end of the giant parking lot was a building that could have held the KGB¡­or the world¡¯s saddest daycare center. That would be the hotel. At this point, as long as there was a bed, a bathroom, and a coffee maker, I didn¡¯t care.

 Page 20

    Darla


    ¡°Wow, you can pick ¡¯em, can¡¯t you?¡± I said as we flew out of the parking lot. Trevor shook his head and opened the window, cranking it enough that the wind started whipping my hair about, the wild, loose, frizzy curls forcing me to take one hand off the wheel and pull my hair away from my forehead.Advertisement


    ¡°He¡¯s not usually like that, Darla,¡± Trevor insisted. ¡°I swear to God I¡¯ve never seen him like that.¡±


    ¡°Have you ever seen him outside of Boston?¡±


    That gave Trevor pause. ¡°Sure. Yeah. We¡¯ve gone on, you know, class trips¡­been to New York, up to Niagara Falls, his parents have a beach house on the Cape.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°And where else?¡±


    ¡°Well, they took us to Vail that one time to go skiing and then there have been a couple trips to Martinique¡­.¡± His voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying.


    ¡°No humanitarian trips with your church to New Delhi to wash the feet of the poor people?¡± I couldn¡¯t keep the acid out of my voice. Trevor seemed to deflate with every word that I spat at him. This wasn¡¯t the way our last few hours were supposed to go but I was doing it, I was making it like this. Dammit. The ¡°Mistress of Sabotage¡± Mama had called me once. I hated when Mama was right.


    He took a deep sigh. In it I could hear so many of my own emotions: anger, frustration, confusion, uncertainty ¨C and a touch of hope. Joe had turned himself into a lightning rod for a lot of feelings that we were both experiencing but not talking about. At least, I wasn¡¯t ¨C and as much as turning over the rock that was Joe revealed an awful lot of creepy, crawling critters underneath, now they were facing the cold, hard sunlight. Sunlight kills germs. It¡¯s the great disinfectant and I suspected we both had an awful lot of mess inside ourselves that needed a good cleaning.


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± I admitted. There ¨C a little bit of decluttering of my emotional state began.


    ¡°He¡¯s wrong,¡± Trevor protested, shaking his head, sitting up straight and patting my knee. ¡°There¡¯s nothing that makes us better than you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t mean that part,¡± I said, loud and brasher than I wanted it to sound. But hell, that was me. Trevor was getting me and if he didn¡¯t like it he could just leave. He was gonna leave anyhow, right? ¡°I don¡¯t mean that you guys are better because you have money. I mean that you live a completely different life than ¨C ¡± I gestured at the highway storefronts flying by the window. A liquor store, an ammo store and a fireworks store. ¡°That isn¡¯t a Gucci, that isn¡¯t an American Girl Doll store, and that, certainly, isn¡¯t a Starbucks,¡± I pointed and a little smile twitched on his lips.


    We were starting to get serious here and I didn¡¯t do serious well. The wisecracks poured out, trying to cover emotions that I didn¡¯t process properly, either. Maybe I needed to think of Trevor as practice ¨C a guy I could practice these deeper feelings on, someone who understood nuance, who even gave a shit about it. Then again, maybe that would be like exercising a muscle that I¡¯d never use again, the energy a waste.


    I had to find out if I even had that muscle, though, so right then and there I made a decision and we drove straight past the bowling alley. Trevor pointed at it as it went past, his hand flying in the wind. ¡°But wh ¨C wait¡­what?¡± he asked and then turned to me with a puzzled grin.


    ¡°I have a better idea,¡± I said.


    His hand clamped down on my knee and slid up. ¡°Whatever your idea is,¡± he said, his hand moving up to hold my hair back, his knuckles brushing gently against my neck, making me shiver, ¡°can it involve some balls?¡±


    Trevor


    She shifted from anger, to reasonable, to playful so well it was like being with a grownup. As if I were a grownup and she were, too, and we were relating to each other on this mature but incredibly arousing level that made me hard and made me want her all the more. It was a bit like looking in and capturing your parents in an intimate moment by accident or seeing them struggle with a difficult ethical problem ¨C but handling it with such grace that you wanted to be like them.


    Except, right now, I didn¡¯t want to be ¨C I didn¡¯t need to be ¨C like anyone except me. The me that was with Darla. Is that what love ¨C


    She interrupted me. ¡°I hope you¡¯re not allergic to wildflowers.¡± Her grin was saucy and impish and sexy as hell. I wondered what she had in store for me. We turned down a dusty, country road. Giant plumes of beige clouds floating in the air as her little car bumped and jumbled and rocked along a rutted dirt throughway.


    The area got more and more isolated, like conservation land¡­except around here everything seemed to be trailer parks, bars, truck stops and conservation land. I had a feeling that out here they didn¡¯t need to preserve twenty or fifty or a hundred acres of wetlands because land was about the only thing they seemed to have in abundance.


    It was beautiful, though, as the dust settled and I could see the field she¡¯d brought me to. It stretched out for what seemed like miles, a bedspread of early spring flowers and long grasses, some still mottled by the old, dead fronds from last year¡¯s growth. A thin path took us from the hodge-podge parking lot and I could see at the base that a thin strip of dirt poked through. This must be some sort of walking path for people in better weather and we were catching it new, virgin territory again as spring erupted.


    We could cross. We could blaze the trail. We could claim it for ourselves this fine season and build a memory that I knew would have to be enough, that I hoped would linger long enough. In reality and in my memory.


    Darla jumped out of the car, whipped around the back, and was pulling on my door with such force that I thought she was going to yank me by the collar and drag me into that field. I wouldn¡¯t have minded. Instead, she let me climb out on my own and I reached for her, the wind whipping through our hair as I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her, the sunlight shining on us as if saying yes, yes, yes. And then, something else in me said yes, standing up at attention, pointing to the sun, an all-too-familiar hardening and tightness in my jeans that needed to be lessened, and could only be lessened by Darla.


    She took my hand and, laughing like a child, with glee and frolic in her feet and in her body, she pulled me down the narrow channel of grass. It came up over my hip and I waded through, my hands brushing against the tops of the flowers and grasses, her head and shoulders weaving in front of me, my knees and feet struggling to keep up without dragging us both down. Then, a clearing ¨C and I smiled. It was completely hidden from everyone, everything. No one could find us here and somehow the grass had lessened. Layers of moss and shorter grasses covered the area before a large, wooded thicket.


    ¡°How do you know about this place?¡± I asked. She seemed to be a keeper of secret places, seeking asylum in the unknown, carving out her own place in a world so hostile to what she could offer.


    ¡°This is my reading spot,¡± she said. ¡°This is where I go when I want to be alone or I want to sink into a book.¡± Her face became troubled for a fleeting second and then she seemed to decide to say something that she struggled to confess. ¡°And this is where I go to think about my daddy.¡±


    I kissed her lightly, on the nose, and then on the lips, a tender gesture that was more an acknowledgment than anything driven by passion. She looked up and her face was open to me, more of an offering than any part of her body in lovemaking and when I looked into her eyes it was her heart that was open too. And that was where I caught my first glimpse of her naked soul.


    Darla


    Urgency. A wave of eager, pressing need rained down on us, pervading everything. I needed Trevor now, I wanted him in me now, and I wanted to feel cared for and taken and needed right back. This wasn¡¯t the same fire that swept over me last night in my little purple passion place. This was something frantic and intense.


    I wanted him to know my body the way I imagined people did when they could truly indulge in lust, could just get funky and fun and be all about the release of all their urges, ticking them off one by one. We had another chance at that today. I unbuttoned his pants as he kissed me, unzipped his fly, and exposed him naked, dropping to my knees and ¨C


    ¡°Oh, God,¡± he groaned as my mouth covered his rigid hardness. He was already ready for me; my warm, accepting mouth was able to play and tease him, tongue lifting up the underside of his hard shaft, making his knees buckle slightly, his hands slipping into my hair like a man seeking grace. His fingernails brushed against my scalp, the effect so erotic my own orgasm came to the surface like a tsunami, holding back just before crashing onto shore.


    I decided he was worth this ¨C the two other guys I¡¯d tried this on, ever, had been jerks about it, shoving my head down onto them and making it hard to breathe, with no consideration for me. That¡¯s the thing ¨C sometimes when you give to someone it really isn¡¯t selfless. It¡¯s selfish. You find joy in it because you¡¯re giving freely. The point where it¡¯s not freely given is the point where it all falls apart.


    Trevor¡¯s groans and little shakes of abandon made me swell with pride ¨C and arousal. I didn¡¯t want this to be all we did, and apparently ¨C neither did he, because I found myself suddenly in his arms, his hands pulling at my pants, his mouth against mine, searching and taking and frantic. He felt it, too ¨C the sense that we needed to join as fast and hard and intensely as possible, to shoot for the moon with the precious time we had left.


    Soon my naked ass hit the moss covering the ground, and Trevor was out of his pants, stripping off his shirt, returning to the state he¡¯d been in when I met him. My eyes could never, ever get enough of that body, and he wanted to see me, too. The warm sunlight really didn¡¯t allow me to be hidden, and a flash of bashfulness hit me. Where did that come from? I willed it away and as he stripped my bra off, my final piece of clothing, he gently stretched me out on the ground, arms above my head.


    ¡°I just want to look at you, Darla,¡± he said, an open, marveling grin stretching that pensive face. ¡°You are so beautiful.¡± Warmth filled me in all the right places, including my heart. Snappy comebacks and deflections filled my mind and died out within seconds, a deeper part of me accepting his words ¨C really accepting them. Integrating them.


    Because I was beautiful. That he could see it in me made me feel it all the more, made me revel in the attention and the recognition and in the validation that no matter how much people tried to convince me otherwise, or how life threw so many nasty messages my way, that internal divining rod of love I¡¯d always hoped was inside me really was.


    And it led me to Trevor.


    Or, maybe, he had one inside him, too, and it had found me.


    One of his hands reached down to find me slick and wet, and the other fumbled in his jeans, pulling out a condom. I kissed his nose and asked, ¡°How¡¯d you get that?¡±


    ¡°Wallet. Joe brought it with my clothes and phone.¡± A moth flew by and the sky was an unusual blue, with little puffs of cloud the only evidence we weren¡¯t facing an unbroken chain of space leading to the heavens. It was the kind of spring day in Ohio that made you feel blessed. The long expanse of flesh that our bodies made, buried in the clearing behind flowers and grasses and new hope, made me feel a sense of peace and excitement I never, ever wanted to let go of.

 Page 21

    And then Trevor¡¯s mouth was on my pebbled nipple, his hand moving along my wetness, making my breath hitch and my climax rise up, so fruitful and close before he moved on top of me, his hip grinding into my pelvis, and he leaned down to lick my earlobe, then slowly kissed a trail to my V.


    Oh, that and that and there and ¨C his magic tongue, the one that made his songs sound like liquid dreams, strummed my neediest of spots right now, stroking and laving with the sole intent of making me feel good. His hand guided me to lie flat, back against the soft ground, my face tipped up and watching the sun, the light changing as he gave my body one of the greatest gifts of time and attention and arousal and affirmation, making me throb and clamp as all the air left my lungs and a great wave of pending climax began to itch away at my soul.Advertisement


    My naked soul.


    ¡°Oh, my Lord,¡± I whispered as he raised my hips, the words coming out like a tremor. Tremor for Trevor, my mind wandered, until he pulled me back in with that velvet tongue. His tongue settled on my needy red nub, a soft touch like a flower blooming and soaking in the warm sun, so mind-blowing I nearly exploded all over his lips, the touch like something I¡¯d read about and knew existed but always suspected was some kind of fiction.


    Reality, though, was extraordinary and very, very real.


    ¡°Trevor, that¡¯s amazing,¡± I whispered, feeling his hands on my ass, owning me, the flesh simmering with heat as he took me in handfuls. Using those muscled arms, he hiked my core up to his mouth, the shift in angle making my teeth grit and my head twitter with little popping sensations of intense climax. So soon, so close, I just felt my hips begin to move in rhythm with him, wanting to chase the ache that was about to be stretched and kissed away.


    That shift gave Trevor one fine, toned hand to drive me crazy as he slid one finger inside and looped it up so that it set off unexpected waves of pleasure, the sound of leaves rusting in the distance and a light breeze adding to my feeling of complete abandon, as if Trevor gave me access to some primal self I didn¡¯t know I possessed. This was what I wanted, what I had craved for years but never imagined I could actually have, much less share with a near-stranger I¡¯d met just a day ago. The sense of connectivity, of freedom and compassion and communion with him wasn¡¯t just body-blowing (though he was doing a fabulous job of that).


    It completely blew my mind. People didn¡¯t just wander into my life like this, grab my attention, and then snake their tongue across my clit in an effort to give me what I needed. Absorbing this made my soul burn, his mouth whispering and blowing against my hot skin now as I bloomed with lust, all heat converging on my nub, as he licked it, slowly growing the release within, slipping his finger in and out, making me want more. More? There could be more?


    Please let there be more!


    My legs began to shake, and I knew I would come like a Nevada brothel during an orgasmfest. My hands sought him out, holding on for dear life, sliding and guiding him to find the just-right rhythm that would ¡ª


    ¡°Oh, Trevor!¡± I heard myself hiss, loving his tongue, which licked me, hard, right where I needed it most. The heat of his muscled, naked body pressed against my legs and hips, the way he chased after me as I moved, so damned determined to make sure I got what I needed ¨C and that very thought did it, making me clench and release, scream and groan, whispering and grinding into him as he gave me the best orgasm(s) of my life, tears filling my eyes at the acknowledgment that a man could even want to do this to me.


    Much less actually do this to me. Music groupies had nothing on this. Trevor should have tongue groupies, for fuck¡¯s sake. And I would be the permanent president of the fan club.


    His tongue opened up, hot flesh on mine, as he gave me focused and expansive flesh play. Feeling both his fingers and his tongue on my throbbing, twitching nub continued the screaming climax as my whole body became one big, tight ball of clamped-down muscle. There really was more? Holy shit. I¡¯d just been dreaming. And when in my God-forsaken pathetic little life had a dream like this come true?


    Today, apparently. And yesterday. What about tomorrow? my mind wondered.


    ¡°Where in the hell did you come from?¡± I gasped, hands curling into fists of orgasm, my pussy crammed into his tongue as I groaned.


    He pulled back and strummed me with his fingers, the calluses on his guitar-playing fingers like an organic sex toy, my pink folds dripping and the pads of his fingertips gliding against my lower lips. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about where I come from,¡± he whispered, the words like little aftershocks on my swollen skin as I felt my climax recede, an immense, expansive sense of pure gratitude and joy filling me. ¡°Just worry about your coming.¡±


    Heaven. He came from heaven.


    Focusing on my orgasm and my skin as if it were his job to finish me off, his life¡¯s mission and his one, true goal, he followed my body as I moved, flittering, draining me and playing me like this was some sort of piece of music he was performing, all the crescendos and legatos mixed into the muscles of his mouth.


    A few little waves finished up, my moans slowed down. Now, I haven¡¯t run more than the distance from the grocery store door to my car in the parking lot in a rainstorm, so I wouldn¡¯t know from experience ¨C but I¡¯m guessing that the runner¡¯s high was about the closest feeling to what Trevor had just elicited in me ¨C endorphins about to kick in but suspended in that moment where there¡¯s a rush of blood in your ears and all you can hear is the push of air in and out of your lungs.


    He grinned, then climbed up to me, army crawling like I was some sort of course to be conquered. And I was, right? Because damn if he hadn¡¯t just won a fucking gold medal for that. The taste of my own juices turned me on again, the wave hitting so suddenly I climaxed yet again from that simple, luxurious kiss, his warm, wet mouth bringing me such a homecoming it made my whole body shudder with happiness and an arousing applause, the clit leading.


    ¡°You just stripped my soul naked, Trevor,¡± I gasped, knowing the words were so inadequate, but hey ¨C I had to try. My fingers ran through his wavy, blond hair and it felt like I could do this forever, just rest on nature¡¯s mattress and sleep in his arms. My needs were small. A wildflower field off an Ohio interstate was like the penthouse suite of the Times Square Marriott right now. As long as I had Trevor with me, preferably naked and aroused, the world was all mine.


    Speaking of arousal, he kissed me, the taste of him all me, actually, a shock and gasp turning into a moan and a roar of more, more, more inside me.


    ¡°Are you¡­?¡± he asked, his voice rising up with husky desire.


    ¡°I want you, Trevor Connor. You¡¯re the answer to my whispered prayer.¡± He got the allusion to their song and the skin between his eyes changed, tight with an almost-teary sense of gratitude, of acceptance and recognition and relaxation. We got each other, both in body and in heart.


    As he entered me, all power and animal movement, he murmured back, ¡°You make me believe in something so much more.¡± As we completed our joining, his flesh ensconced in mine, my hands roamed his back, fingers digging into and feeling the tiny lines of sinew and tendons that worked with his muscles to be in me, to make me feel pleasure, to drive home that what we were feeling was so much more than sex. A thin layer of sweat formed on his chest and I craned my neck to lick it, to teasingly bite his nipple, with made his whole body tense, then move faster in me, the angle of our bodies just right and enough to make a red wall of passion take over my very existence.


    A thin breeze made my flesh tingle and as my hands cupped his marble ass, so tight as he pulled back, then filled me, our bodies moving with a delicious rhythm. I opened my legs wider and wrapped them around his hips, the movement giving us more of each other, his lips kissing my ear and then, a desperate bite on my shoulder as he shuddered, tense and lost in his own pleasure, my body rushing to catch up so we could pitch over into another dimension that was only for us.


    We did.


    The feel of the soft green moss pressing into my thighs, Trevor¡¯s sweet stubble playing on my cheekbone, his hushed gasps in my ear, my own groans of release and our arched keening in our climaxes ¨C it made for a long, deep, blissful state of everything and I felt more at home with his slick chest hovering over my tight, swollen breasts and our little sounds of open love than I had anywhere, any time.


    He finished and collapsed on me, the weight of him like a blanket of victory, a ceremonial surrender that said, You did it to me. You made me go outside my own mind and use my body to make something new with you. You did it, Darla.


    My own body felt the waves of explosion receding, a tingling permeating every bit of me, my face buried in his shoulder ¨C and yes, I licked him now.


    A low rumble of chuckling filled me as he laughed from his core and he slid out of me, snuggling against my side. With a practiced hand he dispensed with the condom and I cocked an eyebrow at him as he looked up at me.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re mighty practiced at that.¡±


    ¡°I learned it at Turnpike University.¡±


    ¡°What did you major in?¡±


    ¡°Avoiding becoming roadkill.¡± He curled up against me and propped himself up on one elbow, beckoning me to stare back, my inner thighs beginning to shake from a muscle memory of our acrobatics. One calm palm from him on my thigh stopped the tremors.


    ¡°What am I going to do with you, Trevor?¡± I asked, reaching up to push a stray lock of hair from the bridge of his nose. His face changed, saddened, and he let a long breath escape.


    I knew what he meant. He didn¡¯t have to say anything. Leaving would suck, and it was coming in hours. But there was something¡­more. Like he wanted to say something and couldn¡¯t. I didn¡¯t read minds (man, did I wish I could) and wasn¡¯t sure whether to ask him. Those sorts of questions are hard enough to ask when you¡¯re clothed. Naked and in a field? Uh¡­no.


    ¡°Darla, you told me about your parents¡¯ accident last night.¡± I stiffened. Maybe he didn¡¯t have a problem asking those questions after all.


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I feel like it¡¯s¡­hanging over me, sort of. So I want to tell you something.¡± His face was a mask of emotional struggle. What could it be?


    ¡°Go ahead.¡± I reverted to two-word sentences. Like this. And this. For sure. You know?


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing like what you went through,¡± he started, apologetic.


    ¡°Mama says everyone has shit to deal with. Everyone.¡± I stroked his back lightly, encouragingly.


    ¡°It¡¯s actually not about me. It¡¯s my brother. He¡¯s autistic.¡±


    ¡°And¡­?¡± I drew out the word as if that alone didn¡¯t mean much. Lots of kids around here were on the spectrum. It seemed like every other day another kid went to school and came home with a PDD or autism diagnosis, and then someone else got a job as an aide. Loads of my friends got their associate¡¯s degrees at the branch campus and picked up decent jobs doing that.


    ¡°My parents sent him to an institution when I was eight. He¡¯s older ¨C five years older ¨C and after that my mom went a bit nuts.¡± Trevor broke eye contact and rolled away, his hip still touching mine, but he eased his hands behind his head and stared up at the sky. A flock of birds flew way overhead, looking like a brown cloud, so clustered together and in sync.

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    A low whistle came out of me. That bad? I wanted to ask, and quickly realized it was a good thing I had a one-second filter, because that would have been a shitty thing to ask. ¡°Thirteen when he left?¡± I asked. ¡°That means your parents tried really hard.¡±


    That was the right thing to say, because he relaxed and turned on his side again. ¡°They did. Rick was just too hard. It¡¯s¡­well, I don¡¯t want to go into detail right now. It was just hard. I hated my mom and dad for a long, long time. And Mom fell apart and went to a psych ward for a few weeks.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Ouch.¡± Mama was right. We all had our shit in life. Even preppy Boston boys.


    ¡°When she came home, she wasn¡¯t the same. She was broken somehow. All her attention that had been on Rick for all those years came barreling at me. I had to be perfect, suddenly. The best student, the best athlete, the best musician ¨C a perfect, shining example that she could have one kid who wasn¡¯t¡­you know¡­¡±


    I hugged him and he let me. ¡°Is that why you took all that peyote? To stop having to be perfect?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he laughed. ¡°I took all that peyote because I am a dumbass.¡±


    We both giggled, the sound seeming to travel across the vast field, up to the blue sky, the birds hearing our amused music. There was great comfort in our sharing and baring of naked souls. Maybe we¡¯re all damaged. The question is: to what degree?


    ¡°You still see him?¡± I asked. The air was getting a chill to it so I sat up and he pulled me into his arms, my back leaning against his chest.


    ¡°Every week, like clockwork. He¡¯s more stable now and in a group home with five other guys. Has a job and everything. He just ¨C when he became violent and big, Mom and Dad couldn¡¯t handle his aggression.¡± I could feel him shake his head. ¡°At least, that¡¯s how they described it. Mom tried all kinds of doctors and drugs and treatments. We owned this weird oxygen chamber for a while, and then he used to get all these IV drugs, and Mom took the whole family for genetics testing. No one had any answers.¡±


    ¡°Sometimes no one does,¡± I said simply. A bulge against my butt (and no, it wasn¡¯t Trevor) started to hurt, so I sat up and pulled it out.


    My phone. 3:21.


    ¡°Shit! Shit, shit, shit!¡± I shouted, throwing my shirt on, trying to connect my bra underneath, being stupid and peeling everything off and then pulling it all back on again in the right order. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be late for work.¡± The words came out sharper than I wanted them to and Trevor startled but got the message quickly, jumping up, pulling on his clothes. Those beautiful, tan curves a ¨C shame to see covered in anything so mundane, so boring as clothing.


    We looked like two people that had just had sex outside. I felt the back of my head¡­bedhead, except instead of rubbing my hair against the sheets my head had been rubbed against a big, giant pile of moss. I could feel it matted into my frizz and started batting at it like a small animal caught in a trap.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Trevor said, laughing.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got moss and dirt in my hair and I can¡¯t go to work like this.¡± Again, I thought. I¡¯d never had a man out here before. This really was a sacred space for me but I¡¯d certainly had a¡­well, my share of outdoor fun with a man. Not this much fun, mind you.


    We trudged back through the field to get to my car where I knew no one else would be. I wanted to say something ¨C thank you? I¡¯m sorry? What do you say when someone confesses their secrets to you? Maybe I should say nothing, or wrap my arms around him and caress his hair, kiss his shoulder, like he did last night when I blurted out my business like a teenager on truth serum. It was one thing to tell him my secrets, but to have him turn out to have a pretty big family issue of his own had me reeling.


    I didn¡¯t have any siblings ¨C Josie was seven years older and the closest thing I had to a sister ¨C so I couldn¡¯t imagine what Trevor¡¯s life had been like, having a brother with autism and having that brother up and disappear when he was little. Disappearing loved ones I understood, sadly, though. Going on and seeing his brother every week, striving to have a relationship, using music as a bridge showed a kind of caring empathy that made me want to just be with Trevor.


    Forever.


    ¡°Trevor?¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Why not include Rick in the band?¡±


    He frowned, the look trying to cover up disappointment. I could tell. ¡°He can¡¯t. I mean¡­¡±


    I waved my hand away; I¡¯d clearly crossed a line, and now I felt like I¡¯d intruded on some soft underbelly of his. ¡°It¡¯s a stupid thought. I¡¯m sorry. I was just thinking that maybe if you had a song with a keyboard part you could teach it to him on piano and wire him in to a performance, or use him in a recording, or¡­¡± As the words poured out of my mouth like a faucet whose handle rusted off so bad it just went clunk and fell off, spraying an unregulated water source, I wanted to die right there.


    Trevor cleared his throat, then cocked his head, mulling it over. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it. Thanks.¡± The closed-off answer was about the best I could ask for. On shaky ground again, I felt like I could breathe. But why? Touchy subject, it appeared.


    A handful of people probably used this little nature trail and none of them would be out here at the beginning of May. Trevor stopped me as I marched over to the driver¡¯s side door, intent on getting home and a quick shower to be on time for work. If I was late again¡­well, there wasn¡¯t really any big penalty. It¡¯s not like they were going to go fire me and find someone else to work. I¡¯d been there for what ¨C six years? But I still didn¡¯t feel right going in late, even if it was a loss of five hours with Trevor.


    Besides, I needed the pay.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he said, softly, closing his arms around me, cocooning us as a tiny white moth fluttered on past, nearly brushing our heads. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, capping his words with a nice kiss that was quieter and tamer but no less sensual than what we¡¯d just shared.


    I sighed and leaned against his chest, listening to his heart beat, the deep throbbing sound like the undertone of one of his songs. ¡°Sing to me,¡± I said and he rumbled a chuckle in his ribs, the sound echoing and muted at once, somehow impossibly delicious.


    ¡°Here?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yeah, here.¡± I pulled back, looked at him dead serious. ¡°Sing me a song.¡±


    His face reddened and he said, ¡°My mind¡¯s gone blank, you ¨C you totally caught me off guard.¡±


    ¡°Tell you what,¡± I reached up on tiptoes and kissed him, enjoying the liberty to do so, the easy way that we had now between the two of us, like a privilege I didn¡¯t know people could have. ¡°Before you leave you have to promise me you¡¯ll sing me a song.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s you favorite?¡± he asked and I shoved him back gently, motioning for him to get in the car.


    ¡°I Wasted My Only Answered Prayer,¡± I shouted.


    He groaned. ¡°That one?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that one,¡± I said.


    Our car doors slammed shut in unison and I revved the engine, pulling back. He seemed pensive for the half mile or so until we got back on the main roads. ¡°That¡¯s a hard one to do,¡± he said. ¡°Especially without my band.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never tried it acoustic?¡±


    ¡°I wrote it acoustic, I just never recorded it or performed it acoustic,¡± he explained. His brow was furrowed, deep in thought, and it seemed I¡¯d hit a nerve.


