JPF Home Page Forums Creative Arts Forums Creative Writing Forum "Baby, Get To Me"

14. GETTING OVER POISON IVY; True Confessions.

Having established that we're both nuts has, believe it or not, eased my mind. As long as I'm not delusional by myself, that she knows and is concerned too about our... rationality... our... decision-making, thus far, I feel a little better. I sleep well, get up and go to work, get along with people better. Suddenly, their 'problems' don't get under my skin. I'm Mr. So What? Always was. I cope. We move on. Suddenly it's five o'clock. I'm the guy holding the door for everybody else.

I have long jam sessions at home. Night falls. I go to bed. Sleep. Dream. I wake up refreshed. Sometimes I remember my dreams. Sometimes I don't. You know how that goes. But, I wake up sometimes now, from intense dreams... of Ileace. We're playing, laughing, goofing off. Walking. Sex. The girl's on my mind. In my mind.

Wednesday comes. I go to work, remember about ten o'clock that Ileace said we'd get together today. That of course slows down time. Lunch. I go home, eat an apple, stare out the back door, do the dishes, leave some when I realize I've daydreamed myself into being late to get back to work!

Five o'clock. People start disappearing. I notice. I shut down, head out. Across the street, leaning on her car, Ileace!

I walk over. She's in civilian clothes. "Get off early?" I ask.

"Yeah," she says, "I wasn't feeling well so I left at 4:30."

"What time's quitting time?" I ask.

"Five," she says. We both laugh. "Can we go to your house?" she says. "I really don't feel good. Poison ivy, still."

"Yeah," I agree, readily. "Meet you there?"

"Okay!" she says, cheerfully. "I did a drive-by and got us a fish sandwich!" she says, gets in, doesn't look back. I think I comprehend that her use of 'Drive-by' simply means she went through the drive-thru at a fast food place. I never heard it used that way before. She's funny!

I follow her, like her route to get to my apartment. I let her back her fancy-smancy in, back in myself. She's waiting at the door. Petreace has leaned out her door. They're talking. I don't hear anything. Petreace waves, closes her door. Ileace is smiling, looking peaceful, happy. She touches her stomach, grimaces. She opens the storm door, stands against it. I reach around her, unlock. She kisses my neck. She goes in. She goes to the kitchen, sets a bag on the table. 'We have the meats!' She comes back before I can go in, goes to the couch,

"Can I just take a nap?" she says. "I'm sorry."

"Sure," I tell her. "Be comfortable." She picks up the t-shirt and sweatpants that lay there all the time now. She starts to lift up her shirt, stops, looks at me. I go look out the front door.

"Okay," she says. Her clothes are on the coffee table, laying on my guitar case. She's covered up in the green fuzzy. Her eyes are closed. "Go eat that fish before it gets cold," she commands. "Do you like fish?" she asks, in sort of a mumble. I utter 'yep', go to the kitchen. Good fish sandwich! Hers is half eaten, wrapped back in paper. No fries? That's okay. That's better. I set the bag in the fridge, refill my water bottle. I take a bottle of water, set it on the coffee table, in reach.
I love... look... at the side of her face.

In the kitchen I run a little hot water, do some dishes I left. Not many to do. Done, I go back through the living room, look at what's laying on my couch, up the stairs. I put on my shorts. I go in the bathroom, grab a quick shower, scrub down the walls, the tub, the shower curtain. I come out, scrub the sink, sanitize the commode. I'm on my knees out in the hall, finishing cleaning the bathroom floor with a towel, when the light changes in the stairwell. She's coming up the stairs. I look. Pained expression, arms crossed. Damn! She's pretty.

"Get out of here!" she says, sleepily. "I gotta do something." I sit back. She steps over my right shoulder, right leg over, left leg drags against my back, in, and turns, half behind the closing door, grins, says, "Real men don't clean their bathrooms. I knew you were just a dream!"