    ¡°Do it for me?¡± I asked. ¡°I don¡¯t ask for much.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°You don¡¯t ask for anything, Darla. That¡¯s what I like about you.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have all these rules that I¡¯m supposed to follow, to give, give, and give some more to whatever your framework tells me I¡¯m supposed to do to show that I¡¯m a good soldier.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work that way, you know,¡± I made a hand motion between the two of us with my right hand, keeping my left firmly on the steering wheel.


    ¡°Oh, yes it does,¡± he said, mimicking my gesture. ¡°The women I¡¯ve been with,¡± he made a sour face, ¡°the girls I¡¯ve been with ¨C that¡¯s how it works. Give me this gift, give me this status symbol, take me to this place, do my bidding, let me show people that I¡¯m dating a band guy, a singer, a whatever. You¡¯re not like that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m about as far from that as you can get,¡± I said. What did he mean? Of course I wanted him to give stuff to me but not¡­stuff, you know? I don¡¯t need baubles, and jewelry, fancy trips or whatever it is in Trevor¡¯s world twenty-two year olds do in a relationship.


    I didn¡¯t even feel like I had the right to take that word and use it to apply it to this. Was this a relationship? Or was this just a one day fuck? I had a feeling it was something in between but there was an awful lot of distance between one and the other, and on that continuum we were inching slowly away from one day fuck.


    ¡°Then give me a song, Trevor,¡± I asked. What I wanted to say was, stay, please stay and the next thing I wanted to say was take me with you but if I could get a song, an acoustic performance of my favorite song from Random Acts of Crazy ¨C if he could give me that, I could give myself permission to ask for it.


    ¡°Tell you what,¡± he said as we pulled into the trailer park. ¡°You find me a guitar and a stage, and I¡¯ll sing whatever you want, Chippy Pete.¡±


    I left Trevor with a quick kiss and watched him go into my little shed, the door clicking closed and then the sound of a body flopping onto the bed. I¡¯d tuckered him out. A grin of victory pinched my lips as I walked carefully onto the porch and crouched down to enter the trailer. I was ripe and I needed a shower before I went into work.


    What I didn¡¯t need were a bunch of questions from Mama. How could I explain this? Trevor was still here, he wasn¡¯t naked anymore and at least he had his own clothes. The hardest part would be giving her a coherent explanation for the brand new BMW, a car that cost more than probably three or four of our trailers combined. I needed to make sure that nobody stripped it or stole anything from it and so I did the only thing I could think to do ¨C I threw an old, ratty tarp on it, hoping that as long as Mama¡¯s eagle eye remained intact and as thorough as it had been for years, Joe¡¯s car wouldn¡¯t get hurt.


    ¡°Mama?¡± I asked. She looked up from her place in front of the cheap desktop that she¡¯d used for years for her online gambling. When I say gambling I don¡¯t mean poker, blackjack, or anything like that ¨C I mean online sweepstakes. If you¡¯re wondering what that means, let me tell you ¨C there¡¯s a whole world out there, on the Internet, that does things that you could never dream of. And I don¡¯t mean porn.


    Mama had discovered this online sweepstakes thing about five years ago when she bought some book off the internet for $19.95 that said she could find a way to make $1,000 a month from the ease of her home. Anything was bigger than her disability check and so Mama went for it and found a couple of sweepstakes forums. On these forums people traded tips and information about sweepstakes ¨C you know, things like enter to win one of five garden baskets or enter this code from the top of your pop bottle and get a five dollar gift card to something.

 Page 23

    Mama did that, all day, every day. She probably spent five or six hours doing nothing but entering her name, address, phone number, and submitting. Some of these people got clever. Her fellow sweepstakers (they call themselves sweepers), had a whole culture online where they used robo-filling forms so that it was faster to get your entry in and they had contests to see who could enter the most sweepstakes in an hour. It gave Mama something to do and it filled the trailer.


    I knew, now, to wait until she was done with the submission before interrupting her, so I paused, carefully trained to wait out until she got the confirmation page. She turned to me and smiled. ¡°Yes?¡±Advertisement


    ¡°How¡¯s it goin¡¯?¡±


    ¡°No instant wins today.¡± An instant win meant that she would submit and get an instant notification that she¡¯d won anything from a free music download to a night¡¯s hotel stay ¨C we never used those because none of the hotels were nearby but she¡¯d often barter them and get on these forums and get a little bit of cash in return.


    Over the years, I¡¯d say that Mama had probably averaged about a dollar an hour ¨C she would say more like three. I don¡¯t know, somehow there was always a drinking cup with a logo on it, a hat, and so many t-shirts she started just donating them to the local domestic violence shelter. We had five dollar gift cards to fast food places that were not even close and Mama traded those, but if it was something good or something we could use for a bit of cash then what was the harm? We¡¯d tried lots of foods over the years that we never would have bought, everything from chocolate covered bacon to gluten-free pancake mix that wasn¡¯t half bad.


    ¡°Is that boy still here?¡± she asked, standing and limping over to the coffee pot. She gestured with question ¨C did I want any? What the hell, I nodded and she poured in two scoops of coffee to make two cups.


    ¡°Which one?¡± I was running out of words pretty fast and that wasn¡¯t like me.


    ¡°What are you doing, Darla?¡± she asked, her face screwed up in a look of disgust. ¡°You find some naked hitchhiker by the side of the road and you take him in to a place you won¡¯t even let me see.¡± Her eyes combed over my body and I got creepy-crawly feeling. We didn¡¯t talk this way anymore¡ªI thought I¡¯d learned to deflect before the conversation got to this point. We didn¡¯t talk much at all about anything other than the lottery and sweepstakes. It felt awkward when she pulled out the concern, like she was asserting the parental role that she¡¯d given up eighteen years ago. But the only part that still fit her was the criticism.


    ¡°I¡¯m just having fun. He¡¯s the singer for the band that I like.¡±


    ¡°How would you know him?¡±


    ¡°I listen to his music online and it turns out that it¡¯s him.¡±


    Her eyes narrowed, the flesh above her lip curling in a sneer that I¡¯d never seen on her before. ¡°What a coincidence.¡±


    No kidding, I thought. ¡°Yeah, it is a hell of a coincidence, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    She just shook her head, lips tight, and stared at the gurgling coffee maker as if it were performing alchemy. ¡°What about that fancy car out there? Is that another boy from the band?¡±


    Shit. ¡°Uhh¡­yeah.¡±


    Her head whipped around. ¡°That was a joke, Darla,¡± she barked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not kiddin¡¯ Mama, it is. He came here to help get Trevor back home safely.¡±


    ¡°So why didn¡¯t they leave?¡±


    ¡°Car¡¯s broke.¡±


    This conversation was rapidly devolving and I didn¡¯t like being on the lower end of the evolutionary scale, or at least in our relationship. A thin thread of anger stirred inside me, wiggling, unraveling something so deep I didn¡¯t have a name for it but if Mama kept talking to me like this I was pretty sure soon I¡¯d have some names for her.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna go take my shower.¡±


    ¡°What about the coffee?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have it when I get out. It¡¯s just a quick one.¡± I stomped off, knowing I needed to walk away before I said something I¡¯d regret. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time ¨C saying something bad, I mean. As I¡¯d gotten older, I¡¯d gotten better about just getting some space from her when things got like this. However, this was the first time I¡¯d had to deal with a naked hitchhiker and his friend¡¯s broken Beemer ¨C so maybe there wasn¡¯t any rule for how to handle this.


    The spray of the shower helped wash away some of my anger and I was quick about it, knowing that I would be late if I dilly-dallied. No one at the gas station cared if I went in with wet hair, so I threw it up in a loose pony tail, grabbed my work shirt, made sure that my jeans were clean and my shoes were something other than sneakers and headed back out.


    Mama had already poured me a mug of coffee and dumped in some cream, just the way she knew I liked it. The gesture softened me. I knew she was asking all these questions because she was concerned. ¡°Mama, I threw a tarp over Joe¡¯s car. Can you just keep an eye on it?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s like asking me to protect the Hope Diamond, Darla.¡±


    We both laughed. ¡°Give it a shot. I don¡¯t think anybody will come over and do anything to it, especially under that ratty old tarp.¡±


    ¡°If they do, I¡¯ll call you,¡± she said.


    Her hand reached out and covered mine as I took a sip from the mug with the other. The gesture startled me. We weren¡¯t the affectionate type ¨C the anything type ¨C when it came to emotions. ¡°Where are they from?¡± she asked. ¡°Cleveland? Pittsburgh?¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°Boston.¡±


    ¡°Boston!¡± she shouted. ¡°That far? What on earth are they doing here?¡±


    Oh, Mama, if only you knew, I thought. ¡°They¡¯re just passing through town.¡± That wasn¡¯t technically a lie so I¡¯d go with it.


    ¡°Boston¡¯s where Josie is,¡± she said, suspiciously. ¡°Isn¡¯t that convenient.¡±


    Yeah, it is, I thought. I gulped down as much of the coffee as I could, the liquid just hot enough to make my throat warm and my belly feel thick and full, but not so hot as to scald me. I said, ¡°Thank you.¡±


    She said, ¡°Just be careful.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m always careful, Mama,¡± I joked.


    ¡°You¡¯re always somethin¡¯,¡± she teased back.


    I waved as I walked out of the door into the sunlight. A quick peek in the window of my little shed showed a sound asleep Trevor, curled up on my bed, so boyish it made my heart nearly break with some kind of tender emotion that I probably wasn¡¯t supposed to feel for him. I wanted to crawl into that bed with him and just curl up behind him and breathe when he breathed¡­but I couldn¡¯t.


    So, I did what I always did and sucked it up and went to the gas station to hand out cigarettes, and booze, and approve pumps, and spend five hours earning as much money as Joe¡¯s shirt probably cost.


    Chapter Eight


    Darla


    Jane had been my best friend since, well, hell, I don¡¯t remember when, but she definitely became a better best friend when Josie went and graduated high school and wasn¡¯t around much. People used to call us Darla and Jane like it was all one blended word ¨C DarlanJane ¨C and for years we were¡­inseparable, I mean. You couldn¡¯t separate us, you couldn¡¯t part us, you couldn¡¯t anything us. There were no wedges and no divides until she got pregnant two years ago.


    Now, twenty, around here, is actually pretty young for getting pregnant. I didn¡¯t even object to the fact that she got pregnant. Plenty of people do ¨C whether they mean to or not ¨C but it was the guy she got pregnant with. She picked this dumbass named Jared. He was five years older than us and he was somebody¡¯s brother from our class. All I knew is that I¡¯d never liked him, even when we were little kids, and I sure as hell didn¡¯t like he was the father of Jane¡¯s baby. And then, shortly after the birth, it got worse. He became her husband.


    Somehow Jane had managed to get pregnant, fall in love with Jared, and find Jesus all at once, although I don¡¯t think the Jesus part came easy. It was driven by Jared, who had become like some sort of truck bed preacher. He¡¯d convinced a bunch of people to go in on renting an old, deserted store front in a little chain of three or four stores attached to a house. The other three stores were an orthopedic specialist, some kind of nutrition and supplement place that I¡¯d never set foot in, and of course, a liquor store. The Renewed Life Fellowship Church was what he¡¯d called it and he was out there for every Sunday, preaching away, into the wind as cars drove by.


    Now, I don¡¯t have a problem with anyone finding religion ¨C hell, I¡¯m still searching for mine ¨C but what I do have a problem with is hypocrites. When Jane started showing up to work with little bruises here and there, that¡¯s when I lost my faith ¨C or, at least, my faith in Jared.


    I pulled into work and there she was, stocking the pop, putting it all in the cooler one by one, mindless motions so ingrained in us we could probably unload a shipment on our deathbed. We¡¯d been working there since high school. I¡¯d gotten the job first and then, when there was an opening a few months later, helped Jane get hired. We hardly ever got to work the same shift; the owner was cheap and tried to keep only one person on. Only on midnights did he have two working, that way in case there was a robbery at least there was a modicum of safety in place. Today I¡¯d take over for her ¨C we would overlap by an hour ¨C and she didn¡¯t look good. She kept hiding her head and just said, ¡°Hey, Darla.¡±


    I stashed away my purse, straightened my uniform shirt, and waited for her to change cash trays with me so that whatever she¡¯d done on her shift didn¡¯t mingle with what I was about to do on mine. And that¡¯s when I saw it ¨C a new shiner, only this one went all the way from the bridge of her nose over practically to her ear. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath because the last time I¡¯d asked her about it she got mad and didn¡¯t talk to me for almost six months. Six months is a long time not to talk to your best friend. Then again, lately she wasn¡¯t my best friend. The echo of all those years together pinged back and forth in my head, though, leaving me torn.


    ¡°Are you OK?¡± I asked, not certain what I was allowed to say.


    ¡°Yeah¡­oh, this?¡± she said, touching her face and acting as if I were commenting on her new hairdo or a shirt that she¡¯d bought for a special occasion. ¡°Oh, the baby leaves toys all over the place and he was¡­¡± her voice faded out. We both knew she was lying.


    I wasn¡¯t gonna call her on it. ¡°You might wanna tell the baby that he really ought not to do that.¡± We stared at each other in silence. I knew it was lame and she knew it was lame. We were involved in a conspiracy of unspoken truths and unspeakable denials and unfortunately the one person who wasn¡¯t engaged in this battle was the one who was gonna win it. Jared. That motherfucker.


    She pulled at the edge of her shirt and my heart sank along with my stomach. The swell of her belly was unmistakable ¨C another baby. Little Lucas was what¡­seventeen months now? I guess two years or so isn¡¯t too bad between kids but ¨C another one with that motherfucker? He had her really trapped now. She trapped herself, I thought. Somehow the truth was in between those two.

 Page 24

    I thought of Trevor, asleep, like a little child in my little place between the truth and denial. I guess we all have things we hide from ourselves and scramble, desperately, to hide from the world. It¡¯s just that Jared made it so that Jane couldn¡¯t hide it and at the same time, forced her to try. I wouldn¡¯t say a word about her pregnancy until she said something, but she just stared at me with eyes so sad and so ashamed that I wanted to reach out and give her a hug. So I did.


    She tensed in my arms so I pulled back and just smiled the fakest, most pretend-sincere smile I could manage and said, ¡°We need to get together more often.¡±Advertisement


    Brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face, the ends of her overgrown haircut split and frizzy, she smiled a wan, bland grin. She looked so tired, so beaten down and literally beaten up. ¡°I¡¯d like that, too,¡± she said, breathlessly, as if it were some new thing that I¡¯d brought up for the very first time, like we were brand new friends getting to know each other. ¡°Let me see when I can,¡± she said and a genuine smile pranced across her lips as she turned and wrote some numbers down on an inventory sheet.


    The next half hour was filled with school kids coming in and out, buying soda and candy and crap, littering the bottom of their cars, floating along on joyrides because around here that¡¯s about all you could do if you weren¡¯t in an after-school sport. A few short years ago, we were those kids and it pained me to think about the fact that we would never be that way again. I vowed to never be the way that Jane was, trapped and miserable.


    As she went to leave I reached out again and touched her forearm. Her brown, stringy hair floated in front of her face and she kept sweeping it back with one hand, brown eyes ringed by dark circles, her skin paler than I remembered. She carried a little bit of pudge around her hips but otherwise was thinner than we¡¯d been in high school, which surprised me. I took a good, long look at her for the first time in what felt like forever and said, ¡°Tell Lucas his Aunty said ¡®hello¡¯.¡±


    ¡°I will. You take care of yourself, Darla.¡±


    ¡°You too, Jane.¡±


    My mouth was bursting to tell her everything about Trevor, to tell her all about Joe, about the hidden BMW in my trailer parking lot, the purple passion place that she would be thrilled to know existed. I¡¯d talked about doing something like that for years and had only recently actually executed it. There were so many things I wanted to share with her, so much I wanted to explore with a friend, and the impact of choosing to be so self ¨C sufficient was starting to take its toll on me. If my one friend could evaporate into the shadows of Jared so quickly, leaving me a recluse without a confidante, then maybe that said more about me then it said about Jane.


    Jared, on the other hand. I knew that two phone calls, one to my Uncle Mike and one to just about any guy who¡¯d ever liked Jane in high school, could make it so that Jared learned a lesson that would at least buy Jane enough time to get through her pregnancy without being struck like a dog. I also knew that it could backfire. If Jared got the shit kicked out of him by a crew of guys at the bar he was smart enough, clever enough ¨C really, sociopathic enough ¨C to figure out how to turn it to his advantage.


    There had to be a different way to disgrace him, to either make him either leave, which was about as likely as me leaving this town, or to make Jane leave. I didn¡¯t think she would. The Bible says, the Bible says, the Bible says had become her mantra lately and the Bible seemed to be Jared. Whatever he said the Bible said, she took to heart, and she had decided that she just wasn¡¯t submissive enough. At least, that¡¯s the rumor I heard. I wouldn¡¯t know it from the horse¡¯s mouth because Jane had turned into a ghost of her former self. Was that my future if I stayed?


    Over the next few hours customers came in, customers went out, and I operated on autopilot, knowing the job so well that I could have done it in my sleep while whacking off as I watched Magic Mike¡­ ew, that¡¯s one hell of an image isn¡¯t it? I think I need to revise that in my own mind. At any rate, you know what I¡¯m saying. The job was dull, robotic, and it didn¡¯t take more than three brain cells to do it ¨C which described pretty much everything in my life at the moment¡­except for Trevor.


    I finished my shift, handed the keys off to my boss, who had come in to fill in to keep labor nice and low. As we changed drawers, I smiled to myself and then my phone rang. ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Hi, Darla?¡± It was Joe. That was about the last voice I thought I¡¯d hear on my phone.


    ¡°How¡¯d you get my number?¡± I asked, confused.


    ¡°You had Trevor call me,¡± he said, slowly.


    ¡°Oh, oh, yeah, you¡¯re right. What¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Can you come get me here at the hotel?¡± I hadn¡¯t thought about that but it made sense.


    ¡°Sure. Sure. I¡¯m gettin¡¯ off shift right now. Gimme ten minutes.¡±


    ¡°Will do. Thanks. Bye.¡±


    That was probably the most perfunctory conversation I¡¯d had with a human being in years. That was just about all we needed to say to each other. I climbed in my car, unbuttoned my work shirt, threw it in the back seat and made sure that I looked reasonably decent, because after I picked up Joe I¡¯d be swinging back to meet up with Uncle Mike and to find Trevor.


    It really was close to the end now. I thought about Jane and Jared as I drove toward the truck stop. If I could just avoid being trapped then I¡­I what? I¡¯d live like this? Shit. Maybe I was trapped, too, and just didn¡¯t know it. It didn¡¯t take a baby or two or an abusive husband to make you feel like you had no options. It didn¡¯t take a disabled mama or no money either. It was all about your own core, what you thought you could do. Trevor and Joe were just as trapped as I was. The question was: how could we break free?


    I wasn¡¯t looking forward to the trip between Joe¡¯s hotel and picking up Trevor. The last thing I needed was another ten minutes of grief in my life, and snobbish grief was really the last thing I needed. So, as I drove to the hotel, I paused and realized that what I really did need was a quick phone chat with my aunt. I had Josie on autodial and thankfully she picked up, the phone ringing twice before I heard her say, ¡°Darla, what the hell are you doing calling me?¡±


    ¡°Oh, just slumming.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°You OK? You finally going to take me up on my offer to move out here?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± I said. Yup, I thought. Where the hell did that come from? There was no way I could actually move out to Boston. She¡¯d been trying to get me out there for years. Mama needed me but now, with Trevor living right outside the city and Joe¡­


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I want to talk about.¡±


    ¡°You talk about what you want to talk about, then.¡±


    ¡°I need to talk about a man.¡±


    ¡°A man? How can you talk about a man? There aren¡¯t any men out there.¡±


    ¡°No kidding,¡± I muttered, ¡°but I actually managed to find one.¡± Maybe two.


    ¡°So, who is this man you found?¡±


    ¡°I literally found him, Josie. He was naked, wearing nothing but a guitar on the side of the road.¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not kidding.¡± Why did I always have to say that to her, all the time, and Mama too? ¡°I¡¯m not kidding¡± had become as commonplace in my daily vocabulary as ¡°Sure, let me help you.¡±


    ¡°He was just standing there on I-76, wearing a guitar and a collar and sticking his thumb out, and so I stopped.¡±


    ¡°Did you fuck him?¡±


    ¡°Wow, way to be blunt Josie. Yeah, of course.¡±


    ¡°How can I be blunt if I¡¯m right?¡±


    ¡°You can be both.¡±


    ¡°I often am but don¡¯t accuse me of being too blunt when, in the end, the direct question I¡¯m asking relates exactly to what you¡¯ve actually done.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about that, either,¡± I snapped.


    ¡°So, what do you want to talk about?¡±


    ¡°I want to talk about this man.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡±


    ¡°Trevor.¡±


    ¡°Trevor what?¡±


    ¡°Trevor Connor,¡± I said, struggling to keep the grin out of my voice.


    ¡°Trevor Connor¡­where have I heard that name? Why is that so familiar?¡± she said. I paused, giving her a taste of her own silence. ¡°Wait a minute!¡± she practically screamed. ¡°Trevor Connor? From Random Acts of Crazy?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Darla.¡± Calm seeped into her voice, the kind of placid, dulcet tones you use with a florid schizophrenic. Or a drunk redneck.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Are you on something? Because you don¡¯t just conjure a naked man on the interstate, wearing nothing but a guitar, who happens to be the lead singer of your favorite band. Honey, do you need me to call someone?¡±


    ¡°I swear to God, Josie, I am not making this up.¡±


    ¡°Okayyy,¡± she said, skeptically. ¡°And you fucked him?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Any good?¡±


    ¡°Hoo boy,¡± I said.


    ¡°That good?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°So what¡¯s your problem?¡±


    What¡¯s my problem? I thought. What¡¯s my problem? Great question. That¡¯s why I called her, right? She always knew how to get to the heart of something. The problem was that I didn¡¯t know what my problem was. So, I said that.


    ¡°My problem is that I don¡¯t know what my problem is and Trevor is about to leave any minute now and I¡¯m going to pick up his friend Joe, who ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Joe? Joe as in Joe Ross, the bass player?¡±


    ¡°Yup.¡±


    ¡°Quit saying yup.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Is that better?¡±


    ¡°Actually, yes.¡±


    ¡°OK then, ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re telling me that you¡¯re hanging out with the bass player and the lead singer of your favorite band in the middle of Peters?¡±


    ¡°Yup ¨C yes, ma¡¯am, I mean,¡± I corrected myself.


    ¡°You know they¡¯re from Boston, right?


    ¡°Well, outside of Boston, some suburb named Sudborough.¡±


    Josie snorted. ¡°More like Snob-borough.¡±


    ¡°I picked up on that,¡± I said as I pulled into the hotel, right in front of Joe¡¯s room.


    ¡°Are they being assholes?¡± she said, coldly. ¡°Because if you need me to ¨C ¡±


    ¡°What? What are you going to do, Josie. You¡¯re a hundred pounds soaking wet. You gonna go and raspberry them to death? Shake your finger in their faces extra hard?¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°Fair enough,¡± she said. Her voice softened, ¡°So, what¡¯s really going on?¡±


    ¡°Well, you knew I already had a fangirl crush on Trevor so the problem is that now that I¡¯ve spent most of the past twenty-four hours with him, I don¡¯t want to let him go.¡± I could feel the mournful tone in my voice and willed away the choking, salty tears that filled my throat.


    ¡°So, don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t what?¡±

 Page 25

    ¡°Don¡¯t let him get away. Come to Boston. Live with me here in Cambridge.¡±


    ¡°You know I can¡¯t do that,¡± I said through gritted teeth. Her response was the best antidote to my tears and I could feel a defensive tension form in my neck and upper back.Advertisement


    ¡°Your Mama¡¯s fine,¡± she said, soothingly. ¡°You can come out here, you can go on Darla. You can move on.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna talk about that.¡±


    ¡°Well, I do,¡± she insisted. ¡°And now you have a place to live, you have a guy ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Two guys,¡± I interrupted ¨C might as well change the subject.


    ¡°Two guys? You fucked them both?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ no,¡± I protested. Not yet, I thought. Where the hell did that thought come from? ¡°Look, it¡¯s complicated,¡± I said.


    ¡°It¡¯s always complicated,¡± she said with an acid tone.


    ¡°No, actually it¡¯s not,¡± I replied, puzzled. ¡°My life¡¯s pretty fuckin¡¯ simple Josie. I go to my gas station job, I help Mama with her sugars and I try to find somebody to spend time with who doesn¡¯t think that Killer Karaoke is the height of American culture. Other than that, I don¡¯t have a complicated life and now, suddenly, in twenty-four hours it¡¯s become more twisted and more confusing than anything else in my entire life probably since I was four.¡±


    Something in my words or my tone made her change her entire approach and her voice went soft and gentle. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°It sounds like whatever you¡¯re going through, it¡¯s pretty big.¡±


    ¡°Yup¡­uh, yes ma¡¯am,¡± I said.


    ¡°How can I help?¡±


    ¡°Tell me what to do,¡± I joked. ¡°I don¡¯t want Trevor to leave ¨C Joe¡¯s about to take him away. Uncle Mike¡¯s gonna fix his car.¡±


    ¡°Joe¡¯s car is broken?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he got here and then came into my little purple passion place ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Your purple what?¡±


    ¡°Oh, nevermind.¡± I hadn¡¯t told her about the shed, she had no idea what I was talkin¡¯ about.


    ¡°If you¡¯ve got a place on your body that¡¯s turning purple from passion, Darla, then there are medications for that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like that.¡±


    ¡°Ookaaayyy.¡± Again, she drew the word out with extreme skepticism. It was getting annoying.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want Trevor to leave and Joe¡¯s an asshole but he¡¯s a really, really, really attractive asshole and I just,¡± Ahh, I sighed. ¡°I guess it¡¯s all on me, isn¡¯t it.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s all on you. I can¡¯t really help you. I¡¯m here to listen, I¡¯m here to give you whatever advice I can, and I¡¯m here to caution you to please, please use condoms.¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± I said. ¡°No worries.¡±


    ¡°OK, good because the last thing you need is to add a baby to this mix.¡±


    ¡°I know. I know, Josie, I¡¯m watching Jane go through it. Trust me, I do not wanna add a baby to anything right now.¡±


    ¡°Good girl. I¡¯m going to start clearing out my guest room just in case you wanted to, you know, visit. Or uproot your entire life and move in.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Fat chance.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I think the chance is better than you think, Darla,¡± she said.


    I looked up and Joe had stepped outside, the glow of the security lamps illuminating that perfect, wavy tousled hair, his face well rested and neutral, his body moving with a languid grace that made me just want to ¨C ¡°I gotta go, Josie,¡± I said. ¡°Things are about to get even more complicated.¡±


    ¡°Just remember one thing, Darla,¡± she said before I hung up.