I laugh. She closes the door. I get up, take my laundry pile and nasty towel down the stairs to the laundry room, start a load. I don't buy white clothes. My underwear are colors. I don't have to worry about mixing white clothes with dyed ones. They're all colors. I close the door, slip out of my shorts and add my underwear to the mix, put the shorts back on. They're a little flimsy. I wash my hands, go back up the stairs. She's still in there. I go in the bedroom, close the door, get on underwear. While I'm naked I hear her come out, go down the stairs. I come out, go down. She's standing looking out the door at the Sunset. She catches my left wrist, pulls my arm across her chest, lands my hand on her right shoulder, rests her right cheek on the back of my hand. I swing around to stand behind her. No words. I hear her sigh.

"You should put the couch over here, by the windows," she says, "so I could be kneeling on it right now, looking out, watching the Sun go down."

Uncle Lonnie, 'whole woman in your house', rearranging the furniture. She turns, lays her head on my chest. Her hair smells good, under my chin. She's hugging me. I feel her arms locked behind my back. We stand there. I can stand here a while if she wants me to. She lets go, finds my left hand with her right, tows me toward the couch.

"I'm sorry this isn't much of a... get-together," she apologizes. "I'm just sleepy," and adds, "and... poison ivy." She's pulling me to lie down, toward the back of the couch. I'm a very cooperative guy. She lays down in front of me. I have to... adjust... things in my shorts to not be too... protrusive. She lies down in front of me, lays against me, feels my arousal. Suddenly the pillow is between us. "I'm sorry," she says. "Be patient with me."

What do you say to that, this... situation? Yeah, me neither!

I reach for the fuzzy on the floor, cover us up. She sounds like she's sleeping. This is why it feels so... out of synch, so... premature. This is sex. This is bodies and carnal knowledge and... inches away from... applying one to the other. My left arm is up between her breasts, my hand at her shoulder, her throat. It's the most sensual thing, to move a finger and feel her skin, to feel the weight of her left breast on my forearm, even with her brassiere. I'm running through my bite list, like I'm planning a vacation. 'First I'll go to the beach! And then to the aquarium! And then out to eat somewhere I've never been! And then come back to the house and... sleep.' I fall asleep.

I wake up. It's dark. I don't know what time it is. I think I just heard the washer shut off. I think that's what woke me. No. Can't be. It's dark out. She stirs, asks, "What time is it?" I tell her I don't know. We still need a pillow between us. She sits up, knocking the pillow aside. No contact! I put the pillow back. She leans back against my belly, stretches her arms over her head. I hear her bang her shins on the coffee table!

"Son of a bitch!" she shouts! She leans over, rubs both her shins. She leans back, stretches her arms again. The outline of her right breast, the nipple pointing to the ceiling, is obvious to me even in the darkness. Or my imagination. I wriggle my right arm free from under me, put it across her waist, her thighs.

"I'm sorry I'm just... sleeping through our visit," she apologizes.

"That's okay," I tell her. "The body knows what it needs." She turns, leans up to me, kisses my jawbone, my throat, my clavicle. I don't try to match up lips.

"I know what our bodies need," she whispers. "I need to get over this poison ivy. You need to get your bite list checked off. How long has it been since you've been with a woman?"

It's one of her out-of-the-blue questions. I know 'who' the answer is; I don't have a 'when' readily available. It was winter, and not the winter we've just left for summer. Today's the first day of summer.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asks. "Are you married?" She laughs, treble-chuckle. "What's your middle name?" She laughs again.

"No," I tell her. "No," I tell her. "Eugene," I tell her.

"It...," she stops. "it wasn't him, up in Athens. I..." She stops. "I did something stupid. We were in Los Angeles, Anaheim, at a conference. Mackleroy was there..."

"Oh! No!" I say, without enthusiasm. "Not Mackleroy! I hate that guy!" She laughs out loud!