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Whatever you do, it¡¯s your life ¨C not anybody else¡¯s. You get to pick what happens next.¡±


    The hair at the nape of Joe¡¯s neck was damp and he smelled like industrial soap, the scent you get after spending the night in a hotel, with a hint of bleach. ¡°Hey,¡± he said.


    ¡°Hey,¡± I mimicked, and as I backed out of the parking lot there was just silence between us until I turned out onto the main road to head home. It was awkward, I won¡¯t deny it, but I wasn¡¯t about to break first. He had been the asshole and I sure as hell wasn¡¯t gonna play that nicey-nice game where I would pretend that the assholery was fair and balanced and we were equally responsible. Fuck that. He was the jerk and if anybody was gonna say anything, it had to be him.


    That made for three minutes of tense, quiet that was so thick it was like swimming in Davey¡¯s brain. Finally Joe cracked and said, ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    I let the words hang in the air because I wanted to savor them. How many times are you right in this world and someone actually acknowledges it? If I replied with, ¡°It¡¯s OK,¡± I¡¯d be lying because the way he was acting wasn¡¯t OK. If I said, ¡°I understand,¡± that would be a lie too, because I didn¡¯t understand. Snobbery seemed so ridiculous to me because unless you earned the money yourself you were just piggybacking off of someone else¡¯s luck or fortune and looking down on other people. To me, that just made you a douchebag. Finally I settled on a grunt of, ¡°Huh.¡±


    He smiled a little. ¡°Well said.¡±


    ¡°I may not be eloquent, but I get my point across.¡±


    He studied me; I could feel his eyes crawling over my profile as we drove along, the headlights illuminating a possum that barely escaped my tire, the backs of road signs shining in a quick glare as the headlights bounced off them. Just outside the beams, the thin, spindly twigs and branches of trees still mostly bare between their spring buds gave the whole night the suggestion of a horror movie, except I wasn¡¯t creeped out so much as unsure about what the rest of the night held.


    ¡°It helps to have gotten a few hours of sleep and a quick shower,¡± he said, a congenial tone that I had not heard yet in his voice. Relenting a bit, I relaxed and smiled, turning toward him and just nodding.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna imagine that there¡¯s no class at your college for what to do when your best friend disappears and reappears six hundred miles away¡­naked.¡±


    ¡°If there were such a class,¡± he said, ¡°that would be at Hampshire College.¡± He laughed. The puzzled look on my face must have told him that I had no idea what the joke meant and he said, ¡°You guys have Oberlin College around here, right?¡±


    ¡°On the other side of the state, yeah.¡±


    And he said, ¡°Well, Hampshire is similar.¡±


    I got the joke about drugs and nakedness in general, hedonism, and laughed politely. I may have manners so unpolished that if you brushed up against me you¡¯d bleed from hitting a sharp edge but I knew when to shine somebody on as they extended an olive branch.


    ¡°Why are you being so nice to Trevor?¡± he asked. It wasn¡¯t an accusation; I could hear a genuine questioning in his voice and a little bit of prodding. He was curious and trying to figure out what he could and couldn¡¯t talk to Trevor about. I needed to be guarded but open at the same time. Damn, if these men weren¡¯t stretching me in new ways.


    ¡°At first it was just because he was so strange standing there, caught in my headlights, totally naked, with those thighs flexing and the guitar covering his nether regions.¡± I slowed the car down and went an uncharacteristic thirty-five in a thirty-five zone, no need to speed. In fact, I wanted to stretch this conversation out. It was pleasant and I hadn¡¯t done pleasant with Joe. Time to see where that could take us.


    ¡°And then?¡± he asked.


    ¡°And then it was hey, here¡¯s this really hot guy and he¡¯s into me so¡­¡± I shrugged. ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± he echoed.


    ¡°And then,¡± I shook my head a little, ¡°he needed a place to stay, some clothes, some food, and once he called you everything sort of snowballed from there and we knew what was happening next. We didn¡¯t do anything special, I didn¡¯t know he was Trevor Connor from Random Acts of Crazy.¡±


    ¡°Would that have changed anything?¡± Joe asked. ¡°If you had known?¡±


    I bit my lower lip and thought about that for a minute. I frowned and shook my head, my hands firmly planted at ten and two o¡¯clock on my steering wheel as we now went thirty in a thirty-five zone. Nobody was behind me so I didn¡¯t worry about it.


    ¡°Uhh¡­ no.¡± My answer was indecisive at first and then clipped at the end, more a function of needing to think it through than of any actual hesitation about the emotional impact of his question. To the left I had an opportunity to take a road that would extend our journey but not get us unreasonably far from home, so I grabbed the chance. Might as well buy five or ten extra minutes.


    ¡°Why do you think Trevor ended up out here?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Because he¡¯s a dumb fuck.¡±


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s that.¡± I laughed. ¡°But why would he get so fucked up and then what ¨C hit the road naked? I don¡¯t get it. I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Me neither,¡± Joe answered.


    ¡°Why did he get so fucked up in the first place?¡±


    ¡°You mean back home? I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s what we do, it¡¯s what Trevor does especially. Eating that entire bag of peyote though¡­man,¡± Joe made a low whistle. ¡°That¡¯s some fucked up shit. I haven¡¯t seen anyone do that before.¡±


    ¡°Do you think that he was trying to get himself so deeply in trouble that someone would have to rescue him?¡±


    Joe pounded his chest with a flat palm and said, ¡°It worked, didn¡¯t it?¡±


    I smiled and we shared a conspiratorial grin and then I got serious. ¡°No, I don¡¯t mean that way. I mean more¡­maybe it was a cry for help.¡±


    Joe pulled his chin back, his face shocked. His eyes roamed down over the dashboard to the floor, he stared at his feet and then looked straight ahead at the horizon where my headlamp beams seemed to force the bare trees to part for us. ¡°That¡¯s not Trevor,¡± he said. ¡°That¡¯s not who he is. He¡¯s never been like that. If he were gonna do something like that he would just do it, he wouldn¡¯t¡­¡± He seemed to struggle with his words and then said simply, ¡°No.¡±


    A huge internal sigh of relief whooshed out of me but I couldn¡¯t hint at it. ¡°Good,¡± I said, nodding slowly.


    We drove in a nice sort of companion quiet, neither of us feeling the need to talk until Joe rested a warm hand, for the briefest of seconds, on my shoulder and then pulled back. ¡°I see why he likes you,¡± Joe said.


    Something in my belly tightened and my throat went loose, my heart slamming against my ribcage as Joe¡¯s words triggered a reaction that made me lick my lips and try to quell the butterflies that fluttered down below. This was not how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be excited to go see Trevor and grab whatever little bit of time we had, wringing it until we squeezed out every last lustful drop. He could go back to Boston and live his life and I could stay here and live mine.

 Page 26

    And the way that the presence of these two men changed the execution of time for me would come to an end.


    JoeAdvertisement


    It just seemed so weird to me that I couldn¡¯t keep my eyes off of her. Here we were, hurtling along these weird country roads, in her little rusted out box of a car. It looked like something from those Soviet era movies that we were forced to watch in AP World History, but with only the grimness, none of the fascination. She had a glow, a purpose and a grounding to her and she seemed to be completely unaware of it.


    At home, everyone, guys and girls, were so focused on making sure that they controlled as much as possible what other people thought of them and at the same time were thoroughly manipulated by what other people thought of them. The congruity of opinion was what helped you to stay popular, or at least to stay not not-popular. Being on the fringe was the kiss of death. In fact, I couldn¡¯t really name anybody who wasn¡¯t part of my circle. We were all the captains of the sports teams, the heads of debate clubs and outdoors clubs and Young Whatever Political party clubs. I was editor in chief of the newspaper and part of the academic decathlon team. Finding an answer to ¡°What do you do?¡± was what we did. It was who we were, meeting these milestones, fighting for a high school resume that showed the world that we weren¡¯t as inadequate as we thought we were on the inside.


    And along comes Darla. Really?


    She was the kind of girl¡­no, she was a woman. The kind we don¡¯t have back home or, if we do, they don¡¯t live in Sudborough. I could see why Trevor was taken with her, I got it and yet it seemed a little too much like slumming. If we knew we were around for months or even years I¡¯d understand more because this wasn¡¯t someone you fucked and left. This was the kind of person that made you stay.


    A thin tremor of fear shot through my right arm and I gripped the car door handle to steady myself. Was Trevor thinking about staying? Is that why he was so cagey when it was time to leave? I did not want to be the messenger to Mrs. Connor with that missive.


    The air was warm enough that Darla had the windows down or, perhaps, they just didn¡¯t roll up. Her blonde curls, little tufts, flew out behind her face, her ponytail heavy and thick but her eyes animated and a little wild. Her excitement was for Trevor, I knew that. I¡¯d been Trevor¡¯s second best for a long time. He used to say that he didn¡¯t understand why, that I was like something chiseled out of Esquire. But Trevor had something I lacked and frankly that I didn¡¯t really want because it was a bit too untamed. And that drew women to him ¨C the wrong women, of course. None of them actually wanted to be licked by the flames of the fire in Trevor¡¯s belly. Darla looked like she wanted to be slow roasted in it.


    ¡°Darla?¡± I asked, quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. It made me feel weak so I cleared my throat and asked with a deeper, more authoritative voice. Her back straightened as I opened my mouth and said, ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡±


    She turned her head, frowned and looked at me. Then her eyes went back to the road. ¡°What do you mean? What¡¯s what like?¡±


    ¡°Living here. Your life, your future.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°Future? What future?¡±


    ¡°You have fifty or sixty years left. What are you going to do with it?¡±


    She exhaled and her shoulders slumped, just a bit. Her foot moved on the pedal as she slowed the car down and turned down another road. I didn¡¯t remember the drive between her trailer and the hotel being quite this long but I didn¡¯t care much either. This was the most enjoyable conversation I¡¯d had in a long time and for once the focus wasn¡¯t on my looks or my permanent record.


    ¡°Around here, Joe, people don¡¯t¡­¡± she faltered, clenched her jaw and then relaxed a bit, ¡°people don¡¯t think that way. If you¡¯re gonna go to college it¡¯s either because your parents have enough money to send you away or because you need to be a nurse or get a criminal justice degree to become a cop, or maybe some specialized training like computers, or auto-tech. A lot of that can be done in high school, though, for free. People here, we work construction, we clean the houses of people like you though ¨C there aren¡¯t many around here. We don¡¯t think in terms of futures and careers beyond, ¡®Oh, I want to have a family some day,¡¯ though, more likely it¡¯s, ¡®Oops, I guess I¡¯m having a family now¡¯.¡±


    That made me laugh, and not in a funny kind of way. It made me nervously sick. The handful of girls I knew our age who¡¯d gotten pregnant just got abortions. I wasn¡¯t going to say that aloud right now to Darla. She was opening up to me and I didn¡¯t deserve it after being such an asshole to her. Blowing it again meant that she wouldn¡¯t give me a second chance.


    I nodded. ¡°I think I understand.¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Well, give me a chance.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about chances.¡± The car turned onto the gravel road of her trailer development and an immediacy, a sense of urgency swept over my entire body, making me tense without the usual irritability. ¡°Your whole life is about having plenty, even if it¡¯s plenty of things it doesn¡¯t even occur to you to want. You have plenty of food, plenty of nice space in your house, plenty of nice cars, plenty of good tutoring, plenty of orthodontics.¡± She pointed to her crooked teeth. They were straight on top but the bottom jaw was a mish-mash of teeth thrown hither and yon inside her gumline. ¡°You have plenty ¨C but you also have plenty of rules, and around here we have our own set of rules. One of them is: don¡¯t make too many plans, because people who don¡¯t have money don¡¯t get to have that kind of control over their life.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s about money?¡±


    The polite thing to say would have been ¡®no¡¯ and back home, if I¡¯d asked that question, someone would have given a socioeconomic diatribe that explained that no, it had nothing to do with money, that it was about culture and that the working class were a morphism and blah, blah, blah, blah.


    Darla¡¯s refreshing answer, ¡°Fuck yeah it is!¡±, made me double over with laughter.


    I finished my chuckle and held my palms out, knowing she¡¯d be offended if I didn¡¯t explain right away. ¡°I¡¯m laughing because you¡¯re so honest.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s funny?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s awesome.¡±


    She pulled the car into her spot next to her little shed and our eyes locked. Before I could think about it, I began to lean forward, just wanting some part of her earthiness. She was the most real person I think I¡¯d ever met. Her face softened and I swear she began to lean in, too.


    And then tap, tap, tap! Trevor was at the window.


    Darla


    ¡°So, where¡¯s your uncle?¡± Joe asked me, pulling back and acting as if we hadn¡¯t just had a moment. Trevor waved and smiled like a minor maniac out there, his shoulders raised and hands shoved in his pockets. A slight night chill made me feel a bit sorry for him. Maybe I should grab a flannel shirt of Mike¡¯s to keep him warm.


    Or maybe I could just keep him warm¡­


    I looked around ¨C no truck. Hmm¡­that was weird. Sometimes Mike¡¯d bring it home without a trailer attached although the manager of the trailer park didn¡¯t like that too much. It stirred up too much dust and rutted the roads so I knew he¡¯d been parking it and then driving his junky, old beater truck here but neither vehicle was within sight.


    ¡°Hang on, let me call him,¡± I said. I could see Joe¡¯s agitation level rising. I wasn¡¯t sure how much of it was from our being interrupted by Trevor and how much was from Mike not being here. A little part of me hoped that it was more the former than the latter.


    How could I be doing this? Who finds themselves attracted to two guys at once like this and doesn¡¯t feel bad about it? That¡¯s the part I didn¡¯t understand. I didn¡¯t feel bad about it ¨C I felt exhilarated, like there were more possibilities than I¡¯d ever imagined. I knew that from just meeting Trevor, it had been pounded into me ¨C literally ¨C by our time together but now here I was leaning in for a kiss from his best friend and¡­nope, not a pang of guilt. Nothing. More than anything I seemed to think I should feel guilty rather than actually feeling guilty, and that was all kinds of fucked up crazy.


    ¡°Hello? Uncle Mike? Where are you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°Here where? At home?¡± Craning my neck, I looked around again for a sign of him.


    ¡°No. Here at Jerry¡¯s.¡±


    I groaned. ¡°Oh man, how much have you had?¡±


    ¡°Cut it out, Darla. Not that much. What¡¯s up?¡±


    ¡°Remember my friend¡¯s car?¡±


    I heard the distant muffled sounds of the bar, the clanking of glass against glass, a pool cue cracking against a scratch ball. ¡°Aw, shit,¡± he muttered. ¡°Sweetheart, I forgot. It was a long haul. Uh¡­dammit.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve had too much to drink to drive.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    One rule dominated our family. You never, ever drank more than one and then drove. Even that one Mama hated but Uncle Mike and me, we were good ¨C we¡¯d drink, wait an hour at the least before getting behind a wheel.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do this,¡± I said, watching Joe¡¯s face turn from bewilderment to barely repressed fury and Trevor just looked at me with a neutral expression. ¡°Me and Trevor and Joe will come to Jerry¡¯s and we¡¯ll get you and then you come back here. Meanwhile, you drink a bunch of water and coffee because my friend really needs your help.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± he said.


    ¡°Mike.¡± I heard voices in the background over the phone. ¡°I mean it, you better be ordering water and coffee.¡±


    ¡°I am, babygirl.¡± His voice was a little slurred. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡±


    Click.


    Joe ran an angry hand through those perfect, wavy black locks. ¡°Let me guess,¡± he said, an acerbic tone that made my stomach tighten. ¡°He¡¯s at your local bar, drunk.¡±


    ¡°Not quite drunk,¡± I said, tipping my head back and forth while weighing out what the right word might be.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Joe screamed, banging his hand against the side of the trailer. A piece fell off and he kicked it as hard as he could. It landed in a giant rut in the dirt and gravel road. ¡°The only person in town who can fix my car is a drunk.¡±


    The only answer to that was to be matter-of-fact, right? This time of night, all the guys in town capable of fixing Joe¡¯s car were on their third beer. At least. ¡°Yes,¡± I said. ¡°Or you could wait until morning and maybe I could find some guy who ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Nope. No way. If your uncle is the only one who can help then let¡¯s just go get him. The faster I can get out of this giant clusterfuck, the better.¡± Joe turned to Trevor, hands on his hips, abs brushing in a rhythmic pattern up against his shirt as he breathed hard.


    I was more turned on than I had any right to be, just watching him process all of this.


    Trevor clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder and said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, dude, but we¡¯ll get out of this. We¡¯ll get you home.¡±

 Page 27

    Joe sighed. ¡°You mom is going to be so wicked pissed when you call.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not calling.¡±Advertisement


    Joe looked at his phone. ¡°I have nineteen texts on here. How many do you want to bet are from your mom and how many are from mine?¡±


    ¡°Only way to know is to look,¡± I said.


    He started scrolling through. ¡°Most of them are my mom. Let¡¯s see¡­.¡±


    Joe, call back immediately.


    Joe, Jenny Connor says you¡¯re not answering anyone about Trevor. Call.


    Joe, I¡¯m getting close to calling the police to help find you.


    Joe, text me back so I know you¡¯re alive.


    Joe, we¡¯re revoking the BMW.


    Joe, we won¡¯t pay for law school.


    Oh, man.


    As he recited it, Trevor shook his head in abject horror mixed with a certain kind of camaraderie. It was hard to understand, but it seemed as if these sorts of things from your parents were just part of their world. Damn. Mama didn¡¯t care what I did as long as I didn¡¯t get arrested. These mamas were treating them like twelve year olds. ¡°Is this the way you live?¡± I asked.


    Both men looked up, surprised. The streetlamp shone on them and there was a pinched fear, an anger, but also something more, like they didn¡¯t understand my question or why I was asking it. Like I was the dumbass here.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Joe snapped.


    ¡°Your moms do this? They¡¯re on you like this all the time?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I generally have to drive six hundred miles to pick up Trevor,¡± Joe countered.


    ¡°Did you tell your mom that?¡±


    Joe pulled back as if a bit struck. ¡°No. I just told her I was hanging out with my friends.¡±


    ¡°OK. So you¡¯re hanging out with your friends. She has no idea where you are but she knows you¡¯re safe. You¡¯ve been in contact with her, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you let her baby you like this?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t let her do anything,¡± Joe argued.


    ¡°Sure you do. Just tell her you¡¯re a twenty-two year old man and you can do whatever you want and that she needs to just get out of your business.¡±


    Joe snorted. ¡°Like that would go over real well.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the problem here?¡± I asked. ¡°Why don¡¯t you try it? It¡¯s not like the way she treats you now is what you want.¡±


    He swallowed hard. I could see his Adam¡¯s apple bobble a little and Trevor grinned at me, a crazy, madcap kind of grin.


    ¡°She¡¯s right, Joe. Loosen up dude.¡±


    ¡°What? I¡¯m supposed to eat a bag of peyote and end up naked on the side of the road? Is that what you want, Trev?¡±


    ¡°No, but look at you. You¡¯ve become a lapdog and she¡¯d threatening to take away your Beemer and your law school tuition because she hasn¡¯t heard from you in a couple hours.¡±


    ¡°The only reason you¡¯re not in the same position as me is because I¡¯m your buffer.¡±


    ¡°And you let me turn you into my buffer.¡±


    ¡°Fuck you.¡±


    Trevor


    I watched as Joe frantically texted his mom back, trying to make sure that he could get her off of his back and hopefully keep her from calling the police. Everything Darla said made sense, which only pissed me off even more than I already was when it came to dealing with my parents.


    Joe¡¯s were worse ¨C his mom really would call the police if he didn¡¯t respond and, in fact, she may have already. My mom would just call every friend of mine and bitch until she got what she wanted. Although, I guess if I went truly missing for more than twenty-four hours, she¡¯d call the authorities. That thought gave me comfort even if I resented it.


    Something crackled in the air between the three of us. It was a tension, a push and a pull that didn¡¯t make sense. It went beyond Darla and her keen observations about our parents, about the way that they ruled us, and about the way that they infantilized us. It made me feel small and ¨C I hated to admit it to myself, but ¨C weak.


    When I was on stage I was strong. I was a badass motherfucker. I was using my voice as an instrument, something developed and polished and ridden hard by no one other than me and my own drive to succeed. Mom and Dad couldn¡¯t co-opt that, no matter how hard they¡¯d tried. It was me who pushed to learn to play guitar so I could play an instrument next to Rick, while he played the piano flawlessly, hours and hours on end practicing the same song. It was all me.


    The first time I¡¯d tried to touch the keys while he played, he¡¯d hit me and thrown me across the room. I didn¡¯t remember it but that¡¯s what Mom told me. I did remember being four¡­five¡­six years old and trying, once again, to join in with him until finally when I was six Dad got me a little guitar and, like true Sudborough parents, they bought me lessons with a teacher.


    Rick grinned, so happy that I¡¯d joined his world when I played with him and it soothed him for me to sit in a chair next to his bench, for both of us to improvise and find new chords, new notes, new rhythm patterns. We even wrote songs together. I had a few recorded somewhere, burned onto a CD. It was probably one of the only things I got to share with him, a realm where Rick and I could meet and be conversant with each other using the language of melody, even when he couldn¡¯t speak.


    He was non-verbal, occasionally grunting and using a picture system on a computer to ¡°talk.¡± He¡¯d never been very good at it even though he was smart, and a brilliant prodigy, I now understood, at the piano. When he was thirteen and I was eight and they put him in the home where he¡¯d lived until he was eighteen, he¡¯d stopped playing piano for a very long time. I think he didn¡¯t sit in front of a keyboard or a piano until I was back in college and he¡¯d moved to a new halfway house.


    In the intervening years, every Sunday we¡¯d visit and Dad would urge me to bring my guitar. I would play and I could watch Rick¡¯s body visibly relax, see his eyes clear, his brain attune better. When I¡¯d stop and the music ended he¡¯d point and grunt and smile. For some reason it bothered Mom. I could see on her face a torn look, though Dad got it. This was how we spoke to Rick ¨C this was how I spoke to Rick. I was fluent in his language. I had found a little piece of him in the music that made him a little more whole.


    Or was that me?


    Maybe it was both of us.


    Darla¡¯s perfectly innocent suggestion about including Rick had caught me by surprise. No one ever talked about including Rick. When he came up, the conversation steered to therapies that would change him. Ways to created a self-contained world for him. How his behavior needed to change.


    Having her recommend including him in my band left me reeling. What the fuck? How could someone I hadn¡¯t known for two days be more in tune with how I felt about Rick than my own parents, or any of his support people?


    Her idea was fucking brilliant. Brilliant. And compassionate and caring. Knowing so little about him, her first impulse had been to help me reach out to him. Who does that?


    Darla does.


    Joe continued texting furiously, his face bent over the glow of his screen and Darla turned to me, uncertain and a bit hesitant.


    ¡°What do we do?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s wait until he¡¯s done,¡± I said, shaking myself out of my own thoughts.


    ¡°You should probably text your mom,¡± she said.


    I nodded. She was right.


    So, I sent a simple text: Me and Joe are at a friend¡¯s house. Be home later.


    Within ten seconds of hitting ¡®send¡¯ my phone rang. Darla burst out laughing. My ringtone was an old Zappa song and my entire body went flush with a taut power that made me want her even more. That she knew enough to laugh at that particular ringtone, that she would even know who Frank Zappa was, seemed to be as close to a miracle as whatever divine power I did or didn¡¯t believe in could offer.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Joe shouted. ¡°She is pissed as shit and now she¡¯s taking away the car.¡±


    Darla pointed to the BMW. ¡°She¡¯s going to take that away?¡±


    ¡°She will when I get it home.¡±


    ¡°Joe.¡± She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, mimicking me. ¡°Honey, there¡¯s nothing you can do about it now. You¡¯ll get home when you get home.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t how it¡¯s supposed to be. We shouldn¡¯t still be here,¡± Joe insisted. His face softened and some kind of look passed between the two of them that made me, once again, wonder what I was missing.


    ¡°You can freak yourself out about the way things should be or you can accept them as they are,¡± she explained.


    Joe gave her a skeptical look. I knew he was biting back what he wanted to say, which was something like, Accepting things the way they are won¡¯t ever get you anywhere.


    It was our mantra. We¡¯d had that drilled into us since the moment we were selected for the honors track in high school. It didn¡¯t really apply in real life though, did it? Not the way we were indoctrinated.


    If you always do what you¡¯ve always done you¡¯ll always get what you always got, was another one our coaches banged into us ¨C and they were right. But what they didn¡¯t want was for us to apply that to facing down authority, to questioning whether following what our parents always told us really was in our best interests. And who decided what our ¡°best interests¡± were? Shouldn¡¯t that be us, now that we were adults?


    What if we took that philosophy and turned it on its head, telling our parents, ¡°If we always do what you tell us to do then we¡¯ll always get what you want.¡±


    A text appeared on my phone. Get home now, it said. My fingers ached. So many things I wanted to text back like fuck off, or too bad, or simply, no. Instead, I typed quickly, hitting send before I could retract it: I¡¯m committing a random act of crazy. I¡¯m safe. No worries. Your young man, Trevor.


    ¡°I just bought myself some time,¡± Joe said. ¡°I told Mom the car broke down at a friend¡¯s house.¡±


    ¡°Where did you tell her you were?¡± I asked, skeptical that that was going to work.


    ¡°Up at Hampton Beach.¡±


    Occasionally we went up there as a group. The rentals were cheap and it was a fun way to party.


    ¡°What did she say?¡±


    ¡°Her exact words were,¡± Joe peered at his phone. ¡°Why waste your money when we have a perfectly good beach house in Truro?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s Truro?¡± Darla asked.


    ¡°A town on Cape Cod.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± She got quiet. ¡°Let¡¯s go to Jerry¡¯s,¡± she said, ¡°and make this all better.¡±


    Chapter Nine


    Joe


    Jerry¡¯s Place looked exactly like you would think a place named Jerry¡¯s Place in the middle of the wastelands of America would look. The minute we opened the steel door, the scent of putrid beer, bleach, and cigarette smoke seeped into every spare fiber of my clothes and most of my nose and brain. It was the kind of stench that would be there for the next three days. I knew this because I¡¯d been to enough dive bars in Boston to have the imprint of the place stuck, an olfactory sensation that pinged more regret than even the worst hangover.


    Neon beer logo lights dotted the back wall behind the bar, among pennants from Cleveland and Ohio sports teams, their three points of felt curling horribly and the once-white strips at the flat, left hand sides yellowed by too many unfiltered Camels. The whole place had the feel of a neighborhood hangout for people too stupid to realize they were drinking away an enormous percentage of their net worth.

 Page 28

    Net worth might have been a bit too generous a term. The men looked like I had imagined the men looked around here, working class, beaten down and very, very rough. They reminded me of the clerk at the hotel where I¡¯d checked in. The guy who asked me how many hours I needed the room ¨C and then sneered when I¡¯d requested a wake up call in the morning. I did it just in case, assuming that we would be gone tonight but you never knew. Always be prepared, always think ahead.


    Darla marched right up to the bar, flagged down the bartender, and plopped her curvy ass on a stool. Being seated accentuated that heart shaped ass, begging for hands to hold it. I was increasingly aroused by her, filled with desire to move in on Trevor¡¯s territory. I¡¯d never done that. Trevor had stolen a girlfriend or two from me, although, ¡°girlfriend¡± might be a bit of a stretch. More like a fuck buddy I¡¯d grown tired of and Trevor took easily. No big deal.Advertisement


    Darla might be Trevor¡¯s fuck buddy, but I had a sense that there was more to her and that Trevor had figured that out, confusing me and making me wish I had more time to contemplate what was going on beneath the surface here. I¡¯d tried to kiss her and she had wanted to kiss me back. Given what was going on with Trevor, I had the feeling that wanting me was not a rejection of him. If that was true, then what the hell was this?


    It was nothing.


    It was nothing, I reminded myself. It couldn¡¯t be anything. There was no future here. Women like Darla didn¡¯t factor into any part of my world ¨C and yet, here I was, thinking this way. What Darla said, what Trevor said ¨C they were right. I was saying that a lot on this surreal series of events. In an hour or less, I hoped, we¡¯d be on the road and by morning Trevor and I could put this all behind us.


    Darla asked me what I wanted to drink, her eyes sparkling, her face flirtatious and knowing, offering a full smile to both me and Trevor and then a sarcastic crack at the bartender. I started to think that putting Darla behind us was going to be harder than I¡¯d ever imagined.


    ¡°I¡¯ll have a Sam Adams,¡± I said.


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°A Sam Adams.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have that here,¡± the bartender said.


    ¡°Hey, Mac.¡± She nodded at him and he smiled back, a stretched out smirk that passed for friendliness. ¡°What do you have?¡±


    ¡°The standard. We¡¯ve got Rolling Rock ¨C


    ¡°Give him a Rolling Rock.¡±


    ¡°Rolling Rock?¡± I said, dubious.


    ¡°It¡¯s Rolling Rock, Busch, Miller ¨C you know.¡±


    ¡°No foreign beers?¡±


    Darla just rolled her eyes and mouthed ¡®snob¡¯. She looked at Mac, who had that beefy-looking body of an ex-football player gone fat fifteen years later. I knew a lot of guys like him. They worked out at the gym where Trevor and I went and they hung out and talked about glory days from football. Mac took a long drag off a cigarette and then hung it back off the edge of the bar. A series of scars from cherries left neglected were a testimony to the acceptance of this. My Massachusetts sensibilities were a bit shocked and I felt like a prude. Of course people lived this way. Of course people smoked in bars in states where being overprotective wasn¡¯t elevated to an art form.


    ¡°Rolling Rock it is,¡± I sighed, just to settle the argument.


    We grabbed our beers and went over to a little booth, the burgundy vinyl torn and duct taped so many times that it all blended into one color that I couldn¡¯t quite see, even with the neon and a handful of white lights embedded in the dropped ceiling. It reminded me of this diner in Boston that had the ugliest d¨¦cor ever but the best desserts money could buy. There was a jukebox in the corner, but no one was playing music, and at two billiards tables a group of men halfheartedly shot pool, looking bored and at the beginning of a drunken journey for the night.


    It was only ten o¡¯clock. The biggest guy in the room came charging over to the table with a giant smile on his face and eyes that practically floated, like ping-pong balls in a fish bowl. ¡°Darla,¡± he slurred. She sat on the other side of the booth next to Trevor but on the side that didn¡¯t face the wall, and the man shoved next to her, squishing Trevor like a bug. This must be Uncle Mike.


    Darla confirmed it by saying, ¡°Mike, how many did you have?¡± with a groan of familiarity at his obvious inebriation.


    ¡°Water and coffee. Water and coffee like you told me.¡±


    ¡°What did you put in the water and coffee?¡±


    ¡°Gin and tonic, and coffee and Bailey¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Christ,¡± she muttered. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant,¡± she said, shrugging apologetically at me.


    Mike shoved his hand across the booth and I glared but shook it. This guy was the only person in town who was going to fix my BMW? He looked like Al from Al¡¯s Toy Barn in the Toy Story movies, bald on top, receding brown hair, and a body wider than it was tall. He was a big guy, too, so that meant that he was damn wide and fucking tall. He wore glasses, which surprised me ¨C I didn¡¯t think of a long haul trucker as wearing glasses ¨C and a plaid, flannel shirt with a t-shirt underneath that read: something¡­ something¡­balls.. something. I couldn¡¯t read it around the folded flannel fabric and the rolls of fat.


    Trevor looked like he needed to be intubated to resume breathing until Darla shoved Mike as hard as possible to give poor Trev a little space.


    Trevor


    I kicked Joe under the table, trying to breathe. Darla¡¯s uncle, Mike, was killing me here and then Darla bought us a few inches of space and I could resume proper respiratory functioning.


    Joe looked at me and mouthed, ¡°What?¡±


    I mouthed back, ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± I made a slicing motion with my hand across my neck. Lifting my arm up and putting it around Darla¡¯s shoulders bought me a couple more inches and she snuggled in. It was nice ¨C this was nice. I knew Joe had his nose turned up at the ratty bar but I liked it. Some of the best gigs were done in places like this where people just came together to drink and hang out and have fun and listen to music. In Sudborough you went to a music performance to be seen, or to listen to the ¡®right¡¯ music, or for a charity event.


    The dive bars in Cambridge, and Charlestown, and seedy little places on the South Shore had given me a glimpse of what it was like to not have to be perfect, to just be good enough to give someone a smile, a bounce in their step, something to dance to or hum along to, or just sit and be with. Darla was like that for me but right now her Uncle Mike better move over a little more or I was going to pass out. She shoved her hip, hard, against his and he shouted, ¡°Hey!¡±


    The room had gone quite quiet and as I looked around people were clustering around a small stage I hadn¡¯t noticed when we came in. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Joe asked, pointing.


    People were standing there with their amber bottles of beer, chugging them down and leaving the empties on small tables set up strategically to collect them. A barmaid was hopping, slinging handfuls of bottles out to customers in a rhythmic pattern that was a bit artistic to watch, how she wove and bobbed and knew exactly which beer to deliver to which body.


    ¡°Open mic night,¡± Mike said, laughing.


    ¡°You drink more beer, Uncle Mike, and they¡¯re gonna have to open you up to fix you,¡± Darla joked, nudging him in the ribs.


    He groaned, chugged down the rest of his beer, and then flagged down the barmaid. ¡°Cup of coffee.¡±


    A hand crept over my upper thigh. We were in such close quarters on this bench that I looked down to make sure that it was Darla¡¯s.


    ¡°It¡¯s open mic night? You gonna sing?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I groaned. ¡°You have got to be kidding me. Here?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with this place?¡±


    ¡°Nothing a fifty-five gallon drum of industrial bleach wouldn¡¯t cure,¡± Joe said.


    Darla kicked him under the table. ¡°Ow!¡± he shouted.


    I held my hands up. ¡°I don¡¯t have a guitar.¡± I didn¡¯t want to sing, none of these people knew my music, and besides, I hadn¡¯t prepared, I was exhausted, hungry again ¨C we hadn¡¯t eaten much. In fact, I grabbed the barmaid and asked, ¡°What do you have for food?¡±


    ¡°If you can fry it, we can feed it to you.¡±


    I ordered a basket of some cheese fries and wings and mozz sticks. Within minutes a huge buffet of food was spread out before us and in those five minutes Darla had cajoled me into at least being open to the idea of performing at open mic. But I¡¯d held out one condition ¨C let me watch a couple of acts before I decided to capitulate.


    We munched on food that my mother would have freaked out knowing that I ate ¨C food that wasn¡¯t organic and that had enough grease to clog my arteries five times over. It tasted so much better knowing she wouldn¡¯t approve. The guys who took the stage were remarkably talented. There were a few who would give William Hung a run for his money in the race to the bottom but there was a grunge rock element here, a lot of guys who had voices that could have competed with the best of them in the early ¡¯90¡¯s. I peered at them, beer bellies swollen but arms and legs still strong and firm, faces bloated by age and drink, and I realized that most of them were in their late thirties or early forties, a little younger than my parents, and that this is what happened to people who were fed on the inside by music but never took the leap to go pro.


    Would I end up in some Massachusetts equivalent of this little redneck town, singing my heart out at summer festivals on the green, trotted out at alumni events or church auctions at the local Unitarian Universalist congregation? Not that there was anything wrong with that, if that was what you wanted. That¡¯s not what I wanted. What I wanted was both here and not here and as my eyes met Joe¡¯s, we shared a look that seemed to say, Not this, not here and yet, isn¡¯t this fabulous¡­what an adventure.


    All of the boundaries of my life were chiseled away by my growing resolve to blast through the ones that mom and dad had put in place and figure out where the real ones really were.


    Darla


    Trevor had to sing. He had to sing. Everyone I knew in this room needed to see his brilliance, what had drawn me to him from the internet. Fate and fortune, and serendipity sent him my way through Josie first and then through the hand of God ¨C or at least, the hand of Peyote.


    ¡°Please,¡± I hissed. ¡°Do it for me. Come on. You said I don¡¯t ask for anything ¨C I¡¯m asking for this.¡±


    He planted a kiss on my cheek and then pulled back, looked at Joe and looked back at me and sighed. ¡°You get me a guitar and I¡¯ll do it,¡± he said.


    Joe looked at him quizzically, then shrugged and dug back into his wings.


    The waitress brought Uncle Mike his coffee. She was a new girl I¡¯d never seen before ¨C there weren¡¯t many. Within a few days I¡¯d know her name, and the names of all of the guys she¡¯d ever slept with, and all of the ways that she¡¯d pissed off somebody in town, and if she really was new and nobody knew her then she¡¯d be gone pretty quickly because the only reason you stayed around here was if you had a reason to stay around here.


    The first act got up on stage. We weren¡¯t finished with our food so we sat and watched. It was Steve Keenan. He was about five years younger than me, still in high school, and he got up and he sang some song that might have been Jason Mraz? Not sure ¨C Bruno Mars? Sometimes the two blended in my mind. Whatever it was, he was OK, not great, but you could tell it was a first attempt getting up there and we applauded wildly for him when he was done because why not? Why not encourage somebody when they¡¯re trying to do what their heart tells them to do?

 Page 29

    A couple of guys, about twenty years older than me ¨C not quite old enough to be my parents but damn close ¨C got up and did a bunch of 90¡¯s songs that I¡¯d heard people play over the years and listened to on 90¡¯s rock stations. It was that deep, growly, kind of shadowy beat from Seattle. The grunge music the guys could growl out nice and easy, around here their throats scarred from nearly thirty years of smoking, and beer, and construction, and the harsh reality of just breathing in and out in a place that could get stifling if you couldn¡¯t leave.


    They were good ¨C Trevor whispered so a couple times in my ear and I thought, but you¡¯re better.Advertisement


    Finally, I moved Mike out of the way and went over to Steve and said, ¡°Hey, I¡¯ve got a friend over here who¡¯s a professional musician. Can we borrow your guitar?¡±


    Steve was this tall, lanky, geeky kind of guy. He reminded me of Josie in a way, and I hope to God he got enough of a scholarship to get out of town and leave. That¡¯s how it worked these days ¨C you hoped that the people who brought you the most joy got the hell out.


    ¡°Sure,¡± he said, twisting his baseball cap back around to the front of his head. ¡°Just make sure that he doesn¡¯t break it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll make sure. By the way, Steve,¡± I nudged him, ¡°you might want to stay and watch this.¡±


    I walked back to the table triumphantly and held the guitar high over the gnawed remnants of our dinner like a trophy from battle. ¡°Ha ha,¡± I said and Trevor looked up and just shook his head but with a grin that told me he¡¯d do it.


    Joe leaned back, stretched out, patted his stomach and said, ¡°Whipped!¡±


    ¡°Oh, now you have the balls to say it aloud?¡± Trevor said. ¡°You¡¯ve only been mouthing it for the past thirty minutes.¡±


    Mike moved again, his great, lumbering body like a boulder in action, moving in shifts. Trevor scooted out and I looped the guitar over him and then stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ¡°Good luck.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Joe


    I was going to get a contagious disease from this place, wasn¡¯t I? Could I get away with asking for a straw for my beer? Putting my mouth on anything in this place made me shudder ¨C and trust me, I¡¯d put my mouth on some pretty scary people before. You date some of those Art Institute bitches in Boston and you find out, very quickly, just what your boundaries really are.


    Trevor kicked me under the table, or maybe it was Darla. Hell, it could have been her giant uncle, Mike, who looked like ¨C still ¨C Al from Al¡¯s Toy Barn. When he talked, when he laughed, he had the same mannerisms and it was like watching one of my kid movie characters come to life. All he needed was a Woody and Buzz doll and he¡¯d have the trifecta of a Cracked.com article, a combination so bizarre you couldn¡¯t turn your face away, couldn¡¯t help but watch the wreckage.


    Darla was saying something to Trevor about open mic night. Thank God I wasn¡¯t the singer. I could play bass and guitar if I had to, but I wanted none of this. No way I was getting up on a stage in front of a group of guys who, back home, would have beaten the shit out of me at a Patriots tailgate party for looking at them funny.


    Trevor seemed to be persuaded though, and as the waitress delivered the food and I dug in, starving from deprivation and distraction, I just shook my head slowly. ¡°Whipped,¡± I mouthed to him.


    He flipped me off in response.


    We ate happily.


    Darla nudged Mike and suddenly the great lump of a man was standing and she scooted out of the bench and walked off toward a sign that said ¡®restrooms¡¯. Absolutely uncertain what to say to this guy, I figured my car was a good start.


    ¡°Darla says you can help me with my car. Thank you,¡± I said, tentative and hating myself for it.


    He looked up from his wings, his fingers coated in barbecue sauce and said, ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll try,¡± then bent his face down.


    If he¡¯d snarled while chewing he couldn¡¯t have appeared more beast-like. People like him made me uncomfortable. I didn¡¯t know how to act or what to talk about or how to be around them. There was a cultural disconnect that made me just want to get away from them.


    Trev, on the other hand, seemed relaxed and confident, turning to Mike and saying, ¡°So, you come here often?¡±


    Mike let out a choked chuckle. ¡°Yeah, you know, when I¡¯m not on a Carnival cruise or hanging out at Starbucks drinking a coffee bigger than my head.¡±


    The two shared an easy laugh and I was instantly green. Not that I cared about Mike¡¯s opinion or wanted to be his friend or anything, it was just so what the fuck? to see Trevor able to shift like that, to go from our world to this world and move with a kind of understanding of how to talk to these people, of what to say and how to connect. How did he do that? How did he do everything?


    It made me hate him and like him even more. Even if I tried, even if I de-stressed and let my body go loose, my mind raced, trying to figure out what to say to someone so different from me. Mom and Dad had spent so much time and money on tutoring and lessons and music appreciation and cultivating two languages, but as I sat here watching Trevor joke with this guy, the two talking football now, I felt like the uneducated one.


    And then Darla found a guitar and Trevor got to claim his place on stage.


    Darla


    Joe and I locked eyes as Trevor walked away and the crowd parted as he sauntered over. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, now in the periphery as I focused on someone completely different. There was a line, Trevor was third, and he patiently waited while someone else got up to do karaoke.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± I said, looking at Uncle Mike, breaking the gaze with Joe. ¡°I need to go to the bathroom.¡±


    I took off, my heart thumping in my chest, my stomach twisted into a sickly knot, and my clit swollen and needy for a man who wasn¡¯t about to get on stage. I did my business in the bathroom, taking care to clean everything as best as possible, anticipating that there might be one last chance with Trevor. With Joe, I thought. Why was my mind doing this to me? It was all so comfortable, so easy, with both of them around. Was I the unwitting part of some threesome I didn¡¯t realize was forming? Were these two already in some kind of relationship? The thought seemed so outlandish that it nearly turned me crazy because Lord knew I was known for my crazy, whacked out thoughts. Mama had said for years that I could take a piece of dirty string, two sticks, and a cherry tomato and turn it all into a chocolate palace with nothing but my raw imagination as a tool.


    I had reading to thank for that one. Mrs. Humbolt at the library had turned me onto books in a way that had made them my first love. Josie¡¯s dad had been the town librarian and Mrs. Humbolt took us both in after our parents¡­well, after the accident. Mama had needed rehab for her foot and Aunt Marlene well, what she went through was a whole other story.


    So the reading, two, three, four books a day had filled my subconscious with so many worlds, and with pictures and facts and emotions and glimpses of the ways that people interacted with those worlds. Since then I¡¯d always lived in my head, using it as my tool of escape. But as I washed up, dried my hands on the towel rack and just took a deep breath, staring into my own eyes in the filthy, cracked mirror I realized that my head was never going to really get me out of this place.


    That was going to take my heart.


    My reflexes were a little dulled by the beer I¡¯d chugged a few minutes ago, so I wasn¡¯t expecting Joe to be right outside the restroom.


    I made a chirping sound of surprise and he said, ¡°Whoa, sorry. I didn¡¯t mean to scare you.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± I asked.


    We were in the narrow hallway where the bathrooms and an ancient cigarette machine sat, one of the last few left in any of the bars in town. A couple of kids¡¯ high chairs were stacked, the wooden kind with the straps that never seemed to work, and serving trays were on stands, covered in clean glasses.


    ¡°You really think it¡¯s a good idea for Trevor to sing?¡± Joe asked, coming close, speaking in a hushed voice.


    The air between us crackled with a vibration that made me want to reach across and just kiss him, touch him, to know what it felt like to commune with that perfect body and that sculpted face. I licked my lips and swallowed, widening my eyes, doing anything to take my internal state from the humming arousal that quickly pervaded me. It was like sticking your tongue in a light socket and getting zapped, except I wanted to stick my tongue in Joe.


    ¡°What are you doing, Joe?¡± I asked, knowing damn well what he was trying to do.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he answered simply. A smoky, dusky look in his eyes obscured whatever he was feeling and at the same time transmitted enough for me to know that we were definitely thinking the same thing. He reached out and within seconds his arms were around me and I was kissing the face of a god. That he¡¯d been such an asshole to me faded, not because I was some kind of whipping girl ¨C although¡­hmm, there was a thought ¨C but because he seemed so needy, confused and in shambles on the inside using anger to cover it all.


    His mouth was more demanding than I¡¯d expected, thinking him tentative and a bit too OCD for my tastes. There was a wild man inside Joe and it was coming out inch by inch through his tongue, through his hands and the way his thighs pressed into mine, hips pushing me against his obvious arousal. As he parted my lips, my surrender nearly complete, my betrayal well under way, we heard the faint clearing of a throat.


    There stood Trevor, the guitar slung around his neck, hanging down and covering his clothed body. It seemed incongruous, as if the only reason he should be wearing a guitar was as a piece of covering, redundant, the instrument now hung as his hands went limp and loose at his sides, his face questioning ¨C not angry, not pissed like he had every right to be, just¡­curious.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know they offered CPR classes here at Jerry¡¯s,¡± he said quietly.


    Joe didn¡¯t let go of me and that felt surprisingly OK. Joe didn¡¯t pull away, his hands stayed firmly in place on my back, my ass, his head only turning to look at Trevor. He didn¡¯t answer the obviously rhetorical observation, and Trevor looked at me, a puzzled expression making him frown.


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± I said, the words a gasp, astonished as much at my own behavior as I was at being caught.


    His eyes burned over the two of us, covering every square inch from head to toe and then a sickly grin followed by, ¡°You don¡¯t have to apologize.¡±


    He reached out and put a hand on Joe¡¯s shoulder. Joe flinched but Trevor held steady.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why,¡± he whispered, ¡°but it really doesn¡¯t bother me.¡±


    My whole body had gone numb from fear and humiliation. I wasn¡¯t one to cheat on people; that had never been my style. Some sort of supernatural force pulled me to Joe and not in a Buffy the Vampire Slayer kind of way or that stupid Twilight movie but more like soul mates drawn together in another lifetime. Trevor, too ¨C it was as if standing here, the three of us touching, were creating an entity more powerful than each of us separated, individuals who were lesser when we weren¡¯t connected and together.

 Page 30

    Joe looked like he was going to puke ¨C not from touching me, as he kept his hands safely in place ¨C but from whatever internal state all of this generated for him.


    ¡°You OK?¡± I asked, sliding my palm against his cheek. ¡°It¡¯s OK.¡±Advertisement


    His eyes were skittish and skirted all over, finally resting on Trevor. ¡°Is it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Trevor said, honestly. ¡°I just know that I¡¯m not jealous and I¡¯m not wicked pissed. I feel like I should feel those things¡­but I don¡¯t, so I¡¯m not going to pretend to feel something I don¡¯t feel.¡±


    ¡°Why not? That¡¯s what I always do,¡± Joe ventured. ¡°That¡¯s how I get through the day.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that here,¡± Trevor said, squeezing his shoulder. He looked around the nasty hallway at the back of the bar, its exit light blown out, cobwebs in the corners and some stain of undetermined origin on the dropped ceiling taking over, seeming to grow through like a mold or a cancer. ¡°Right here, Joe, who would have thought? Here you don¡¯t have to feel anything you don¡¯t really feel and here you don¡¯t have to reject anything just because you think you¡¯re supposed to follow some kind of rule that tells you so.¡±


    A cloud of magic filled the air, enveloping us in it ¨C not literally, of course. If that were the case this would be a Harry Potter mystery, only with lots of sex.


    ¡°Trevor. Hey, Trev!¡± Mike¡¯s boozy voice echoed down the hallway. ¡°You¡¯re up.¡±


    The three of us pulled apart and Trevor looked solemnly at me and then Joe. ¡°We can all find a way to make this work,¡± he said.


    What did that mean? Was he giving Joe and me permission to sleep together? Was he proposing some sort of threesome? I guess that some people do that but around here¡­I tried to keep my mind open. I couldn¡¯t know what he was thinking and right now Jerry was up on stage shouting, ¡°Last call for Trevor!¡±


    Trevor sprinted, bounding up the steps to take center stage with a lightness in his foot I¡¯d never seen. Joe respected the fact that I¡¯d come in holding one man¡¯s hand and probably shouldn¡¯t leave holding another¡¯s. Plenty of that happened here ¨C but not in quite the same way. Uncle Mike would be suspicious and I didn¡¯t need Mama asking me any more questions or trying to pretend to be a parent again.


    Trevor


    ¡°How is everybody tonight?¡± I called out. Darla and Joe cheered, but the rest were fairly muted. Undeterred, I kept going. Working a lukewarm crowd was no big deal. The stage felt like a high school assembly room, loud and thunky under my feet. The acoustics in here absolutely sucked, but there was a basic microphone and I could strum a borrowed guitar. Two songs and Darla would be happy.


    Plus I had a surprise for her.


    ¡°My name is Trevor Connor and I play for a band back in Boston, Massachusetts.¡± Cold silence. ¡°We call ourselves Random Acts of Crazy.¡± Eyerolls. ¡°I know you¡¯ve never heard of me, and that¡¯s cool. Give me a break, though ¨C at least I¡¯m a Red Sox fan and not the Pirates.¡± A few snickers. Better than nothing.


    ¡°So I¡¯ll just shut up and sing, even if I¡¯m not a Dixie Chick.¡± A low rumble of chuckling and a few more bodies came over and sat in the chairs sprinkled around tables at the front of the stage. ¡°This is our band¡¯s most popular song, which means seven people have heard it. It¡¯s called ¡®I Wasted My Only Answered Prayer.¡¯¡±


    The opening chords made me feel like I was right at home. Throat was fine ¨C I¡¯d practiced a little while Darla was at work ¨C and this place had no harsh lights, no sound operations, nothing. It was great ¨C me, my voice, and my guitar.


    That, and Darla, was all I really needed right now.


    Oh, I wasted


    my only answered prayer


    on a woman


    who didn¡¯t believe in God¡­.


    The first verse came out slow, with a little touch of country I¡¯d never added before, more a ballad than a rock anthem. Joe sat up straight and zeroed in on me, like an animal hearing something new in a field, attuning to it to figure out what it was. Darla¡¯s face was in a place of complete rapture, hair framing her face in soft curls, her eyes on me and her body loose and relaxed. The ebb and flow of her chest as it rose and fell from her breathing captivated me as I hit the chorus.


    At one she walked away


    At two she said no


    At three she said please


    At four she said more


    Darla¡¯s lips were mouthing the words, singing along with me, while Joe¡¯s foot tapped out the beat. His fingers knew the bass line and I wished we had the entire band here. The crowd grew slowly around me, and soon people were nodding their heads, tapping feet, and drumming their beer bottles with fingers.


    Gotcha. It made me dig in deeper and find more of my soul to pour into the song, my fingers on the fret and my heart on stage. Here I was the real Trevor Connor, the real naked soul for everyone to devour and share, to assimilate me into their consciousness and to go to a place where notes and chords combined created pure bliss.


    As the song ended, and I stretched out the last few words, ¡°¡­didn¡¯t believe¡­¡±, the crowd went wild. OK, about as wild as fifty or so flannel-shirted rednecks could be for some overeducated punk from Massachusetts.


    It was better than great.


    ¡°Encore! Encore!¡± someone shouted. It was Mike, raising his cup of coffee and calling for more. Mike! I¡¯d won the big old lump over. Fuck yeah! Darla was clapping and jumping and bouncing in all the right places, her face beaming. For me. For my music.


    For us.


    I had something for her, too. As the crowd died down I put out my hands and said, ¡°All right, all right. You convinced me. I have an original that I¡¯m debuting right here, right now.¡±


    A frown crossed Darla¡¯s face. ¡°I wrote it today,¡± I explained. ¡°It¡¯s a tale about¡­well, it speaks for itself.¡± Joe looked at Darla, then me, and a strange sort of smile changed his face. I couldn¡¯t tell if he was happy or sad. Most of the time he was irritated, but this didn¡¯t look like any expression I¡¯d ever seen on his face.


    Grabbing a chair, I adjusted the mic down so I could do this one sitting. A few people held up smartphones and Joe scrambled to get his out of his pocket. That made me nervous ¨C brand new song I¡¯d never practiced with a guitar? I picked some basic chords and stuck to those, hoping the lyrics were good enough to not humiliate myself.


    Why was I so worried?


    They were. So I began:


    Your Mama told you to watch out for me


    Your God told you to walk away


    Your Daddy said nothing, for he was gone


    And you weren¡¯t sure what to say


    The night you found me, wandering and lost


    Naked by the side of the road


    My guitar shattered, my body bereft


    You fought everything you were told


    And the chorus:


    When a naked soul finds you


    You don¡¯t have a choice


    You have to stop and pause


    You can turn away and never look back


    But it will yank you back, because


    Random acts of crazy draw you in


    Random acts of kindness draw you in


    Random acts of love draw you in


    A hushed, glowing silence filled the room, couples leaning on each other, a few people holding up lighters like at a big concert, people swaying to and fro at the beat. My heart was in my throat. I was more naked right now than I had been two days ago when Darla found me.