"You don't even know Mackleroy!" she shouts, laughing. "That's okay though. Mackleroy's a creep. No. He was there and, apparently, had buddied up with another cop from... somewhere... I don't even know where now... and had been telling him that I was an easy mark, that I was wild, that I would... do things. The dog kept finding ways to sit with me at tables during lunch, breakfast, dinner. In sessions. Any private moment he found with me he said something suggestive; 'Let's you and me slip away and have a drink. I have a bottle in my room'. 'Let's you and me go out tonight.' 'Let's you and me...' I saw him talking to Mackleroy a couple times, once before he started dogging me. One other time. I didn't think much about it, didn't... put two and two together. I was there with business on my mind.

We were there for three days. Finally, the last night there... I was flying out of LAX the next day... I drank too much in the hospitality suite. Me and some other girls were laughing our heads off. Everything was funny. We found funny in everything. Just about two margaritas... which is one too many... probably two too many... I don't drink... I"m pretty sure I left about half of that last one sitting... Anyway, he, dogboy, jumps in the elevator with me, starts 'Let's you and me-ing'. Some other cops get on at another floor and he backs off. They know each other. They'd been drinking too and were 'flirting', saying vaguely lewd things. He just stood there grinning. I get off on my floor, go to my room. There's a knock. I look out through the peephole, open the door, it's dogboy, we're talking and I start questioning him...

'WTF?' I'm saying. 'What's it take to get through to you?' He tries a couple more suggestive lines, but then he apologizes. He seems genuinely sorry, starts telling me he had the wrong idea about me. That piqued my curiosity. I say,

'Why would you have ANY idea about me?'

He says, 'Well, Mackleroy said... you....'

I was drunk. And now I'm pissed off! To the max! He tells me what Mack had been telling him, since day one of the conference, 'She'll... do things."

And now... now we're sitting in my room. Me, drunk, emotional, pissed off, and this guy. He was being nice. He was a good looking boy. And... I just... decided to be wild. I approached him. It was my stupid. We're kissing. I'm horny. I hadn't had sex since... since Athens and the Slammer Jammer's last hump!"

She treble chuckles at her joke. It... her laugh... chuckle... isn't the same. It's... not sincere; distressed.

"It was the quickie of all quickies. And he was up and out of there. Mission accomplished! I was instantly... so sorry I'd let it happen. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to put my finger down my throat but I couldn't get myself to do it. I drank a couple glasses of water, took two aspirin, went to bed.

The next day I didn't see dogboy or Mackleroy during the closing sessions. I was glad. My head hurt! I got a taxi to LAX and flew home. It's so damned far out there, and back, and the time difference. I was miserable. Don't ever let me drink! I got home and slept all weekend. I wasn't recovered by Monday morning. I didn't see Mackleroy until later in the week. He was grinning, but he's always grinning. I don't know if he saw dogboy that last day or not. He never said anything, never tried to... use it against me."

"Can't your Dad arrest him or shoot him? Tell the teacher?" I ask her. "I'll pay!" She laughs, lays down, her back against me, adjusts the pillow. It's warm.We're quiet.

"And that was like," she says, "early 2020, 2021 maybe. I've had dates. Men hit on me. I liked a couple of them so I went out with them. Then I didn't like them so I didn't go out with them any more. Then... I just... went into... hibernation. Go to work. Come home. Go for a drive. Come home. Go to the gym. Come home."

"So... now..." she stops. "I'm wondering if... I'm doing another... stupid."

I don't have an answer right away. Then I do. "Yes. Of course you are. Which means I am too. Now... I know why I'm being stupid. You're... very pretty. If you weren't so mean I'd think..." She elbows me, not a strike, just a nudge... "you were the 'whole package'. You're bright... bright of mind. You can be bright of spirit. You're pretty and funny. What's not for a man to like? But we've been... actually... very casual about things, haven't we? You AND me. We're talking. We're... working things out, verbally, psychologically... We're imagining... physical... stuff, enjoying some physical... contact... but..."

"But?" she repeats. "'But' kinda scares me," she says.

"But... this," I hug her, "this is physical. Physical, touching, intimate conversations and intimate... physical contact. It clouds our judgment. We might be... fooling ourselves, fooling each other with hormones... and... desire... aloneness... loneliness. What if we're fooling ourselves? We don't make sense."