    And when I looked at her face as I strummed a few chords to give my throat a few seconds of rest, I saw all the random acts of love I needed.


    Darla


    Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Trevor was singing about me. About us. He had written a song for me. For me! Jerry¡¯s turned into a wonderland in that moment, something so familiar and so surreal, for my favorite singer and the man I was falling for wrote me a love ballad and sang it ¨C premiered it! ¨C in our little local shithole and he wrote it for me!


    Have I mentioned the part where he wrote me a God damned song?


    Joe reached over and clasped my hand, our fingers intertwining. It wasn¡¯t threatening; tears in his eyes told me he was moved, too, by Trevor¡¯s song and seemed to be seeking some sort of connection, perhaps to spread the emotion around a bit. This was a loving, touching song that made the room change, made me change ¨C made me feel like everything I¡¯d experienced the past two days had been guided by the hand of fate.


    Trevor felt it, too. And now Joe felt something that made him bridge the chasm between us, made him seek me out for emotional redemption.


    Trevor finished the chorus and everyone sang it with him, the room filled with mostly working class shlumps all singing Random acts of crazy draw you in¡­. And when Trevor sang the last line, on the word love his eyes locked with mine, opening a thousand dimensions and tens of thousands of possibilities deep within, the roar of the cheering crowd and the scent of beer, aftershave and cigarettes fading out into a cloud of nothing but me and Trevor.


    Joe squeezed my hand and smiled, his face so open and different from the man he¡¯d been just hours ago. The room was like a lovefest, a happy, rowdy group of people I¡¯d known my entire life charmed and impressed by a man I¡¯d known for two days ¨C and who I wished I could know for a lifetime.


    Hot breath on my ear made my heart race even faster, my throat closing with the suddenness of Joe¡¯s heated presence against my neck. ¡°He¡¯s right. Random acts of love draw us all in.¡± His thumb began to stroke the back of my hand, each caress like a tidal wave of nerve endings throughout all the newly swelling parts of me. ¡°And you¡¯re the random act of everything, Darla.¡±


    Trevor began to climb offstage, finding Steve and giving him back his guitar. I saw the younger man talking excitedly with Trevor, and that made me choke up, knowing that Steve was learning from and even being a tiny bit role-modeled by Trevor. All these different parts of my life were touchstones in a never-ending (I hoped, viscerally, suddenly, breathlessly) game of tag, each person responsible for passing on another little piece of love and hope that would resonate through tough times, lending light in darkness.


    Trevor


    Darla. I needed Darla now. The thrumming power of being on stage was like an aphrodisiac that made me love the crowd, but the lyrics I wrote and performed were all for her, and she was all I wanted now. Kissing that mouth and smothering her sharp tongue with my own, hands full of her curvy ass, our bodies smashed together and sweaty, grinding out the fear and the hesitation and the ¨C


    There she sat, holding Joe¡¯s hand, his face next to her ear, whispering.


    Two different Trevors responded, both devils inside me.


    One said: He¡¯s stealing her.


    The other said: You can share her.


    To this day I have no idea why I listened more to the latter, ignoring the former with such ease it felt fake, as if I were sublimating the thought because it was too hard to consider. Bullshit.


    Joe let go of her hand and stood, and Darla threw herself at me, squee-ing like a fangirl. Her words were unintelligible but somehow I managed to catch words like I can¡¯t believe and That was incredible and Holy fucking shit you wrote me a song.


    My legs were tired and my throat parched, so we squeezed into the booth across from Mike, while Joe wisely grabbed a chair from an abandoned table and positioned himself at the end. He looked at me with a cagey expression, trying to size up what all of this meant.

 Page 31

    ¡°You¡¯re the naked guy by the side of the road,¡± Mike said to me as we settled in. I grabbed what I thought had been my abandoned beer and chugged it greedily, grateful for the lukewarm liquid to help my poor, dry tonsils.


    ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m the guy in the song.¡± Darla squeezed my thigh and kept grinning. I loved it.Advertisement


    ¡°No, I mean you¡¯re the naked hitchhiker I picked up back in Albany.¡±


    My jaw dropped. ¡°What?¡± Darla stared at Mike with her mouth hung open. We must have looked like twins.


    He laughed. ¡°You were standing by the side of the road where I-90 and I-87 join, wearing only a guitar and something around your neck, sucking on a baby pacifier and holding a chicken under one arm.¡±


    ¡°A chicken? Like a rubber chicken? A rotisserie chicken?¡± Joe asked, leaning forward casually and propping his chin in his hand.


    ¡°No. A live chicken. I wouldn¡¯t let you bring it in my cab ¨C chickens can be nasty motherfuckers when they¡¯re enclosed like that ¨C so you kissed it on the lips and called it Mavis. Started crying and said you¡¯d be back to marry it someday.¡± Mike completely ignored Joe.


    ¡°Chickens don¡¯t have lips,¡± Darla pointed out.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get technical. The man kissed a fucking live chicken and proposed to it in front of me, Darla.¡± Mike drained his water and the waitress popped in with a new one, as if telepathic.


    ¡°Marrying a chicken isn¡¯t legal in New York. Not even Massachusetts,¡± Joe deadpanned.


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Mike added. That made Joe cough up half the beer he was chugging, his chest wracked by hacking coughs. Darla climbed out of the booth and began pounding on his shoulder blades. It didn¡¯t help. Batting her away, he stood and hacked his lungs out, trying to get some relief.


    The waitress cruised by and Joe ordered another Rolling Rock. Red-faced from coughing, it didn¡¯t stop him from finishing what he had as he recovered and sat back down, except this time he slid into the booth, just past where I¡¯d stood in case he needed help. Darla got in the booth next, turning this into a Darla sandwich as Joe made her and me squeeze in.


    ¡°Once you picked me up, did I say anything? Tell you where I was from and what I was doing?¡± Unfuckingbelievable. How the hell did I get from Sudborough to Albany? That would mean getting to I-495, down to the Mass pike, and out to Albany ¨C about a 5-6 hour drive. And then to make it to Ohio by nightfall? Wha?


    ¡°You were naked and crying about the love of your life. Hell, I thought your name was Mavis at first, but then you told me, with tears running down your cheeks and a straw hat that came out of nowhere covering your,¡± Mike gestured vaguely at my crotch, ¡°privates, that Mavis was the best damn lay you¡¯d ever had and how you couldn¡¯t really talk right now.¡±


    ¡°Lay? I would never call it tha ¨C and I don¡¯t fuck chickens!¡±


    We all burst into laughter, though mine tapered off fast.


    ¡°Chickenfucker,¡± Joe gasped.


    Darla wiped the corners of her eyes with the backs of her hands and took a sip of a soda. ¡°I hope you bought her dinner first!¡±


    ¡°And sprung for something nicer than KFC,¡± Mike added.


    New round of giggles. Fine. Let them laugh at my expense. It wasn¡¯t the first time. I just wanted to know what happened to me.


    ¡°Give the man a break,¡± Mike said, drinking the rest of his coffee. ¡°He was prepared to make an honest hen of her.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t egg him on,¡± Joe added.


    ¡°Maybe Trevor got on the road because he didn¡¯t want to be cooped up,¡± Darla choked out.


    ¡°How were her breasts, Trev?¡± Joe sputtered.


    That did it. No one could talk for three solid minutes.


    ¡°Alright, alright, simmer down,¡± I said to everyone at the table, pushing my palms down through the air in a quieting gesture. ¡°You¡¯ve all had your laugh at my expense.¡±


    ¡°Oh, we¡¯re not even close to done,¡± Darla said. ¡°We¡¯re madly hatching more puns.¡± That started a new round of sputters and snickers. What could I do? I just shrugged and waited them out.


    My body buzzed from the injection of power that being on stage gave me. This, though, was different, it was gentler than how it felt to play with my full band. Just me, a guitar, and a rapt, focused audience once I got over their initial skepticism. That felt good ¨C that felt great, a victory you couldn¡¯t quantify with a test, or a perfect social skills interview, or some sort of dry run through a law school internship day at the office where they were feeling you out to decide whether to let you join the team or not.


    All of those things, now, paled in comparison to the fact that with my voice, with my presence, and with my music ability I had gotten an entire barroom full of people who wouldn¡¯t look at me twice on the streets of Southie, to cheer for me. And it was all thanks to Darla. No way was I going to get up on that stage and she chided me, nudged me, practically blackmailed me. As we sat there, my body half in the booth, my leg pointing out, my whole left side pressed up against her body, Joe on the inside looking loose, a little drunk, and very, very calm.


    A crack inside me widened. On one side, there was the person that my parents insisted that I had to become and on the other side, there was the person my soul was begging me to let loose. In the middle, that crack, that¡¯s where Darla stood, pushing as hard as possible on either edge. At some point, though, she¡¯d falter and slip down so I needed to make a decision damn fast so I could pull her out and rescue her the way that she was rescuing me.


    I had had enough of this chicken talk, though. ¡°I did not fuck a chicken,¡± I declared.


    ¡°How do you know? You have no memory of anything,¡± Mike challenged.


    ¡°I just know I would never fuck a chicken. It¡¯s not even biologically possible!¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see scratches anywhere on his hips,¡± Darla added. Mike narrowed his eyes and she smiled wider, raising her eyebrows.


    ¡°Because I don¡¯t fuck chickens!¡± Now I was getting mad and desperate, turning to Darla with a deep plea inside me that she know that I¡¯m not a hen fucker. ¡°You believe me, right? I just wouldn¡¯t.¡± A shudder ran through me, disgust and anger and a tinge of fear in there.


    ¡°Let me get back to my story,¡± Mike insisted. He was definitely sobering up while Joe polished off his beer and ordered yet another one. I decided to switch to soda like Darla because if that BMW could be fixed tonight somebody would have to drive, and no way was it going to be Joe at this point.


    ¡°Leaving Mavis behind, possibly pregnant and a disgraced chick ¨C ¡± Mike¡¯s statement couldn¡¯t go unchallenged.


    ¡°Pregnant!¡± I shouted.


    Joe came to my rescue. Or so I thought, at first. ¡°Trevor would never do that!¡± he insisted.


    ¡°Right!¡± I charged.


    ¡°He would use a condom,¡± Joe added. A sucker punch to the throat was the least he deserved, but he used Darla as a human shield. Asshole.


    ¡° ¨C was just the beginning of picking up Trevor here,¡± Mike said, smirking.


    ¡°So what happened next?¡± Darla asked, nudging me. I hated everyone at the table right now, with the exception of her.


    ¡°Well, we got back on the road and I told you that I was going all the way to Chicago.¡± Mike looked at Darla and said, ¡°You know, that long New York to Chicago route they got me on sometimes.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°So I was coming up New York from the city and I hit that juncture and found you and I told you I¡¯m going to Chicago when you asked me where I was going and you said¡­.well, actually, you didn¡¯t say it. You started singing it. Some song about Old Lady Leary and a lantern?¡±


    ¡°Old Lady Leary left the lantern in her shed,¡± Joe sang, cackling. Oh, man, he had a lot of beers in him.


    ¡°Yeah, that one,¡± Mike pointed, nodding. ¡°And then I told you that¡¯s as far as I can take you and please don¡¯t get any body fluids on my seat. You let me give you a towel which you put under your ass, leaving your body completely naked, not understanding at all what I was asking you to do but I did appreciate that you were polite enough to make sure that no fluids got on my seat.¡±


    Darla started shaking with silent laughter, making her chest bob and my body bounce a bit too; it was simultaneously annoying and erotic. I tried to focus on Mike, licking my lips which were dry. I drank most of my glass of water and the waitress came over with a pitcher, filling everyone¡¯s cups sloppily, little puddles of water now dotting the scarred tabletop.


    Mike clearly enjoyed his audience and he continued. ¡°So, we got through Syracuse, headed into Erie and that¡¯s when you announced you were hungry. Now, I could tell you had nothing on, completely barefoot, had some straw hat, a collar and a guitar¡­that was it. Any money you had was pretty much in the form of Mavis, which you might have been able to trade for a cup of coffee and a sandwich somewhere so not only did I make you give up the love of your life back there in Albany but I also made you lose your only form of currency.¡±


    ¡°Was it a German chicken?¡± Joe asked.


    ¡°What?¡± I turned to him.


    ¡°Because maybe if it was a German chicken you could have gotten deutsch-bwaks for it.¡±


    We all groaned. ¡°That was really bad.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± he laughed.


    ¡°No, that was really bad, Son,¡± Mike said and cut his eyes back to me and Darla. ¡°In Erie we stopped at a truck stop and got you a grilled cheese sandwich with thousand island dressing and Maraschino cherries.¡± That made me gag. Darla made a gurgling sound in her throat and Joe was blissfully unaware.


    ¡°Maraschino cherries and Thousand Island dressing?¡± Darla asked me. ¡°Ew!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember it.¡± My stomach chose that moment to growl, which made everybody chuckle again. I guess my stomach liked it.


    ¡°So, what made you stop here in Peters?¡± Darla asked. ¡°That has to be the only way Ass here-¡±


    ¡°What?¡± I shot her a look that said why are you calling me names?


    ¡°You don¡¯t remember that? That was my first nickname for you.¡± She slapped my bicep lightly in jest. ¡°I was Chippy Pete and you were Ass.¡±


    ¡°We have pet names for each other already?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not very good,¡±Joe said. ¡°You can do better.¡± He turned to me and said, ¡°What was your pet name for Mavis?¡±


    Groan. The whole table sounded in unison.


    Mike rolled his eyes and said, ¡°So, I stopped in Peters because I needed to go to the bathroom and then you announced that you needed to go and spray the perimeter of the truck stop so you could declare yourself emperor and I told you I did not think that was a good idea. But, I had to go to the bathroom so I went and when I came back you were gone. You just up and disappeared.¡±


    Darla reached across the table and covered Mike¡¯s hand with hers. ¡°Uncle Mike, at what point did you think to give him some clothes or ask for a phone number?¡±


    ¡°I asked for a phone number and he just kept singin¡¯ 8-6-7-5-3-0-9.¡±


    ¡°Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-ni-e-ine,¡± Joe sang.

 Page 32

    ¡°Yeah, that old 80s song,¡± Mike confirmed. ¡°And as for clothes I offered him some of mine but he kept insisting that he was a professional nudist and that clothes were a social ¨C no¡­what did he say? A socially amorphous construction of the dominant paradigm designed to oppress and subjugate humans to¡­¡± Mike shut one eye and concentrated really hard, ¡°to do¡­something, I don¡¯t remember what it was. You said a lot of things like that, Trevor.¡±


    Mike just shook his head. ¡°It was a hell of a long haul with you. I was in that truck for what, man¡­eight hours with you? Something like that. You were whacked.¡±Advertisement


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you kick me out?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You were harmless. I wasn¡¯t worried you were gonna do anything. You were so loopy and where were you gonna hide a weapon?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought,¡± Darla said, ¡°when I picked him up.¡±


    ¡°You picked him up?¡± Mike narrowed his eyes and looked at her.


    Oh¡­. I didn¡¯t realize that Darla hadn¡¯t explained that part to him. Darla went a pale shade of green and averted her eyes.


    Joe had one hand on her left thigh, a perfect match of mine on her right. It seemed symmetrical, like it should be there. The look on Mike¡¯s expression gave away exactly what he thought about the fact that Darla had picked me up.


    ¡°Uncle Mike, he was standing there, naked, on the side of the road wearing nothing but a guitar and a collar, so what was I supposed to do?¡±


    ¡°You were supposed to drive on by and not be a stupid little girl and pick up some naked man on the side of the road.¡±


    ¡°That wouldn¡¯t be friendly,¡± she argued. ¡°It would be safe, but not friendly.¡±


    Mike and Darla had a staring contest while Joe and I played the game of let¡¯s see who can pretend the longest that the other¡¯s hand isn¡¯t on Darla¡¯s thigh. So far, the bastard was winning. He wouldn¡¯t let me lock eyes with him ¨C or maybe he couldn¡¯t. How many beers had he had? Seven? Eight at this point? Far exceeded my two.


    ¡°So, that¡¯s it?¡± I asked. ¡°I got out of the truck and found myself here.¡±


    ¡°Yup, that¡¯s it.¡±


    ¡°What about the pacifier?¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°You said I was sucking on a pacifier when you picked me up.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah. You kept talking about something¡­ ¡®e¡¯ and how ¡®e¡¯ meant that you had to have a pacifier and ¡®e¡¯ this and ¡®e¡¯ that.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t ¡®e¡¯,¡± Joe said, his voice a little slurred. ¡°It was peyote.¡±


    Mike made a low whistling sound and his eyes bounced from Joe to Trevor. ¡°Peyote? That¡¯s what you were high on? Man, you people in Massachusetts do some shit I¡¯ve never even looked at.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard of it, though?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve heard of it. It¡¯s that kind of shit Native Americans use when they¡¯re trying to see visions.¡±


    ¡°That fits, right? I mean, he was about to marry a chicken and plan a wedding registry around it,¡± Darla commented.


    ¡°Mavis Connor does have a nice ring to it,¡± Joe added.


    Darla


    This was supposed to feel wrong, competitive, like I couldn¡¯t please them both, like I was supposed to be devoted to Trevor and spurn anything Joe sent my way. And instead it was like none of those rules applied. Like the social graces, the few I had, that was, no longer applied to this particular relationship. We were totally winging it as we went along, each of the three of us shuffling one foot forward the tiniest of bits to see if the others would shuffle forward too.


    So far, all three of us were, and I was the monkey in the middle and their hands were the balls ¨C no, their balls were the balls but¡­well, that metaphor doesn¡¯t work either because they weren¡¯t throwing their balls over my head. Wait, that might come later, so¡­apparently I no longer could make literary structure jokes within the context of damn near anything because the woman before me, the one Trevor had loved, had been a chicken.


    A fucking chicken.


    And when you learn that about a guy you¡¯re fucking, then pretty much any ability to organize your thoughts goes out the window. Especially, though, when you have two hot men stroking your thighs with hands that want to go higher. They were feeling my legs as a proxy for what we all wanted to feel.


    I knew damn well Trevor hadn¡¯t actually fucked a chicken, but it was fun teasing him into a frothing frenzy. I could think of some other frenzies I¡¯d like to tease him into, though, that didn¡¯t involve talking about sex with a chicken.


    Ew. Boy, that sounded as bad in my mind as it did in the telling, huh? Let¡¯s just scratch that joke. Get it? Scratch? OK. I give up.


    Mike was completely oblivious on the other side of that booth, thinking that the most important topic right now was what had happened to Trevor and the story of how Mike had, in many ways, been his savior. If the dynamics of this table had made that the priority, we¡¯d all still be laughing about Mavis the chicken. Instead, some sort of social drama was taking place with fingers and palms and pants fabric that felt like sandpaper against my swollen skin as each man claimed his expanse of my body.


    And then I saw Aunt Marlene. Mama¡¯s sister. Josie¡¯s mother. Marlene wore black jeggings with fake diamonds around the ankles, six-inch red high heels, and one of those sheer tank tops that you¡¯re supposed to wear under an opaque shirt. She¡¯d been bleaching her hair nearly white since I could remember, and her mouth had the same deep smoker¡¯s grooves I saw on Mama, wrinkled like the folds on those fancy little dogs on television. Thick black eyeliner made her eyes seem even more yellow, and her fingers held a cigarette or a beer. Always. Even when she came to the gas station to buy a pack of Marlboro Lights she had one lit in her left hand, right hand digging in her ginormous purse for her money.


    See, I call Josie Aunt Josie because growing up, that¡¯s how it seemed ¨C like she took care of me the way an aunt would. Not like a cousin. Cousin sounds like a peer. Josie wasn¡¯t my peer. When her mama came back from the Cleveland Clinic ¡°not quite right,¡± as Mama said, Josie moved in with us. Mrs. Humbolt had been great, letting us live with her after our daddies died, but Mama wanted us kids together. Part of it, I think, was that Josie played with me. Kept me busy. Made it so I didn¡¯t ask too many questions. Apparently, I was a motormouth even at the age of four.


    Aunt Marlene came home a broken woman and she was what Uncle Mike called the ¡°town barfly.¡± Proving his point, she was sitting at the bar snuggling up to some guy who was buying her beer after beer. If you could chain-smoke a beer, she was managing to do it, emptying one and guzzling another in the sixty seconds or so I watched her.


    Mama had said that Marlene was nice and sweet and in love with Uncle Jeff before. Our life was split in two: there was before and after. The shorthand was so simple even a four year old could understand it. I remember thinking I was lucky, because my mama lost a foot, but Josie¡¯s mama lost her mind. My little-kid understanding of the world thought she had literally lost her mind, as if she¡¯d left it behind on the school playground and it was waiting for her in a cardboard box marked ¡°Lost and Found,¡± resting in there with a scarf and some notebooks and orphaned mittens.


    I once told Josie that, when I was about six and she was thirteen, and she got real quiet, then said, ¡°That¡¯s pretty close to the truth, Darla.¡±


    If I ignored my aunt, she¡¯d ignore me, and the night would roll on just fine. Even when I was little that¡¯s how it worked. She¡¯d pay attention to me if it got her something, or helped her somehow, but otherwise I didn¡¯t exist, like some sort of tool in a toolbox she pulled out only for her own projects.


    Maybe that¡¯s how Trevor¡¯s parents saw him. As a tool. Something to use to put together an assemblage of parts to meet some sort of purpose that only made sense to the user. Seeing Marlene reminded me that I should call Josie and get some advice for this quickly-careening situation.


    In the meantime, though, I had to deal with the fact that two men were, at this very moment, turning me into their tool.


    Joe


    A few people from the crowd swung over to congratulate Trevor, and to get the website name for Random Acts of Crazy. Apparently, they have the Internet out here: who knew? Those seven beers were helping me cope, but they also made me rock hard wanting Darla. She looked so happy and radiant right now, emanating a sense of completeness that I couldn¡¯t feel ¨C ever ¨C in my own life. Maybe if I could touch her enough some of it would rub off.


    Maybe I just needed to go rub one off.


    My head was spinning and Trevor was, once again, the center of attention. I didn¡¯t begrudge him (much) ¨C that took some serious balls, getting on stage and singing a song no one here had heard, then debuting a completely original song without any guitar practice. He was such a natural at this, able to improvise under extraordinary circumstances. Playing bass, for me, meant endless practice and a need for the sheet music within a quick glance. I wasn¡¯t bad ¨C I just needed to be over-rehearsed, while Trevor could fumble his way to an outstanding performance.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry we couldn¡¯t find a way to fit you in on stage,¡± Darla whispered.


    My brain melted at the double entendre and my social filter disappeared. ¡°I¡¯m sure you can find a way to fit me in,¡± I whispered. Trev looked at us with a stare of study, as if he were observing without judgment. It unnerved me and strengthened me at the same time. Boldness came easily when I wanted to steal drugs from the evidence room, or crash my dad¡¯s car just to get some attention.


    This? Being with someone so different, or coming on to what I was growing to view as my best friend¡¯s girlfriend? I didn¡¯t do shit like that.


    Now, though, it appeared I did. Anything seemed to go here, as if we were in a debauched land where our culture didn¡¯t apply. Or, maybe, we were the debauched ones. Whatever. Nothing made much sense any more.


    Except Darla¡¯s thigh. Trevor seemed to have the same idea, which made a thunderball of hot lead form in my gut, simultaneously heating me up and making me hard. Let me be clear: it wasn¡¯t Trev who made me hard. It was Darla.


    And the thought of me and Trevor and Darla ¨C doing what? No progressive sexuality education course, even the one Mom and Dad made me attend at our local Unitarian Universalist church, taught me about how to handle it when the thought of being sexual with a woman I was falling for was enhanced by the idea that another man would be with us.


    Operationally, I knew what two men could do with one woman. I¡¯d seen enough YouPorn amateur video to make my eyeballs bleed (and would have preferred that over what I saw, sometimes). On rare occasions our friends in the dorms, or in the apartments we shared, would scroll along and find a tender, loving, intimate video with two men and a woman, and inevitably someone would shout ¡°Too tame!¡± and on we¡¯d go to Two Girls, One Cup or a woman fucking a Sybian.


    Later, though, I¡¯d go back and watch the more intimate portrayal. That¡¯s where my mind had been going for a long time, but who do you talk to about that? Hey, Mom, I find myself drawn to the idea of a threesome. Remember how you told me I could talk to you about anything? Mom? Mom? No, I don¡¯t have a Xanax. What? A bowl? So you can throw up? Oh. Weed. Um¡­

 Page 33

    You don¡¯t. Talk, I mean.


    You just don¡¯t.Advertisement


    Darla


    Two men. Two hands.


    Two Darlas battling for control.


    Uncle Mike came to the rescue. ¡°OK, kids, let¡¯s head home and look at that car.¡±


    ¡°What car?¡± Joe asked. Hoo boy. Was that beer number eight he was sucking on? For a guy who turned his nose up at American beer, he sure was having a love affair with his Rolling Rocks.


    Trevor stood and I scooted out, a smoldering look on his face and his hand on my ass. The imprint of his fingers setting my body on fire. I scooched out and Joe¡¯s loose, languid body followed mine, his arm draped over my shoulders. We followed Mike out the door, several guys stopping Trevor to shake his hand and nod. That¡¯s a high compliment around here.


    ¡°I¡¯m driving,¡± I declared. One beer cleared through me and I was fine.


    ¡°Me, too,¡± Mike added.


    ¡°Nope. I¡¯ll do all the driving,¡± Trevor declared. ¡°I had one and it was a while ago. Darla can bring you back in the morning, Mike, for your truck.¡±


    I froze. Disagreeing with Mike was a dicey move. This could go either way. Mike was Mama¡¯s brother and had been there through the mess of Daddy¡¯s death and her recovery. He knew, to the core, that driving under the influence wasn¡¯t something we did. Yet that stupid macho shit came out of him sometimes and checked out the sensible side.


    ¡°I¡¯ll drive!¡± Joe declared.


    ¡°And I¡¯ll model for Playgirl,¡± Uncle Mike countered, rubbing his big old belly and striking a model¡¯s pose. We all laughed as we stepped into the cool night air, the breeze making my skin turn to gooseflesh, Joe layered on me like silk cloth, leaning against my shoulder and warm, his muscles fed by a steady stream of beer. He wasn¡¯t quite pickled, but he certainly was loose.


    Trevor won, but only because I pointedly handed him the keys and Mike just shrugged. Score one for the ovaries. I crawled in back with Joe and Mike rode shotgun. The back of my car was a place I¡¯d frequented plenty over the years, but never with anyone in the front seat. It felt about as foreign as everything else these past two days, but once you¡¯re thoroughly out of your comfort zone, why not go for broke?


    The drive home was uneventful, Mike and Trevor talking about the Patriots and the Browns, a bunch of talk about the draft and number three picks. It sounded like a foreign language, or a chemistry equation, but instead of saying methyltetrawhatever they were talking about defensive linesomethings and salary caps.


    I liked that Trevor could find common ground with Mike. Joe, on the other hand, was looking for common ground with me. And by common ground, I mean flesh we could rub together. His hands were in his own lap but if eyes could fuck, his eyeballs would be halfway up me by now.


    Trevor pulled in neatly next to the covered BMW and we all piled out. Joe fished his car keys out of his pocket and handed them to Mike, who made appreciative sounds when the Beemer was revealed.


    ¡°Damn fine car.¡±


    ¡°The best my parents¡¯ guilt can buy,¡± Joe agreed. Mike climbed in and you could hear the sigh of sitting in luxury, of a clean car unmarred by bumps that dump coffee on the seats, grease and mud and grime and plain old wear and tear. It was a finely-oiled machine designed for status and prestige. Around here, a brand new king-cab Dodge or Toyota Tundra might grant that. Mike could appreciate a different culture, though, and he caressed the steering wheel the way a 17-year-old boy might enjoy his first handful of bare breast.


    Mike tried to turn the car over. Nothing. Trevor got a little skittish suddenly, excusing himself to go to the bathroom inside the trailer. Joe leaned against my shed and grinned a loopy smile. Mike fumbled with the controls in the front seat and finally found the hood latch, popping it, and then climbing reluctantly out of the car to amble around the front, reaching in the small slit of the hood to find the full release lever, pulling up and securing the hood in an elevated position.


    ¡°Jesus Christ. What a joke!¡± he muttered. ¡°Nothing¡¯s wrong with your car, Joe. You kids playing a joke on me?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, Mike?¡± I asked. Trevor¡¯s disappearance puzzled me and made my hinky meter go on alert. Had he sabotaged the car? Why?


    ¡°Someone just pulled a bunch of hoses loose and undid a spark plug. Nothing wrong with the car. Give me a minute and I¡¯ll loop it all back in place.¡± Mike¡¯s meaty hands worked with a deft precision I found myself admiring. I wanted to turn to Joe and say, ¡°See? Even in this backwater town I went and found you someone to fix your fancy car.¡±


    So I did.


    Joe just ignored me, walked over to Mike, and asked, ¡°What do you mean?¡± His left hand reached up to lean on the edge of the upright hood, but Mike¡¯s reflexes were faster, grabbing him at the wrist before he could put his full weight on the edge. That was a rookie mistake, and one of the fastest ways to injure a guy working on a car. Meekly, Joe pulled back and shoved his hands in his pocket, a lock of hair falling over his eye and making him look like he was on a midnight photo shoot for Vogue.


    ¡°I mean your car is fine, Joe. Someone just pulled on the parts for kicks. Some kids around here, I guess.¡±


    ¡°Not around here,¡± Joe mumbled. ¡°A kid from Massachusetts,¡± Joe declared, his voice surprisingly jocular compared to what I imagined was a storm of fury inside him.


    Trevor


    Stepping into the trailer was a bit like dodging land mines. I escaped from one set by getting away from Joe; the second Mike looked under that hood, he¡¯d know it had been messed with. Pretending to need the bathroom was my only out.


    Cathy sat at the cluttered dining room, giving me that look moms seem to cultivate over time, the judgment and disappointment like a language they hone on Rosetta Stone the way they make us polish our Spanish.


    ¡°Hi, Cathy,¡± I said politely, pointing down the hallway toward the bathroom.


    She just nodded, a gesture of understanding, and I ran in to use the facilities and gather my thoughts, which were a jumbled, rush mess right now. What the hell were we doing? Joe had his hands and mouth all over Darla and I¡­didn¡¯t care? Not quite. I cared. I didn¡¯t care in the way I was supposed to care. And neither did Darla or Joe, it seemed. This was like some complicated, hokey Disney family special, except it involved me and some very real-life problems with high stakes.


    Continue and be burned?


    Never try and regret it?


    As I washed my hands and ran wet fingers through my hair, cooling down and trying to get my brain to slow down, I caught my face in the mirror. Same blue eyes. Same blondish hair. Same shit-eating grin and body.


    Different man. How could I change so radically in two days?


    Coming out of the bathroom, Cathy smiled at me and beckoned me to sit at the table across from her. Uh, oh. This was going to be one of those parent grill sessions, wasn¡¯t it? Stifling a groan, I did what she asked. I was sleeping with her daughter, after all. She had the right to ask me a few questions, I guess. Beside, it bought me time before getting chewed out by Joe, who would be wicked pissed right now as he learned what I¡¯d done.


    ¡°You enjoying your time here, Trevor?¡± Her voice was a gravelly version of Darla¡¯s, and her hands were extremely well manicured, like my mom¡¯s.


    ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am.¡± Where did that come from? We didn¡¯t do the ¡°Ma¡¯am¡± and ¡°Sir¡± thing in Mass. All the parents were on first name basis. None of them wanted to feel old.


    ¡°But you¡¯re about to leave.¡±


    Ouch. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°You know, Darla has a cousin who lives near Boston.¡±


    ¡°OK.¡± Where was this going?


    ¡°And her cousin has been trying to get her to move there for a long time.¡±


    That¡¯s where this was going. Was Cathy afraid I was trying to take Darla away? I mean, two days did not equal asking Darla to move. Staying silent seemed like the safest course here, Cathy¡¯s eyes boring into mine. What was I supposed to say? Choosing the Joe approach, I let my own awkwardness fill in the blanks and hoped she¡¯d speak up first.


    Like all parents, she did. ¡°I like having Darla here. She helps a lot.¡± A pained smile spread her features wide as my fists clenched at my sides, my teeth grinding together. We really weren¡¯t so different, were we? Parents who wanted to tell us what to do, even as adults. Darla¡¯s mom was disabled and needed to use her as a crutch. My mom was disabled in her own way ¨C heartbroken and convinced she needed to turn me into Uberboy.


    What if we just broke free?


    Like so many other lessons in life, you just have to try it and see what you experience. How could I do that with a tightly-controlled schedule of How to Be Perfect, a project-managed specimen that proved my parents could produce a kid who didn¡¯t need to be institutionalized?


    What they didn¡¯t realize was that at the rate they were going, and Mr. and Mrs. Ross, too, Joe and I were going to end up in a very different kind of institution.


    Or, worse, like clones of our parents.


    No.fucking.way.


    And Darla? If Cathy didn¡¯t give her a chance to spread her wings and go where the wind took her, then she¡¯d end up just as stifled. A flash of anger made me start to speak, but Cathy interrupted before I had the chance.


    ¡°And I think it¡¯s time she went and visited her cousin Josie in Cambridge.¡±


    ¡°Mama!¡± I hadn¡¯t heard Darla step into the trailer, but as I turned around and followed her voice, there she stood, her face a mask of shock, wild hair backlit by the foyer light. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s time you go, Darla.¡± Cathy folded her hands primly on the table top, worrying a piece of paper that had the words ¡°GRAND PRIZE WINNER!¡± on it. I took a good look at Darla¡¯s mother and saw that she¡¯d gone to some trouble with her appearance, wearing lipstick and something on her eyes. Her expression was more animated, and she tapped the paper.


    Darla stepped forward and reached next to me, her shirt sliding open as she bent down, giving me a heady whiff of her scent and a nice view of her rack. I should have been able to suppress that right now, under the circumstances, but I was horny as hell and frustrated as fuck, knowing we were about to head out and leave her behind. A few more hours, a handful of days¡­more. I wanted more.


    Cathy handed Darla the paper and a second form under it. As she read both, Darla¡¯s eyes widened, her face spreading into a friendly, eager look of promises fulfilled, of hopes granted, of something she hadn¡¯t had ¨C ever, if her countenance were to be believed. It made me want to scoop her up and take her away, to give her that feeling of having enough, of being wanted enough, of being ¨C dare I say it? ¨C loved enough to be something I gave her every single day.


    ¡°You got your aide hours?¡± Darla sputtered. Aide hours?


    ¡°Yep. Fifteen a week. Paid for by the state, and I can hire who I want. Guess who is coming to work for me?¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± Darla shook her head over and over while Cathy reached for a cigarette case. Man, I hadn¡¯t seen one of those since I was a little kid and Grandma Connor still smoked. It was a cheap beige vinyl case and looked like a freakishly elongated change purse. She slid a cigarette out and pinched it between her lips, lighting it with a neon-green lighter in the outer pocket of the case.

 Page 34

    ¡°Jane!¡± Cathy took a long drag off the newly-lit cherried cigarette, her eyes glued to Darla to catch her reaction.


    ¡°Jane?¡±Advertisement


    ¡°She got her CNA a few months ago and needs a job. I talked to her today ¨C always liked her, Darla, and I still don¡¯t understand why you don¡¯t hang out with her more.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my fault I ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Wait. Wait,¡± I said, holding my hands out in a gesture that stopped them both. ¡°What are aide hours?¡±


    Cathy took a long drag and blew perfect ¡°O¡± smoke rings away from me. Transfixed, my eyes glommed on to them as she explained. ¡°I lost my foot eighteen years ago, Trevor. I have diabetes. I¡¯ve spent years on disability and I have some issues that require medical care and daily assistance. Darla¡¯s been helping me for years, unpaid.¡±


    ¡°The state just approved Mama to have someone come here and do all that, now. And Jane was my best friend ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Is your best friend,¡± Cathy corrected.


    ¡°Whatever.¡±


    ¡°Is, Darla Jo. Just because you can¡¯t stand that asshole she married ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Mama!¡± Darla seemed shocked to hear the profanity coming from her mom¡¯s mouth.


    I decided they needed to finish this in private, so I slipped out as I heard Cathy say, ¡°Besides, I won a grand prize, Darla! A year¡¯s worth of laundry detergent from¡­¡±


    Joe


    The engine roared to life as Mike conjured magic and made my BMW start. I loved Mike. Mike was my new best friend right now, and Trevor could go suck santorum out of a porn star¡¯s ass for all I cared right now. Motherfucker. He sabotaged my car and we both knew it.


    And I loved that crazy asshole for it.


    He walked down off the trailer¡¯s porch, stepping tentatively to make sure he didn¡¯t crash through, and as he approached the now-running car I trotted to him and threw my arms around him in a big hug.


    ¡°Asshole,¡± I said. ¡°You broke my car, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Just disabled it,¡± he said.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± I whispered. I really meant it, too, much to my great shock. I fucking meant it. We stood there in the dark, the moon shining a bit of light on us, Mike sitting in my car touching the leather seats and the controls like a teenager with his first chance to finger fuck a girl, and the three-legged kitten limped by, like some sort of superstitious symbol I couldn¡¯t figure out.


    We could leave now. Except I was way too fucked up to drive, so I said, ¡°Good thing I rented that hotel room.¡±


    Trevor¡¯s eyes locked with mine as Mike turned the car off and climbed out, starting toward me. In the periphery I knew people were around, Mike¡¯s form one of them, and I heard footsteps coming from the trailer, the lilt of Darla¡¯s voice mixing with another woman¡¯s. Her mother¡¯s, perhaps. But at that split second, all I knew was the placid, powerful look that Trevor transmitted to me, a calmness and focus in him that somehow he infused in me, sending molecules from his core into mine, making me feel more centered and grounded and real than I¡¯d ever felt. Friends for seventeen years and I¡¯d never felt this.


    All it took was a day here in the middle of flyover country and I got exactly what I needed.


    Darla¡¯s voice shook me out of my zone. ¡°You guys OK? You¡¯re creeping me out. What¡¯s with the alien stare?¡±


    ¡°Joe just inserted my microchip and we¡¯re calibrating,¡± Trevor said slowly, a taunting grin stretching his mouth.


    ¡°If ¡®calibrating¡¯ is a euphemism for something else, then I don¡¯t want to know.¡± She hooked an arm around Trevor¡¯s waist and he whispered in her ear. Tipping her head back, she laughed into the night sky.


    ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± I asked as Mike threw the keys my way, tipped his cap, and headed into the trailer with Darla¡¯s mom.


    ¡°He said, ¡®If you want to know, come back to Joe¡¯s hotel room¡¯.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± I asked.


    ¡°And what?¡± she questioned. Her eyes were hooded by shadow and hesitation.


    ¡°What¡¯s your answer? It¡¯s an open invitation.¡± Shaken by my own courage, I let the question hang in the air and climbed into the passenger side of my car. Trevor could drive ¨C I was still fucked up enough to know I had no business being behind the wheel, but loose enough to lower my inhibitions and propose something I didn¡¯t even have the vocabulary to explain.


    Muffled voices came through the window until Trevor opened his door, threw his body in, slammed the door and started the car. A few seconds of pause, and then we backed out slowly, the car¡¯s beams lighting a wide radius of the road, small critters scampering off as we drove slowly down the rutted driveway.


    ¡°What did she say?¡± I asked, unable to contain myself. I felt free and easy and ready for whatever life threw my way and hoped Darla was one of those things.


    ¡°She gave me a kiss and said that if we see her, we see her. And if not, don¡¯t take it personal.¡±


    ¡°Personally. Not personal.¡±


    ¡°I know that. Just relaying what she said.¡± Trevor handled the car like a pro, and as we drove away I realized we could just head straight home. I didn¡¯t leave anything important in that room. Not one fucking thing. All of this could be a joke we told months from now, a goofy story we embellished, making fun of the toothless rednecks who took Trevor in, turning them into a caricature, a narrative device to make us seem smarter and more sophisticated, reinforcing stereotypes and mocking our own transgressions with a lovely classist twist.


    And one day ago I¡¯d have done just that.


    Not now.


    Chapter Ten


    Darla


    I watched the red tail lights disappear as Trevor and Joe drove away. Their tires kicked up dust clouds, and a pale moon shone through the tree branches, dappling my exposed arm skin. The whole scene felt eerie and mysterious, their retreat like some sort of condemnation for an act I was too scared to commit.


    Because it was.


    Why did I let them go? In the moment, saying ¡°maybe¡± seemed like the best option, my heart slamming so hard against my ribs I thought it would break free and climb down Trevor¡¯s golden throat, trying to beat in sync with him deep inside him. Joe wouldn¡¯t even look at me, and I knew it wasn¡¯t for the wrong reasons.


    Oh, no ¨C it was for all the very, very right reasons. Which happened to be very, very naughty.


    Could this really be happening to me? Me? Darla Josephine Jennings, the girl who tried and failed to make a go of college, who showed up faithfully at the gas station with a smile and a smart-ass comment, who was dependable and who lived too much in her head and who thought she was a little too different to really fit in here, but who had to find private outlets for all that?


    Everyone in town knew me. I knew everyone in town, too. Not a day went by that I didn¡¯t see someone I¡¯d known since kindergarten, or a teacher, or a librarian, or the guy who fixed our broken furnace. If I carried grudges, I¡¯d never talk to half the people I ran into on a daily basis ¨C so I couldn¡¯t hold grudges, living here. Staying in one place meant finding ways to get around what you really thought and felt and letting go enough to get through the day with some level of harmony.


    Trevor and Joe probably knew that in their home town. Maybe not. It sounded so¡­cold. Relentless. Calculated and stifling. A different kind of conformity, but still ¨C in so many ways, the same.


    The three of us, though, didn¡¯t conform to anything. Not as a¡­threesome. God, even thinking the word seemed so sinful, so abnormal, so filthy. Three people together. At the same time.


    No one was around, so I sat on the hood of my car and let the night air wash over me, my mind giving me permission to think this through without judgment, pushing aside my knee-jerk reaction to label even the consideration of the thought to be a bad action. Who planted these judgments in my mind? Mama sure never said, ¡°And by the way, Darla, don¡¯t ever do two men at once. It¡¯s bad and you¡¯ll be a slut forever and your hoo haw will turn purple and fall off.¡±


    No one had ever said that ¨C least of all Mama, whose entire talk about sex with me had been to give me directions to Planned Parenthood when I was sixteen and to tell me my virginity was something best not handed over in the back of a car. Too bad she was a year late.


    Yet there it was, the all-pervasive feeling that I couldn¡¯t even think about Trevor and Joe at the same time.


    Fuck that! My mind was my own. I could think whatever I wanted. Didn¡¯t mean I had to act on it. If Mormon men could have more than one wife (informally, now), why couldn¡¯t a woman have more than one husband or man? In my Introduction to Anthropology course I¡¯d learned there was a word for that: polyandry. It was extremely rare and mostly done in African societies, but that didn¡¯t mean it couldn¡¯t happen in rare cases.


    The two men and one woman thing, I mean. Not the marriage part.


    Mama used to read romance novels, before she found sweepstakes. Every month a new book would come in the mail from Harlequin, and she¡¯d hole up in her bedroom and read it. She called them her ¡°reading stories,¡± to separate them from her other stories ¨C soap operas ¨C which she also used to enjoy. Money got tight and she had to quit the book clubs, but her room was still filled with those old Harlequins, and nowadays she entered some contests to get free romance novels.


    When I was thirteen or so I started reading them, too, and they were great escapes, entire worlds that were so foreign to me ¨C with men who were ranchers, doctors, vets, or cops ¨C but that helped me to see that men and women could be together and talk to each other in ways I didn¡¯t see in my life.


    And then there was one book where I learned what the word ¡°m¨¦nage¡± meant. Threesome, I guessed pretty fast, as I read it. Four hands on you? Two penises? Two mouths? The woman in the story wasn¡¯t torn about her feelings. Damn if she didn¡¯t lap up (pun intended) every second of attention from both men. Those guys were hot, too ¨C the cover showed abs so tight you could put a piece of coal on them and have them do 500 crunches and get a diamond.


    Two men and one woman. Seemed like something in a fantasy novel, you know? Except now there was an electricity between me and Joe and Trevor, as if uptight Joe were looser, and Trevor ¨C he certainly wanted me. He seemed OK with the fact that Joe wanted me, too. That damn kiss. Shouldn¡¯t I regret it? Wasn¡¯t I supposed to have some part of my conscience that told me I was breaking some moral code by kissing Joe and being caught?


    And that offer. They were both in Joe¡¯s hotel room, waiting for me to show up, extending to me an invitation to tip over an edge into an abyss. A line that, once crossed, can never, ever be uncrossed.


    Was I ready for that?


    ¡°Darla Jo!¡± Mama¡¯s voice called out to me. My ass burned from sitting in one spot too long, my knees propped up, wrists aching from leaning back. All my body felt a bit sore, as if the past two days had exercised me beyond my normal routine. And it had.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming,¡± I answered, knowing it made no sense to shout out into the inky darkness and piss off the neighbors. Mama sure wasn¡¯t coming down those ragged steps, either. I¡¯d need to fix those. Before you move, a voice in my mind said. That fucking voice. It needed to shut up.

 Page 35

    No, I don¡¯t, it retorted. Sounded a little too much like Aunt Josie.


    Mama was holding an old guitar in her hands as she sat at the table, a thin wisp of white smoke rising up from her lit cigarette, the concentrated column curving this way and that as it made its way up, dissipating into nearly nothing. A chill spread through me.Advertisement


    I knew that guitar. It was Daddy¡¯s, buried in the way back of their bedroom closet, deep under his clothes and a bunch of old checks and magazines. For Mama to dig that out, she had to go to a pretty major level of effort ¨C for her. My eyes filled with tears, because I knew what was coming next, and my heart rose in my throat, palate burning, my body so overwhelmed I was frozen in place.


    ¡°Mike told me about Trevor¡¯s music,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Said your face looked like you were watching an angel sing to you, like God sent him. And that Trevor has real talent, too.¡± She took a long drag off her cigarette, the cherry burning a little too bright even after her mouth left it, her hands so practiced, fingers nimble and knowing how to set it down even without having eyes on it. If nothing else, Mama was very good at the few things that made up her life: smoking, sweeping, and loss.


    Tapping the top of the guitar, she rested her fingers for a fraction of a second too long on the blond wood. Her hand shook just a bit now.


    ¡°Mama, you¡¯re shaking. Have you checked your sugars?¡± I asked. That wasn¡¯t a real question, and we both knew it. I just wanted to give her an out. My brain was on fire because Mama didn¡¯t do this. She didn¡¯t talk about feelings or Daddy.


    ¡°No, Darla Jo.¡± She sighed, a long, slow sound like something was draining out of her. Something other than air. ¡°My sugars are fine.¡± Now her voice was shaking, too, and so help me, God, if she started crying I would never stop.


    She straightened her spine best she could and her eyes caught mine. ¡°I want you to give this to Trevor. No use having it sit buried under all that stuff. Charlie ¨C ¡± her voice choked at saying Daddy¡¯s name. I hadn¡¯t heard her use it in years, and it made my throat close up with salty tears, too, my eyes following suit. ¡°Charlie always said that instruments are like people. They need to be a part of the action to be useful.¡±


    We shared a sad smile. I didn¡¯t want her to stop, so I kept my mouth shut. It worked.


    ¡°And Darla, he¡¯d have been so proud of you.¡± Her voice broke and I just let my own tears come, my throat hitching with sobs that I struggled to keep in my nose filling as I wiped my face with my sleeve.


    ¡°He would?¡± Why? I wondered. Why would anyone be proud of someone like me?


    ¡°Because you have a way with people, Darla Jo. You¡¯re a kindhearted young woman who has blossomed into someone who is always striving for more, even in hard times.¡± The words poured out of her as she took another long drag off her smoke. Jesus Christ, I hadn¡¯t heard this much come out of her mouth that wasn¡¯t about sweeping or medical issues or what was wrong with me in ¨C hell, forever.


    ¡°And you need to give this to your boyfriend when you go visit him right now.¡±


    Hold on. ¡°Right now?¡±


    ¡°Go. You know you want to. Go with your gut.¡± She shook her head slowly, rolls of fat around her neck moving and twisting a bit, her eyes shining with tears that nearly spilled over. ¡°I wish I had,¡± she muttered.


    ¡°What do you mean, Mama?¡± I asked gently, reaching out to touch her hand. She jumped a bit, as if shocked, then relaxed.


    Blinking hard, she mulled over my question and I worried I¡¯d pushed too hard. Her face closed off, and I decided if ever there was a time to push, it was now. Eighteen years of nothing wasn¡¯t cutting it.


    ¡°Mama? I¡¯m twenty-two and this is the most you¡¯ve ever said about Daddy.¡± I squeezed her hand. It stayed limp. ¡°Please,¡± I pleaded.


    Closing her eyes, she reached for her cigarette and took a long drag, knowing through muscle memory where it was, never burning herself. ¡°I knew Jeff had too much to drink that night. And I wanted to say something but I was just too damn polite. Too hesitant. Marlene can be a big personality, you know?¡±


    I made a snorting sound of agreement.


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t mean like she is now. Before the accident, and her brain got hurt, she was different. Nicer. Friendly and a little crazy, but in a good way. A fun way.¡± Mama swallowed hard. ¡°So I kept my opinions to myself because if I said anything, she¡¯d have shooed it off as me being a nervous Nelly, and I didn¡¯t want the flak.¡±


    Whoa. I didn¡¯t know what to say or how to react. Mama must have been carrying that guilt around for this whole time, but it¡¯s not like it was her fault. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have known, Mama,¡± I countered.


    ¡°No. I realize that. Took me a long time, and God certainly gave me my own burden to bear,¡± she said, looking at her missing foot.


    ¡°God didn¡¯t do that to punish you,¡± I insisted.


    ¡°He took Charlie, Darla. That¡¯s all the punishment I needed for not following my gut.¡± A long drag, then she pulled a fresh one out of her cigarette case and lit it off the old cigarette¡¯s cherry. ¡°This foot was just a little something extra the devil threw in.¡±


    Mama didn¡¯t talk about God like this. Not much. Where was this crap coming from? ¡°You really believe that?¡± I asked softly.


    ¡°Not really. I think it¡¯s something I say to myself when I¡¯m trying to throw a pity party and no one comes.¡± We laughed, the sound a bit tinny and forced, but better than nothing.


    She inched the guitar my way. ¡°Go. Take this and give it to him.¡± Mama stood and I followed suit, our bodies reaching for each other awkwardly, her hug the first I¡¯d had in years. It felt good to be embraced, to have Mama stroking my hair and whispering, ¡°You¡¯re such a good girl, Darla. Now move far away and live your life.¡±


    I pulled away as if stabbed, disbelief coursing through me like poison. ¡°What?¡± I practically screamed.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kick you out if you don¡¯t do it on your own.¡±


    ¡°No, you won¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°All right. No. I won¡¯t,¡± she admitted, chuckling to herself. ¡°I do think you need to just go and visit Josie for a while and see where your life takes you.¡± Her eyes shifted to a more protective, withdrawn look, and I could tell she was retreating back under her mask. And that was OK ¨C it must have been so hard to show herself to me after all these years.


    I¡¯d take what I could get.


    Right now, though, I needed to go take what had been offered. I gave Mama a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed the guitar by the neck and sprinted out the door, headed toward something so new, so random, I couldn¡¯t even name it.


    Trevor


    The ride from Darla¡¯s house to the hotel room wasn¡¯t a painful, silent trip, which is what I¡¯d expected from my long-time friend. Shades of grey weren¡¯t exactly his forte, and right now Darla, Joe, and I were about as grey as you can get. Some sort of unexplained phenomenon was developing between the three of us, and now that we were down to just us two, it felt empty. Darker. Forlorn, yet not tense. Just¡­unfulfilled.


    Fortunately, I remembered how to get there, the roads laid out in an orderly manner, so unlike the Boston area, where the road map looked like it had been drawn by a nine-year-old drinking his second double espresso. Yet another point for this place that until two days ago we¡¯d have considered fly-over country, a vast green expanse with faded beige corn fields in between, a checkered patch quilt of nothing. Not now. Now it was far, far more.


    Joe was in that half-drunk stupor that made him so much more fun than his normal, tightass state. How a guy who could attract women like light bulbs attract moths could be so insecure had puzzled me for years. Something about Darla made him daring, though ¨C that kiss had come out of nowhere. Coming upon them in that state, his hands groping what had just filled my own shortly before, her mouth so passionately entangled with his I could feel her need ¨C being able to observe that, to share in that without feeling like we were competing for her ¨C that blew my fucking mind.


    You can do that? Really? Because no one told me that before. Ever. Not in the UU church¡¯s sexuality class, not in any human psych class in college (not even abnormal psych), and not in any late-nights talks in the dorms, high as a kite and sharing sex stories (or even having sex while talking about sex). Who did this? Who felt like this? How could I make sense of it if no one explained it to me?


    I was on my own.


    ¡°I miss her already,¡± Joe mumbled.


    Me too. ¡°She¡¯s coming. I¡¯m sure she is.¡± Faking certainty wasn¡¯t my strong suit, but it was worth the try.


    ¡°She¡¯s a pussy.¡±


    ¡°Duh, Captain Obvious.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say she has a pussy. I said she is a pussy. Like me. Darla¡¯s going to wimp out. It¡¯s too scary.¡± Way to change course, I thought. My legs tensed, thigh muscles tightening and loosening in a rhythm I¡¯d developed long ago, a way to release anxiety or discomfort without looking like I was doing anything. Mom didn¡¯t approve of what she called my ¡°displays of anger,¡± and the habit was so embedded I was doing it here, right now, listening to Joe calling her names. I wanted to go back and grab her, steal her away, and he was calling her names. Names I¡¯d normally apply to him.


    ¡°We can¡¯t go back and grab her by the hair and drag her off,¡± I said, a little too close to my actual thoughts. God, that would be hot. Spin the car around, screech the tires, put the pedal down hard and zoom back to her, grab her hard and kiss her fear away, throw her in the backseat and rip out of here. That thought made me hard, throbbing for what we couldn¡¯t have and for what had been so fucking close.


    So close.


    Joe grinned, the smile sudden and ferocious. ¡°You try that and she¡¯ll have you tied to the hood of her car, being clawed to death by three-legged kittens.¡± We both chuckled, but the sound died out too quickly, my pants tight and my head swimming with too many thoughts, overwhelmed by the rush of possibility as it died out, releasing spores that just made everything a little too toxic, a little too dangerous.


    Pulling in to the parking lot was depressing. The building looked about as fun as a crematorium. Joe used his electronic card to key us in and took me to his room. 231 was probably exactly like 230 and 232, with crappy, threadbare carpeting that had a gold, green and burgundy pattern popular when Johnson was president. Someone tried to add a little ¡°class¡± to the room with a gold bedspread two shades too bright to match the carpet, and paisley curtains that gave me bedspins when I looked at them too hard. The room smelled like rose water and old pee.


    ¡°Nice penthouse suite.¡± Joe picked up a pen and tossed it at my head as he slammed his body into the bed, stretched out like Jesus on the cross.


    ¡°Why weren¡¯t you pissed?¡± he yawned, as if his question were some offhand thought he was throwing out there for fun. Like we casually talked about sharing a woman all the time, the way we discussed which movie to see on a Friday night, or how much acid we could drop and still be functional for an exam the next day.

 Page 36

    I pretended to think about his question as I found my way to a tweed-covered chair, the fabric so rough I could feel little balls of thread through my jeans.


    My pause made him reconsider. ¡°Don¡¯t answer,¡± he mumbled. We were on shaky ground. How I answered this mattered as much as what I said. Why I said what I said mattered most, though.Advertisement


    ¡°I¡¯m answering,¡± I insisted. My heart began a slow, steady crawl up my chest and into my throat. Explaining this to Joe was going to be hard, but if he couldn¡¯t understand, who would? It felt like I was drowning and the only person who could help save me was clinging to a life raft, but couldn¡¯t swim.


    ¡°You know that moment on stage when you are really nervous, and then suddenly it fades away?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No,¡± he said coldly. ¡°I always feel like I¡¯m going to throw up all over the amp.¡±


    ¡°Even when we¡¯re in the flow of the song?¡± I could feel my voice go up, incredulous and questioning.


    He nodded miserably. ¡°Pick a different analogy.¡±


    Ooookay. ¡°Then no analogy. I just don¡¯t feel jealous. It¡¯s like it¡¯s supposed to be that way. Like we should¡­¡± Did I say the word? Fuck it. ¡°Share.¡±


    There. It was out. Couldn¡¯t shove it back in. Share was the best word I could come up with. Be with her together was close. Be together seemed like an impossible-to-utter phrase that would make him punch me, so I kept that one to myself. I didn¡¯t want him to think I was gay. This wasn¡¯t about wanting him ¨C not that way, at least. How could I want another dude there when I was having sex with Darla, and have it not be gay?


    But it wasn¡¯t gay, and that¡¯s the point in my thought where my head exploded.


    ¡°Say something!¡± I shouted. The word share hung in the room like someone¡¯s loud, smelly fart at a funeral.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± he groaned, the word slow and tortured. ¡°You said it for me. What is this, Trev? Is she some kind of seductive witch who put us under her spell and now we want to do things you only see in pornos?¡± He sat up and looked at me with a face that was in pain. ¡°The really bad ones?¡±


    ¡°There is no such thing as bad porn,¡± I joked.


    ¡°Then you haven¡¯t watched nearly enough of it.¡±


    That was the Joe I wanted, the one I knew was under the surface of the scared, inconsistent guy I¡¯d known most of my life. ¡°We¡¯re deflecting,¡± I declared.


    ¡°I¡¯m not. I¡¯m just wildly flailing as I try not to have this conversation. We are not talking about being so deviant that our sexuality is pushing us to have a threesome with Darla.¡±


    ¡°Yes we are,¡± I insisted.


    ¡°Maybe you are.¡± He grabbed the remote and turned on the television, flipping to CNN. ¡°I¡¯m looking for the Amber Alert my mom probably had them put out on me.¡±


    We weren¡¯t going to talk about this now after all, I could see. Fine with me.


    Tap tap tap. Our heads both whiplashed toward the sound, the metal door moving slightly with each knock.


    ¡°Darla,¡± we said in unison.


    Time to see what kind of random act we really were capable of.


    Joe


    Awkward.


    If you had told me two days ago that I¡¯d be sitting here in a hotel room at a truck stop in Ohio, talking about how comfortable and normal it seemed to want to share a woman with Trevor in a threesome, I¡¯d have said you overdosed on acid, and you should hand some of that shit over, because it must be fucking potent.


    I froze as someone knocked on the door. ¡°Darla,¡± I hissed, her name slithering out of me, my mind way too pickled to comprehend that she had actually come. She was here.


    Oh, shit. She was here. Trevor¡¯s eyes were about as panicked as mine, even if he would never admit it in a thousand years. He liked to act like he was Tucker Max and all that, but when it came to this kind of thing, he was just as confused as I was.


    Right?


    All my inhibitions ran away the second she stepped into the room, lush and hesitant and as questioning as we¡¯d just been, but without words. A guitar was in her hand, some old, cheap instrument that looked like it hadn¡¯t been used in decades. She wore a cardigan, buttoned up to a ¡°V,¡± cleavage showing a valley of creamy skin I wanted to lick to a pink flush.


    Fuck the world. If what I wanted ¨C we wanted ¨C wasn¡¯t supposed to happen, how could we all be here right now, ready for the same thing? With the hotel room I insisted on renting, too? A hot, pounding push flew through my body, making my hands and legs throb and fill up, my breathing becoming labored and heated as I watched her step in the room, smile at Trevor, then catch my eye.


    ¡°You two look like you¡¯re seeing a ghost. Or you drank from the tap. You sick?¡± The joke went unacknowledged, and the smile drained off her face as she went deadly serious, affected by whatever she saw in my own expression. All I wanted right now was this. Us. Her. Trev and me melding with her into an exploration of something so sweet, so untouchable, so unknowable that only we could create it. Here. Now.


    Nowhere else. Rules didn¡¯t apply. Society didn¡¯t matter. My parents and their expectations faded into some sort of echo of a memory as we three stood here, all adults, all separate individuals with thoughts and feelings and pounding hearts and swollen dreams.


    If I didn¡¯t grab this now and see what kind of person I could be with these two people who turned me on so deeply in a way I didn¡¯t know was possible ¨C that I felt the world had kept from me, explicitly denying me any understanding that this even existed. Could exist. Might be tangible ¨C


    ¨C then I might as well be among the walking dead. Like all the other people I¡¯d admired and been mentored by and believed when they told me I had to follow the fucking rules, listen to the system, be ¨C


    ¨C a zombie.


    I was done.


    I needed flesh, but in a completely different way.


    Darla


    The way they looked at me set every skin cell, every part of my body on fire in a raging flush of lust that made me feel so wanted. So desired. So sensual and womanly that it seemed like a dream. The two of them just stood still, Trevor close to the television stand and Joe next to the bed, both of them with their hands on their hips. Trevor¡¯s hair was a little sweaty around the edges of his face, slicked back from a soft hand sliding through it, his arm muscles tight and twisting as he nervously did the gesture right before me, my mind conjuring it.


    Joe was still as a statue, a model of the concept of being a man. The way his jeans hung on his hips, how the cloth of his shirt stretched against his pecs, tight at the shoulders and sliding down to hug his ribcage. And those hands, fingers pointing toward the core of him, a part I wanted to savor, to touch, to ¨C


    ¡°What¡¯s with the guitar?¡± Trevor asked gently. Turning my gaze from Joe to him was like looking up from a gorgeous piece of chocolate cake to find I was being handed an enormous piece of caramel cheesecake with hot fudge sauce.


    You mean I can taste both?


    Those blue eyes, that tight body ¨C between him and Joe I was just going to come on the spot from what my eyes took in. One touch from either of them and I would writhe into a babbling puddle on the floor. A brief flash of insecurity seized me up, making me go mute. Maybe I¡¯d read them both wrong. What if I was a fool, thinking there was more here than there really was? Could that be why this seemed so odd, so uncharted?


    Because it really was just a figment of my overactive imagination?


    ¡°We¡¯re so glad you came. To visit,¡± Joe said, his voice choked and deep. Trevor stepped back and motioned for me to come in. I¡¯d never seen a room here ¨C no, really. Pinky swear. No one I knew actually stayed here. If we had enough money for a cheap hotel room, we spent it on booze and weed. Or, rather, I did back in high school. Not much of that lately.


    I gave Trevor my daddy¡¯s instrument, handing it off like it was a Faberge egg. ¡°Mama wanted me to give this to you.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°Cathy ¨C huh?¡±


    ¡°It was my daddy¡¯s.¡±


    The look he gave me felt like Cupid¡¯s arrow sliding right between my breasts, through two ribs, deeply piercing the cartilage and finding perfect placement in my heart, a warm, blooming feeling spreading throughout.


    ¡°Wow.¡± Joe seemed to know what it meant, which I guessed showed Trevor had told him. That was OK. It didn¡¯t matter ¨C no secrets anymore, right?


    Why keep a secret from someone you were trying to know so deeply, and who accepted you so intimately, the way you were? Kind of defeats the point. I had so many roads I could choose right now. Walk away. Stay and sleep with Trevor. Stay and sleep with them both. Go to Boston and live with Josie.


    Just go to Boston.


    Why not take the path right in front of me, the one with four eyes, four hands, two mouths, and two very aroused men staring at me like I was the piece of cake to be devoured.


    I could let them have their cake and eat it too. That made my breath hitch, and suddenly the room was just too warm, my skin too sensitive, my pulse too thready.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Trevor answered, his voice quiet, resonating with emotion. He knew how much the guitar must mean to Mama, and it wasn¡¯t a gift he took lightly. ¡°I¡¯ll treasure this.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll treasure you,¡± I said. Looking at both men, I said, ¡°The suspense is killing me, you two. Is this what I think it is?¡±


    Silence. The fuckers answered me with¡­nothing. Entire lifetimes passed three times over as I waited for something ¨C anything ¨C from either of them. Trevor studied Daddy¡¯s guitar like it was a Dead Sea Scroll and Joe looked like he was about to cum in his pants.


    I plopped myself down on the bed, grabbed the remote, and said, ¡°Fine. Let¡¯s see if this sucker has free HBO. Mama had to drop cable a while ago.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do that,¡± Joe said, sitting next to me.


    ¡°Do what? Watch Game of Thrones? Of course I do.¡± Too proud to walk out now, and too scared to say one more genuine word lest they continue this weird conspiracy of quiet, I decided to just pretend I hadn¡¯t said anything. Real mature, I know, but I was flying blind here. The combination of extraordinary vulnerability and a super-high state of arousal did not make me function at my highest level.


    In fact, I was about one more second of silence away from being a drooling idiot.


    Trevor saved us all by sitting on the other side of me, Joe¡¯s thigh pressing against mine now as he scooted closer. ¡°We¡¯re glad you are here,¡± he said in a soothing voice that made me want to do a slow strip tease while he poured warm whisky down my thighs and licked it off.


    And then Joe kissed me. Oh ¨C it was like back at the bar but one thousand times better, Trevor¡¯s hands on my back, my shoulders, then cupping my breasts from behind as Joe¡¯s mouth pushed urgently against mine, my hands curling instinctively, my mind fading out and heart taking over as I wanted to know what they wanted so we could just give, give, give to one another and find our way through this to ecstasy.


    Looked like we were well on our way, as Joe pulled back, his tongue a memory imprinted on mine, the taste of him in me, and smiled at us both. Trevor cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, his mouth more urgent, his power evident, as I felt Joe¡¯s hands at my waistline, his fingers touching flesh, my body startling in response.

 Page 37

    This was really happening. ¡°How do we do this?¡± I murmured against Trevor¡¯s mouth, his warm tongue parting my lips and searching me deeply, trying to find the parts I had kept hidden.


    ¡°No rules,¡± they said together. Even with Trevor caressing my face, our lips together, I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. We all cracked up, the tension broken, the air in the room suddenly lighter, and we just were. No right. No wrong. Just three people who wanted to know each other and touch and lick and enjoy in a way that might not be normal, but it wasn¡¯t bad. The look we exchanged was so good, a calm abyss widening inside me, making it all just fine.Advertisement


    Trevor took the lead again, standing as our laughter faded, stripping off his shirt, rippling abs moving as he stretched up, his skin stretched perfectly. His body I¡¯d seen plenty, but when Joe stripped down I couldn¡¯t hold in the gasp.


    A thick scar stretched from his neckline down where his heart was. ¡°Oh, my God! What happened?¡± I asked, standing to touch it, fingers drawn like a magnet.


    Puzzled, he looked down, the act of curling his chin under making his stomach muscles curl in, exposing a perfect six-pack. ¡°Oh. The scar. I forgot. I had heart surgery when I was a kid.¡±


    I stroked the scar slowly. It wasn¡¯t as big as I¡¯d imagine a heart surgery scar should be. ¡°How old?¡±


    ¡°Three months.¡± The wind whooshed out of me.


    ¡°Is that why your parents are so ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Darla,¡± he said darkly, ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about my parents right now.¡± And then he shut me up with a kiss that I could feel all the way down my body, over my hips, and straight to my clit, the feeling enhanced by his arms around me, almost brutal in their claim. Trevor¡¯s body warmed my back, his erection pressing against the cleft of my ass as Joe took my mouth, his hands in my hair, tongue parting my lips and running along my teeth, my own mouth rough and demanding in response.


    Heat along my back disappeared as Trevor pulled away, leaving me to roam through the territory of Joe¡¯s body, my hands playing with his back, a wonder of smooth skin, dimples and honed muscle. The tick of a machine turning on made me flinch, and Joe separated from me, looking for the source of the sound. Trevor had turned on the fan in the room, the air instantly circulating and a low hum drowning out whatever sounds we were about to make as we journeyed together to something completely forbidden.


    My shirt came off handily under Joe¡¯s care, my arms lifting as he guided me, any holding back in either of us instantly purged, as if we had to ponder and worry and consider and fret and then ¨C the decision was made and all was gone, a tipping point that led to the immediate release of all doubt. Trevor seemed to have gotten there much earlier, now stripping to the state he¡¯d been when we met, and soon the two men had me right there with them, nude and chilled and hot ¨C all at once. Joe¡¯s palms made a heated trail down my legs as he hooked his thumbs in my panties and slid down, my feet lifting up and out and leaving all three of us wholly naked.


    I was theirs to do with what they pleased. Relinquishing power and control was a relief. Turning my mind off and letting my body guide me gave me new access to a way of being that flowed, like my own juices, making me wet and warm for their patient tutoring in how to forge a sensual encounter shared by more than two. We weren¡¯t seeking fuckbuddies, and this was no typical one-night-stand, using another person to try something novel and get the hell out an hour later.


    No one was being exploited, and while the word love didn¡¯t quite apply, respect did. Same with tender and intimate and explorative.


    They were the conquistadors and I was Here there be dragons, breathing fire into their naked souls as their hands wandered mine. The problem ¨C and I do mean the only problem ¨C was that we had no fucking idea what we were doing or how to make love to two people at the same time. Not a one of us. That was obvious; the men seemed as bewildered, turned on, and ready as I was, but we had no road map for this trip.


    What we had was time, arousal, a room and all the motivation in the world. Trevor eased me gently onto the bed, my ass sliding on the bedspread as he moved my body to the middle of the bed, my mouth eager for someone¡¯s touch, for their lips or cocks or hands, anything to commence what I had been waiting forever to start. Trevor¡¯s mouth found mine and stubble brushed against my knee, fingers urging my knees apart as Joe began a slow crawl up my thighs, my legs moving apart, mind torn in two by the twin sensations of Trevor¡¯s mouth and Joe¡¯s touch.


    What had been temptation was now reality, my throat pounding as blood rushed down, filling my clit and engorging my womanhood, making me crave them both. As my hands wandered over Trevor¡¯s back, fingernails scratching lightly against the skin along his shoulders, Joe¡¯s fingers parted my folds and I gasped as his tongue tasted me, oh, so briefly, before he stopped and murmured, ¡°So amazing.¡±


    Then his mouth was on me, tongue dancing against my swollen nub, teasing my flesh and making my hips arch up to meet his tongue. Trevor broke off the kiss and slid one hand down to my breasts, the other cupping my cheek as our eyes met. Passion flickered, along with a darkness that promised whatever came next would leave me breathless and exposed, push me to the edge and leave me wanting more.


    Brushing his lips against my nipple, Trevor made it pebble, then closed his wet mouth over the pink flesh, shooting a spark through me that combined with Joe¡¯s tongue, dancing on my clit, making my body tremble and begin the slow climb to explosion. Joe pulled back and sat up on his knees, watching me and Trevor with half-lidded eyes. He enjoyed this, but was no pure voyeur, reaching down to slide one finger in my aching hole as he spread my labia wide and enveloped me with his mouth, finding my clitoral hood. My hands didn¡¯t know what to do, tremoring from their tempered play on my body. One sank into Joe¡¯s hair while the other reached down to find Trevor¡¯s cock.


    It was ready for me, tall and rigid, thrumming with a message that said, You did this. I loved having that kind of power, and right now, I did this to two men, both lavishing their attentions on me, and it felt as good as I¡¯d always imagined it would.


    With a little nip that made a groan rise out of me, the sound escaping like a gasp, Trevor¡¯s teeth clamped down on my breast for the briefest of seconds, the spark shooting clear to Joe¡¯s tongue, bringing me higher and closer to climax. Joe froze, then relaxed, his tongue spreading wide as he sought to find the perfect circle to tweak and lave to bring me all the way.


    ¡°Stroke me,¡± Trevor rasped, his words sending an instant pulse into every nerve ending in me, the command pronounced and clear, my mind shattering into a million pieces of desire as I reached for his hardness, which twitched under my hand. The shaft¡¯s skin was so soft, yet taut, and he bit down on my breast each time the underside of my fist pushed against his mushroom tip.


    Joe¡¯s tongue invaded me, two fingers now fucking me, his hot mouth working in rhythm, my breath hitched and coming out in ragged cries. My hand moved in a steady beat with Joe¡¯s tongue, bringing Trevor along for the ride until his hand enveloped mine, the pressure on my thumb hard, and he whispered, ¡°Enough.¡±


    Trevor tapped Joe on the shoulder, and the two exchanged a look and a short whispered series of words, Joe nodding. As he returned his attention to me his eyes raked over my body from eyebrows to toes, the look bold and predatory, my eyes closing and my body taking in a long, deep sigh I didn¡¯t seem to start. It was as if all of this was coming from a place inside that knew exactly what to do.


    ¡°You are so fucking hot,¡± he said, crawling over my body, dragging his chest against mine, his breath filled with the essence of me. A quick kiss gave me no choice, and soon my mouth was full of my own taste, the act so rash and jarring I melted into it, the sheer acceptance and innocence of it making me shudder.


    Or, perhaps, that was Trevor¡¯s hand now teasing my clit as Joe slid up and I turned on my side, urging him to come closer, pulling his erection toward my mouth. He stood by the side of the bed and leaned forward, my mouth closing over the tip, loving the sweet, musky taste of him, the oils on his skin sprinkled with a fresh, citrusy, salty taste. His groan as my mouth caressed his throbbing self was like a thank you note only I could read, and then my own gratitude rose up as Trevor, from behind, parted my legs and kept his hand in constant motion, the pads of his index and middle fingers taking juices from my wet pussy and moving up to wet my clit.


    The fullness of his erection pressed against my ass as he nestled up against me from behind, and then I felt the faintest of shocking sensations, his pinkie finger sliding up, slick, across my taint, barely brushing against ¨C


    Really? There?


    A curtain of anxiety pulled swiftly across the entire room, as if separating me emotionally from Joe and Trevor with one sudden snap of a wrist. Being with two men at the same time meant there, didn¡¯t it? My mouth opened and shut tight in shock, just like my puckered hole, which seized with disbelief. What would it feel like? Would it hurt? Judging by that tiny wisp of a stroke across the sensitive skin, it could be glorious, but I felt hot and wet and overwhelmed for the first time, and it was Joe who sensed it first, lifting his leg and settled down next to me, stroking my hair and circling one nipple with a lazy, languid circle.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? You tensed up.¡±


    ¡°That was me,¡± Trevor explained from behind me, propping up on one elbow, his chin resting on my shoulder as if we were washing my car and taking a break ¨C and not in the middle of the hottest sex ever. ¡°I went for the¡­you know¡­¡±


    ¡°Without asking?¡± Joe¡¯s voice was indignant on my behalf.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I answered. No, it wasn¡¯t. My own fear was the problem; the touch had been playful and affectionate, arousing and searching. Nothing wrong with that, and I willed myself to relax.


    ¡°There¡¯s no way we¡¯re going there, Darla,¡± Trevor said soothingly. ¡°Not our first time.¡±


    This is the one and only time. No one said it, but I assumed we were all thinking it. At least, I sure was. But then Joe took my mind off everything by making his way back to my V and saying, ¡°We need to relax you,¡± the last word muffled as his tongue found me, two fingers slipped in my soaked self, and Trevor did something from behind that felt wet, right against my tailbone.


    Poor guy. He had cum early, hadn¡¯t he? Uh¡­no. Unusually erotic movements on his part against the cleft of my ass, like he was riding me bareback, made my pussy lips tingle, just as Joe¡¯s tongue found that perfect sweet spot ¨C you know the one, that is like a portal to another world, where nerve endings explode on command and you face-fuck a guy because you can? And because he lets you?


    Even better ¨C it turns out he likes it?


    That was the dimension Joe and Trevor sent me to. Dr. Who needed to send every woman on the planet a Tardis that took them straight there.


    Joe¡¯s fingers and Trevor¡¯s tight cock slid over my tailbone, pulling back, in perfect harmony, Joe¡¯s tongue elevating me, my hips thrusting as Trevor¡¯s strong arms encased me, hands clamped over swollen breasts, our three bodies writhing in concert. I came in a giant burst of light and bone, my screams so loud I feared I¡¯d wake the dead, hands twisting the bedsheets, pulling them off the corners as Joe and Trevor strummed me to ecstasy, a random act of tongue and cock that had me singing high notes I didn¡¯t know I could hit.

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    God, they were both so sexy, focused entirely on me, with Trevor pulling back to preserve himself for what I knew he wanted ¨C to be in me. Joe moved his tongue with me even as I bucked from the sheer intensity and force of climax after climax, my orgasm draining me and recharging every cell at the same time, until finally I nudged him off my clit.


    ¡°Too much! Please, please, stop,¡± I begged. Ever the gentleman, he complied immediately, coming up to rest next to me. I reached over and kissed Joe¡¯s chest, letting my lips part and touching the tip of my tongue to one nipple, giving my attention to his throbbing tip with my hand, his erection hard and pointed north. Instead of grasping it, I reached around to his hips with one hand and hauled him closer, rubbing my belly against the head of him.Advertisement


    ¡°No, no,¡± he hissed. ¡°You do that and I¡¯ll be in you in two seconds.¡±


    ¡°And the problem with that is¡­?¡± Trevor said from behind me. Joe cocked an eyebrow as if to say, You¡¯re OK with that? and Trevor nodded.


    I decided for them, pulling up and sitting on my knees. My body was on full display for them, and theirs for my eyes, too. A feast of gorgeous, strapping flesh, it made me eager to take them both, wanting everything. Could we¡­?


    Could I?


    Only way to know was to try. You would think I¡¯d be completely limp and loose, exhausted from coming so hard, but a new wave of need arose in me, this one piqued by curiosity about the tantalizingly forbidden. If we had enough lube, could we?


    Could I?


    That decision, to take them both at the same time in such an intimate way, was 100 percent mine. Trevor had shut down that idea earlier and I knew he was being compassionate, trying not to make me feel pressured or hurried, but all it did was plant a seed. I wasn¡¯t exactly known for being compliant, now, was I? Tell me I shouldn¡¯t have something and all I want is it.


    Like this.


    Practical Joe climbed off the bed and grabbed a brown paper bag sitting on the dresser next to the television. The view, with the mirror reflecting back, was spectacular, his chest carved from marble, tight pockets of abs leading down to hip bones that jutted out, his ass flexing as he walked back holding a box of condoms.


    And a jar of lube.


    ¡°Boy scout,¡± I laughed. Then I paused, thinking this through, enjoying the camaraderie of taking all of this step by step. Besides, I¡¯d already come. They were the ones being tortured, on the brink, needing more.


    ¡°Be prepared,¡± they said simultaneously.


    ¡°When did you buy that?¡± I asked slowly. Sheepish looks covered their faces, so I answered for them. ¡°On the way here from my house, right?¡±


    They nodded.


    ¡°You knew I¡¯d come back.¡±


    ¡°We hoped,¡± Trevor whispered in my ear, coming in for a kiss that curled my toes, his mouth relaxed and casual, his throbbing member pressing against my arm anything but. He stretched out on the bed and hauled me on top of him, my thighs pressed against thickly-muscled hips, his erection pressing against my mons. Joe handed him a condom and I grabbed it, pulling it out of the wrapper and unrolling it, half inch by half inch, over him as he moved his hips up, straining for it, knowing what came next.


    I arched my ass over his cock and felt it nudge my folds, then let the tip rest right at the entrance of my core, sliding down over his pole with excruciating precision, slow and slippery and agonizingly deliberate.


    Stretching up like a cat, my back relaxed and my abs clamped down on him, my wetness making a slick tunnel to bring him home. Joe watched with hungry eyes, hand on his own member, stroking himself as he watched me impale myself on Trevor.


    And then I said what I had been thinking these past few minutes, my mind blown with the headiness of it all. ¡°Can we try?¡±


    Those simple words, that full-throated offer, made the air crackle, the room suspended in midair, timeless. Joe practically sprinted to the bed, lube in hand, and didn¡¯t need to give an answer. Kisses dotted my back and shoulder blades, hands cupping my breasts from behind, Trevor smiling up at me with those baby blues that begged for me to release into his ocean of everything and accept him and Joe full into my center.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to ¨C ¡± Joe said, not finishing the sentence as I felt a slick warmth pour down my butt crack, the tickle of viscosity making me shudder. Trevor caressed by breasts as Joe searched out my ass, a pinkie touching the rim, making my pussy tighten. Trevor groaned as I learned I had a whole layer of wall muscle within that I could lengthen and shorten at my pleasure¡¯s command, focusing on making myself tighten as hard as possible around Trevor, his groan of lust an answer to whether it was working for him.


    And then I changed my mind. The pain of his pinkie took me too far away, distracted and filled with preoccupations and trepidations.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Trevor said quietly. ¡°You don¡¯t have to, Darla. You are completely in charge. Whatever you want, we¡¯ll give. Whatever you don¡¯t want, won¡¯t happen.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Joe added.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that I don¡¯t want it,¡± I explained, hissing into the space above Trevor, brimming with a humming need to fuck him silly, and to make love with Joe, too. ¡°It¡¯s just ¨C ¡±


    ¡°You never have to justify your feelings,¡± Joe said, kissing my neck. He got off the bed and walked to the bathroom. A faucet creaked on. The sound of rushing water. Then Joe was back, slightly wet hands on my back, as Trevor began shifting his hips up, thrusting into me.


    ¡°I can¡¯t hold on much longer,¡± he moaned.


    ¡°So don¡¯t.¡± With that, I lifted my pelvis, sliding up to the tip, letting it rest ever-so-lightly in me, and then slammed myself down so hard his cock hit my inner wall, going so deep I could nearly feel it next to my heart. Three more thrusts like that and Trevor¡¯s eyes went hot, then closed, neck straining as he let himself take over, shaping his thrusts with a hip twist that made me come crazy-like, fingers clinging to his shoulders, rutting like an animal in heat, my body firing through the push to get closer, closer, closer¡­


    And then.


    Trevor let out a dusky gasp and called out, ¡°Joe!¡± Slipping me off, Trevor grinned and gave me a kiss, panting through the not-so-slow descent from his climax. ¡°I want you to have Joe. But on my terms, this time.¡± Wink.


    What? What did that mean? I felt like I had a fireball inside me that was only partly extinguished, my body craving Joe¡¯s, to know him as intimately as I knew Trevor, to feel him over me, hands on his body, owning him and trusting him, sharing my core with him the way I had with Trevor. The heat in the room had nothing to do with temperature, Joe¡¯s barely-contained lust coming out in full force as I stretched out, like a cat, on the bedspread, waiting for so much more.


    Once I knew I could trust them, once I knew that I could decide what we did and didn¡¯t do, it was easy to let them call the shots now. No matter what, they wouldn¡¯t push me into anything I wanted, which gave them even more freedom. Ironic, I know. Testing the world and learning came hand-in-hand from knowing that someone else¡¯s well being was in your hands, and respecting their boundaries meant showing them you could trust them.


    Joe and Trevor were great students in that life lesson.


    ¡°Is there more I can do?¡± Joe said in a teasing, seductive voice as he loomed over me, chest working overtime with arms to hover, his little kisses as he dipped down for a quick peck setting me ablaze.


    ¡°You can fuck me.¡± The words came out flat and desperate, triggering a chuckle that rumbled low in his throat.


    ¡°Mmmmm, I think we can do more,¡± Trevor interrupted. He and Joe exchanged a look I couldn¡¯t decipher, and then ¨C Joe¡¯s cock in me ¨C a duality in me split into two completely different Darlas, one losing her mind and the other trying, in an endless loop, to understand how one man could do both delectable things at the same time.


    Oh. He can¡¯t.


    But they could.


    As Joe nestled himself between my legs, entering me as if in a state of worship, his arms on either side of my face and his seductive smile of desire nearly making me cry with happiness, Trevor curled up next to me, face right by my hip. The energy from Joe¡¯s body entwined with mine was incredible, re-energizing me.


    ¡°I won¡¯t last long,¡± Joe said, a smile in his words. My eyes were closed now, his body searing through me, the softness of his strokes making me die a little from pure thrill with each little feather-like hammer. His thrusts grew, filling me, going quickly from gentle to intense and I rode with him, twinning my movements with his, until Trevor¡¯s hands roamed my body, his fingers inserted between mine and Joe¡¯s bodies, searching for my clit.


    Fireworks. Explosion. Nothing prepared me for that, with Joe pumping into me, hammering into me as he fought his way through his own orgasm, my unexpected supernova turning me into a screaming, loud madwoman. The sense of complete abandon was so all-pervasive; I felt I could do anything right now.


    ¡°Ah, Joe, ah, yes!¡± I cried, Trevor¡¯s fingers and Joe filling me, his body seizing suddenly, a hoarse cry coming from him as he pushed in, pulled out, shorter, staccato movements that teased out the last few drops of my own pent-up need.


    Collapsing on me, Joe went limp, Trevor¡¯s hand moving out, the three of us stretched out on the bed in a heap of utter satiety.


    And that is how I came (pun intended) to have my first threesome. Probably my only threesome, I assumed, because in a few hours they would be gone. Stifling my need to overtalk or overthink, I snuggled up as much as I could, sandwiched between perfection, my curves in complement to their toned athletes¡¯ bodies. We fit together well, feminine and masculine, the contrast visually appealing as I peeked through one eye, evaluating us.


    In the slivers of moonlight that crept in around the hotel curtains, I saw how calm and peaceful they both were, Joe planting a lazy kiss on my breast, Trevor standing to pull the comforter and sheets down, all three of us dragging ourselves under, already half-asleep. In a big pile of big old me and these two hot musicians the three of us faded off to sleep to dream whatever it is you dream after breaking every rule.


    And loving it.


    Chapter Eleven


    Darla


    I woke up to an empty hotel room, the heady scent of sex and sweat, and a huge pile of $20 bills on the nightstand.


    Oh, no, they didn¡¯t.


    Fury rose up in me like a Browns fan watching the Steelers beat them at a home game. A pile of money and just ¨C poof? Those fucking assholes. Use me for the most intimate act ever in my life and then throw a pile of cash at me like I was some kind of hooker in a Reba McIntire song?


    They did.


    I swept my hand across the nightstand and the twenties went everywhere, like demented butterflies from hell, floating effortlessly and flipping in the air, wafting to and fro before settling to the ground in seconds. Those seconds were all it took for a growl of pain and betrayal to rise up in my throat, the bile of disgust and heartache rising, too, until I was choke-coughing and sobbing all at once. Naked, covered in dried sweat and mingled sex scents, the rumpled sheets felt like handcuffs, the mirror a jury about to indict me for the crime of being too stupid to live.


    They used me. Got their jollies and left me alone in a hotel room in my own hometown with a stack of money? How could Trevor go from writing a love ballad about me to doing that? And Joe ¨C what was all that horseshit about feeling real with me, realizing he didn¡¯t need to follow his mom¡¯s every command, and how I made him see new doors of life that could open?

 Page 39

    There¡¯s the open door, asshole. You opened it, threw back a sum of money that washed your conscience, and took off.


    A growl of pain came out of my mouth, a keening sound I never heard before, and I shoved a pillow over my face to stop from having someone who worked there ¨C someone, inevitably, that I would know¨C find me like this. Every part of me that had felt so complete, so full, so wise now echoed in the empty room. I had fallen asleep covered in men and woke up abandoned.Advertisement


    Overnight, my world changed, just like it had eighteen years ago. Slightly panicked, I sat up and looked around the room, searching for ¨C


    Nope. It was gone. Trevor took Daddy¡¯s guitar along with my self-respect.


    No, Darla, you handed them both to him on a silver platter.


    Only one person could help me now. I stood, the sheets like sandpaper against my bare skin, the natural line coming in around the curtains enough to light my way to my purse, to find my phone. Autodial.


    Josie.


    ¡°Hello?¡±


    She needed to be able to hear dog whistles to discern the sounds coming out of me. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I did this and they left,¡± I screeched, the words mingled with a sob. The result was a juicy hiccup covered in a high-pitched screed.


    ¡°Whoa! Darla. Slow down. What¡¯s wrong? Are you hurt?¡± Her voice went into that deadly calm she got during emergencies. Made her a damn fine nurse.


    ¡°Not physically.¡±


    ¡°Who left?¡±


    ¡°Joe and Trevor.¡±


    ¡°The guys from Random Acts of Crazy?¡±


    I nodded, now getting a really good look at the room. The floor was littered with $20 bills. Littered. Jesus, how many did they leave? The more my eyes tracked and inventoried, the angrier I got.


    ¡°Darla? You there?¡± Her voice was firm again. Oh, shit. She couldn¡¯t see me nod.


    ¡°Yes. And yes, the guys from the band.¡±


    ¡°They went home?¡±


    ¡°Yep.¡± That made the tears come, big, bulbous tears like a little kid¡¯s, pooling then spilling over in great mounds of salt water, pouring down my face and dotting my bare chest.


    ¡°What happened? Are you OK? What did they do?¡± Her voice trailed off, concern coming through loud and clear.


    ¡°They up and left me alone here at the truck stop hotel,¡± I bellowed.


    ¡°They wha ¨C ¡± As if chopped off with an ax, her voice just stopped cold. ¡°They left you.¡±


    ¡°They.¡±


    ¡°They?¡±


    ¡°They ¨C yes, they. It¡¯s a fucking word, Josie. It means two or more people.¡±


    ¡°MORE?¡± The implication in that shout was pretty fucking clear. Whatever I said next would cement, forever, in our relationship the fact that I was a sexual deviant.


    ¡°No. Not more. Just they as in two guys.¡±


    ¡°And you¡­?¡±


    ¡°We. Yes.¡± The next words out of her mouth had the potential to break me in two and destroy me. Josie knew damn well what I was saying without me saying it. A glimpse of myself in the mirror showed a red-eyed, sobbing mess wearing a mop of crazy, frizzy blonde hair, twisted in sheets that still smelled like both men, their musk and Joe¡¯s citrus scent filling my lungs with a kind of grief that doesn¡¯t go away just because you force it to the back of your mind and pretend it¡¯s not there.


    I didn¡¯t want to be sad. I wanted to embrace my anger and dance with it, tell myself they were loser shitheads who were just getting in a good m¨¦nage fuck for the fun of it. Yet there was no way that was true. Not after how emotional last night had been.


    ¡°Oh, honey,¡± Josie said. ¡°Do you want a job?¡±


    ¡°A job?¡± What? I pour my heart out to the only person in my life smart enough to understand nuance and weirdness and that pesky threesome aspect, and she offers me not sympathy, not a lecture, not a drop-shipment of five pounds of chocolate, not an exorcism, but a job?


    ¡°I¡¯ve always told you that if you want to move out here you can, Darla. But you always said you needed a job along with a place to live. I¡¯m changing jobs and can hire someone to work as my office assistant, and I¡¯m offering it to you. The whole shebang ¨C a place to stay and a job. What do you say?¡±


    My mind was reeling from the threesome, from waking up alone, from calling Aunt Josie to get a sympathetic ear and now she was offering me a place to live and a job? In Boston? Trevor and Joe lived in some suburb of the city, so I¡¯d be close to them. And maybe we really could pick up where we left off.


    Mama had Jane working for her as a personal aide. Uncle Mike was here enough to help, too. Even if this really was the big old kiss off (without the kiss) from Trevor and Joe, maybe it could work.


    Absentmindedly, I started picking the $20s up off the floor. After I hit twenty and there were more, I became mesmerized, bending down to get each one until they were all in a neat pile in my hand, all while Josie chattered on about the new job, being a roommate, and something about her best friend having a baby and the business funded by her boyfriend.


    $600. There were thirty $20 bills there. My ego didn¡¯t know whether to continue to feel slighted or whether it should crow proudly. $600 was a lot of money for a one-night fuck in a threesome.


    I guessed.


    ¡°And I know you¡¯ll claim you can¡¯t leave Aunt Cathy, but you know that¡¯s just a chickenshit excuse you¡¯ve been using for years to avoid changing your life. You¡¯re too timid, Darla. You need to take more chances.¡±


    I made a strangled sound in my throat, counting the twenties again. Why $600? What did that number mean to them?


    It was just all too good to be true, minus the fact that Trevor and Joe had just treated me like a high-end call girl. But it was true, and if I didn¡¯t grab the chance while it was being dangled before me, I knew I¡¯d regret it for the rest of my life.


    Just as I was about to open my mouth and accept, she jumped in and said, ¡°Hint: the correct response is a breathy ¡®OMIGOD AUNT JOSIE YOU ARE THE BEST.¡¯¡± She made a derisive snorting noise that I realized I¡¯d co-opted years ago. ¡°Not this silent, pensive shit.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the catch?¡± My suspicious nature kicked in, well-honed from far too many years of living in this dysfunctional shithole where suspicions was as required a trait as oh, say, breathing.


    ¡°No catch. Just start when you come out here, maybe in a week or two?¡±


    ¡°So what¡¯s the company?¡±


    Silence. Josie was never silent. Ever. The woman was as constitutionally incapable of being quiet as I was of not making stupid decisions.


    ¡°Josie?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not pole dancing.¡±


    ¡°Well, thank goodness, because the only pole I dance on is ¨C ¡±


    ¡°Too much information, Darla Josephine. TMI.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not really giving me enough details to leap and leave behind my entire life, you know.¡±


    Another snort. ¡°I¡¯m going to guess that right now you¡¯re either getting ready to go work at the gas station where the highlight of your day will be changing the urinal cake in the men¡¯s room, or you¡¯re trying to find a way to keep wiring the cable line from your neighbor so your mom can watch Pawn Stars again.¡±


    Damn that woman. She knew me too well.


    ¡°When you put it that way,¡± I said through gritted teeth. ¡°It¡¯s kind of hard to say no. But you have to give me something. What does this company do?¡±


    More silence. Pins and needles began creeping up my shoulder blades. Fear wasn¡¯t the prevailing emotion, but more a sense of unease, that Josie wasn¡¯t being forthright and that was, itself, just screwy enough to make me want this damn opportunity more.


    Finally, she said in a controlled, professional voice, ¡°Let¡¯s just say you¡¯re a perfect match for the job.¡±


    ¡°OK, Aunt Josie,¡± I said. ¡°You got a deal. Give me a week or two and I¡¯ll be out there.¡±


    The squee of joy on the phone made me pull my earpiece four feet away so I could stop the ringing in my eardrum. ¡°Darla Jo, it¡¯s the best decision you¡¯ve ever made.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve made some whoppers.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you have, and this one¡¯s not one of them.¡±


    I took a deep sigh and looked at the rumpled sheets on the bed, the twenties strewn across the bedside table, smelled the odor of Trevor, and Joe, and me in the air of this little hotel room. ¡°Yeah,¡± was all I could say.


    She asked me a couple questions which I answered with a handful of words and we got off the phone, agreeing to talk more later.


    And then I saw the note.


    Block letters that said on one side: DO NOT BE MAD.


    Heh. A little too late. My heart did a two-step in my chest as I bent down to pick it up.


    Dear Darla,


    We had to leave town, fast, and we didn¡¯t want to wake you up. Yes, we¡¯re wimps. Go ahead and gloat. The $600 was the most we could take out in cash with each of our ATM cards. It¡¯s for you to come out to Boston. We figure your car can¡¯t make it that far, but you can buy a plane ticket.


    You¡¯re the best random act of crazy we¡¯ve ever committed.


    Come.


    Ass and Bigger Ass


    They could not have surprised me more if they¡¯d made Mavis appear with a wedding band on one chicken leg. All the anger and outrage I¡¯d felt earlier was still there ¨C it was just this vestigial thing I didn¡¯t need anymore. A deep, long sigh made its way out of my mouth like a yoga breath.


    Ohm.


    Ohm.


    Home.


    Trevor and Joe had no idea what I¡¯d just done. I was moving to Boston now. Moving! Relocating with a job and a place to live and my breathing became labored. Boy, was it stuffy in here. Then I began wheezing and realized there was nothing wrong with the room.


    I was panicking. Is this what it felt like to get what you really wanted, when you let your mind run loose and silly concocting dreams? In what world was it possible that they could come true? No one I knew ever told me that.


    My breathing slowed as I willed it to behave, breathing in and out like a woman in labor. Which was apt ¨C I was birthing a new life, right?


    And after a birth you need a shower. Might as well enjoy the room until check out. I didn¡¯t have to be at work until five tonight.


    Slowly, I cleaned myself up, luxuriating in the strong jets from the shower, water pressure we couldn¡¯t attain if we pinched every pipe leading into the house and used bellow on the water main. Taking care around the tender spots, the hotel¡¯s rough washcloth and cheap soap were not really helping matters. Putting my dirty clothes back on felt like desecrating some sort of holy body and everything was so tender, so aware like I was coming out of being sick and suddenly hyper focused on every movement, every layer of feeling like waking up anew. That¡¯s exactly what had happened, right? I¡¯d crossed over from one kind of living to another and now, soon, yet again, that bridge would be traversed.


    I had to go home and tell Mama that I was moving to Boston. I had to go quit my job, which certainly wasn¡¯t something I dreaded, just an item on the mental checklist of things that I was making in my head. Fully dressed, face washed, hair combed with my fingers as much as I could making it look a little less Phil Spector and a little more just a curly mess.

 Page 40

    I looked around, grabbed the money that Trevor and Joe had left, stuffed all but one twenty in my pocket and threw the spare on the bed. I knew one of the people I¡¯d gone to high school with, probably Kathy Matthews, would be the maid for this place and finding a twenty on a bed as a tip was about as close to winning the lottery as she could get around here.


    I didn¡¯t know if Trevor and Joe really meant it but if they did, I was on my way. And if we weren¡¯t meant to be together, I had Josie as a fallback.Advertisement


    If she didn¡¯t work out ¨C I had myself as a fallback. Always.


    The click of the door locking behind me drove home the reality that it was over. Not that the window was closed into Trevor¡¯s and Joe¡¯s life, but that this particular episode of our co-existence was over and that whatever I decided in the next few weeks would just be about picking up the pieces and moving on ¨C whatever moving on meant.


    Not having their arms around me, not having them here to stare at whenever I wanted, at my whim, not having Trevor and Joe to talk to, or to freak out about, or to listen to felt weirder than having them here, their presence so much a part of the real Darla that when they were gone it felt like my ¡°real¡± life was the fake one.


    Dragging my feet, I walked out to the parking lot, digging for the keys in my pocket, deep in my own thoughts. When I reached my little shitbox I looked up to find a completely naked Trevor spread across the hood of my car with a straw hat covering his groin.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know Toyota made hood ornaments quite like that,¡± I sputtered.


    ¡°It¡¯s a custom job, Ma¡¯am.¡±


    ¡°Ass.¡±


    ¡°If you say so,¡± he said, peeling his body off the hood of my car and turning around, mooning me. Is it mooning if you¡¯re already naked? Two truckers sucking on cigarettes gaped and guffawed.


    ¡°Put your clothes on!¡± I hissed.


    ¡°Not before I kiss you.¡± And then he did, my new hood ornament shoving into much of my thigh. His lips said so much, the kiss a redeeming, carefree symbol of hope.


    He bent down and retrieved his pants from the puddle of clothing next to the driver¡¯s side, more truckers gathering to gawk. Great. Mike would hear about this in an hour or less.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Joe?¡± I asked, looking around. ¡°And your note sucked.¡±


    He mugged. ¡°Sorry. I thought we were leaving. I didn¡¯t know how else ¨C ¡±


    ¡°You could have woken me up.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to. You were so beautiful, so peaceful, so¡­¡± he stepped forward and began to stroke my upper arm, ¡°so sated.¡± He said the words like little pinpricks directly into my clit.


    ¡°Get your clothes on now,¡± I said through gritted teeth, my whisper rising to a loud roar, ¡°before the cops come and get you.¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s gonna come? Davey?¡± he cracked, but he complied, slipping that gorgeous skin into his own faded jeans, throwing on his clothes that Joe had brought.


    I heard one of the truckers mutter, ¡°Nut job,¡± and I thought blowjob, which made me want to drag Trevor back into the hotel room for another quick episode of my real life.


    ¡°Anyhow, what happened?¡±


    He stepped closer and I swear to God my heart started beating with his, my lungs breathed when he breathed, my body moved when his moved. I was a goner. What I thought would not end well was going to begin quite nicely.


    ¡°Joe took off. Got a text from his mom saying she reported that he had stolen the BMW. Plus,¡± Trevor added, ¡°I think we freaked him out.¡±


    This time it was my turn to do that body relaxing thing that I¡¯d seen them both do so much, all of my muscles from the neck down loosening. I willed myself to do it and damn if it didn¡¯t help, resetting me somehow, giving me clarity. ¡°Did it freak you out Trevor?¡±


    In the space between my words and his answer there was a kind of peace. My core knew that whatever he said, it would be all right.


    His hands curled around my upper arms and he stared into my eyes earnestly. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have left you the money and the note if we didn¡¯t mean what we said.¡±


    We got in my car. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I absentmindedly got back on the highway, forgetting what the rest of my day held. Did I work today? Did I have a shift? I¡¯d have to go home and check, probably need to call in and ask, and then face the embarrassment of having my boss needle me about it. And then there was Trevor. He held my hand like we were drowning, and he hummed his new song as the wind whipped through the open windows.


    I didn¡¯t care about work. Really, there was nothing that I could possibly care about less right now. Boston? Moving with Josie? It seemed like a pipe dream and as I tootled down I-76 a freakishly familiar sight greeted my tired eyes.


    Lightning could not strike twice in the same place. That was a fact, right? Because there, on the side of the road, stood a very naked Joe Ross wearing nothing but¡­you guessed it ¨C a guitar. My daddy¡¯s guitar.


    What the fuck?


    I pulled over about fifteen feet from him, turned my car off and climbed out. The opening chords of I Wasted My Only Answered Prayer floated through the air like the white moth yesterday in the clearing where Trevor and I had made love. Joe¡¯s entire body was on display for anybody who drove by and I looked back, hoping to God no cops were on patrol in this stretch right now. The BMW was about twenty yards away, lonely and patient, looking not one bit stolen at all.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± I called out.


    He strummed a couple cords and then said, ¡°What comes naturally.¡±


    ¡°How much peyote did you eat?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not high on peyote, Darla.¡±


    I crossed the distance between us and now a foot or less separated me from him, his fingers stopping on the frets, his hands still, his legs flexing and his face serious and willing. Trevor scrambled out of the car, practically peeing his pants from hysterical laughter, bent over double with his hands on his knees.


    ¡°I¡¯m high on you.¡±


    ¡°What happened ¨C the note?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, the note. I know. My mom reported the BMW stolen. I needed to rush home.¡±


    The twenties were still fresh in my pocket, his note tucked away too. My heart pounded, slammed against my ribs as I watched him stretched out in the morning sun, his body like a relief map of brilliance against the faded, chipped blue of my car hood.


    The grin on his face stretched from ear to ear and he said, ¡°Howdy there, ma¡¯am. Any chance you can give me a ride to Sudborough, Massachusetts?¡±


    ¡°Not if you¡¯re gonna mess up my vinyl seats with that bare ass,¡± I said, grinning back, nudging his knee with my hand.


    A car shot by, a giant SUV that looked like a Honda Pilot. The driver did a double take and then honked hard and extended his right arm across the passenger seat with a big thumbs-up.


    Joe gave him a thumbs-up back and waved, his ass flexing for the driver to see, the guitar tipping at a dangerous angle.


    ¡°You comfortable?¡± I asked.


    He shifted the guitar behind his back, exposing a specimen of manhood that I¡¯d become all too intimate with last night, and then reached for me, pulling me against him. I could feel him harden, pushing into my hip and my body formed to his, so grateful for some kind of a last chance. The second naked man who had hauled me to him in fifteen minutes. That¡¯s got to be some kind of record.


    In broad daylight, that is.


    ¡°I am now. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing, Darla,¡± he said, leaning down and kissing my lips with a soft, gentle gesture. ¡°But I don¡¯t want to go home.¡±


    ¡°You want to stay here, in Peters?¡±


    ¡°I want you to come back with us.¡±


    ¡°And do what? Live in Trevor¡¯s mom¡¯s basement.¡±


    Honk! Honk! The blast of a semi¡¯s horn cut through the air, scaring the shit out of all three of us, Joe jumping, the guitar banging against his groin and making him bend over in pain. We all turned toward the source of the sound to see Uncle Mike sitting in the driver¡¯s seat of his haul truck, grinning and giving me a thumbs-up.


    Aw, fuck. As Joe stood up and came into Mike¡¯s view I could see the smile on his face slowly change to a frown, his lips mouthing the words What the fuck? as he drove on past, not hitting the brakes.


    I had a very uncomfortable conversation waiting for me when he got home in five days.


    How fast could I move?


    I kept Josie¡¯s offer to myself; I wasn¡¯t going to act hastily, though. When you act too fast on things you can get burned.


    ¡°Well¡­uh,¡± his face faltered and he slapped a small bug that had landed on his hip bone. ¡°How about his garden shed?¡±


    Trevor sounded like a barking hyena at that comment, and I started giggling, too. Knowing I¡¯d already said yes to Josie meant I could string these guys along a bit.


    We locked eyes and grinned like mad fools at each other, my hand sliding up his shoulder to his neck and burying itself in his hair.


    ¡°You guys want me to move there?¡±


    They exchanged a knowing look and nodded.


    My sarcastic deflecting self rose up. ¡°I don¡¯t live with anybody who is naked all the time, especially on the side of the road. Can you imagine the germs you get from somebody¡¯s ass being on strange car seats?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll clean him up,¡± Trevor said.


    ¡°And he¡¯ll clean your naked ass germs off my hood?¡±


    Joe¡¯s eyebrows flew up. ¡°What is she talking about?¡±


    Trevor was gasping and red-faced, trying to stop laughing. ¡°We¡¯ll explain later.¡±


    ¡°I ¨C what are you doing here?¡± I asked him. ¡°I thought you had to get back. Didn¡¯t your mom call the cops?¡±


    ¡°She did. I realized I needed to stop texting with her so instead I called the Sudborough Police and told them that no, I¡¯m not missing, that the car is registered in my name even though they pay the lease, I have insurance, and that I¡¯m a twenty-two year old man who can do whatever the fuck he wants with his time. Whatever alert they had out is canceled. If my mom does this again she is going to be charged with a nuisance for reporting a crime that isn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Did you tell her that?¡±


    ¡°No, the police chief did.¡± Joe looked simultaneously proud and sickly green. It was a good start.


    Both men leaned in and held me. I thought about my life, about how so many things could change with one turn of the wheel, with one missed observation and how I had lived my life following what Mama needed, what money dictated but most of all, how my own mind had caged my body, forcing it to live in a world that wasn¡¯t what I wanted.


    Josie¡¯s offer was on the table ¨C a job, a place to live. It sounded like I had two places to live now. I wasn¡¯t sure I was ready for that ¨C jumping into a domestic life with two guys I¡¯d just met two days ago. Did I take the leap and tell them what Josie had just offered? Did I trust them enough to say that I¡¯d been offered the biggest chance of my life to follow my own path? If I opened my mouth and said the words I couldn¡¯t take it back, I couldn¡¯t unwind it, I¡¯d have to acknowledge the reality of it and live with the consequences if I didn¡¯t do what my heart told me.

 Page 41

Trevor¡¯s eyes were the color of the clear sky and Joe¡¯s were warm, inviting me to jump into an abyss without knowing how or when I¡¯d ever find myself not in freefall. I looked at them both.


    ¡°You know what boys? It¡¯s time for me to commit my random act of crazy.¡±Advertisement


    THE END