She rolls over to face me. "So that's why I'm nuts! How about you?" She laughs, kisses me. They're sensual kisses, foreplay kisses! Damn it woman! I can't blink now! You're gonna damage my eyes!

"You know my whole sexual history!" she exclaims. "I don't wanna know yours. If... I'm doing a 'Stupid' I... I'm going to keep going with it unless... you tell me to stop. I don't have the judgment at this moment to stop myself. I... don't think I am doing a 'Stupid'. I think... I've... found someone I like... and... I'm... going after him!" She laughs, a quiet little laugh, buries her face in my chest.

I'm not going to tell her my last time story. It's probably longer than hers... a longer time ago, I mean. Girl I had... gotten together with when I came home from the service, on leave, ran into again in... a bar... and we just finished the drinks we had in our hands and headed for the door. Wham! Bam! Thank ya Jesus! Out in her car. And I never saw her again. It's a sordid story, isn't it? I won't tell her. And... others before that.

We're making out! I'm thinking all this, while we're kissing. She stops, lays her head on the armrest, tilts her face into my shoulder.

"I want you," she says, a muffled voice. I don't move, don't say anything. "I want...you...in my life. I want to come into yours. Now...that I know you...I don't know you...but I know of you...I want to...see you. To be together. I don't care what we do. I loved just walking the other day." There's a lull. "If you...don't feel that way just...let me know. I understand. I would...understand."

"I have to go," she says. "Two more days! I'm off for the weekend! Yayfreakinyay! If they don't change it on me!" She changes course, "Are you gonna play Saturday night? I wanna come and hear you."

I usually don't plan it ahead of time; just... the day arrives, the night arrives and I go. I haven't missed a Saturday since I started. Have I? It was a Wednesday the night I met her. They changed to Saturday. I tell her all that.

"See?" she says. "It was serendipitous! Us meeting. If either one of us had changed a decision and hadn't been at the right place at the right time. It's... she sits up, leans on her left arm. She's excited... "It's the Cosmic Highway!" She laughs, leans and kisses me. I feel her breasts flatten against my chest. She sits back up. "If you had... decided to have another drink or... talk to somebody... went to take a pee... I might not have seen you walking! If I had gone home to watch TV with Mom... or caught a redlight, turned right instead of left somewhere, I wouldn't have met you. If either one of us had changed one little thing we wouldn't know each other!"
I sit up, throw my legs over hers, to get up. She pulls them out from under me, before I can get up, sits up, sideways on the couch, her left knee up over my right thigh. Her face looks kind of blank, in the darkness, like she's asking me how I feel about her Cosmic Highway. I wait too long to tell her. Her face clouds over. She's reaching for her clothes, pulls her pants into her lap, sits still. She's not looking at me, but down at the floor.

"I think your Cosmic Highway ran over us!" I say. "I think we're a Cosmic Collision, an accident." Her face doesn't change. I finish, "...but... in a good way."

Her face brightens! "Yeah?" she says, question? "Yeah," she says, affirmation. "I gotta get dressed! I gotta go!"

It's dark in here, but I can see her pull my t-shirt over her head. 'Girl, what the hell are you doing to me?' I can see her light-colored bra against darker skin! It's too dark in here! She pulls her own shirt on over her head. She spins around on the seat, pulls her sweat pants off, stands up. I can see the light colored panties against darker skin. I can see the curves of her legs, her belly, her ribs. She's a lean, muscular girl. Her arms are sculpted, her legs, shapely. I'm thinking of reaching for her when she bends and pulls on her pants, steps into her shoes. I watch the light fabric disappear under the jeans. My bite list rolls between my ears like a ticker tape machine!

"When are you gonna play your song for me?" I ask.

"It's finished!" she says. "Maybe... someday."

"Someday's ass!" I say. "I wanna hear it. I'll wait. You'll be ready. You'll play it for me someday." She's laughing.

"Someday has an ass?" she teases, laughing at her own joke. Treble-chuckles, twice. I love it! She drops, sits sideways, knee over thigh, leans in, kisses my shoulder.

"Yes. Yes it does," I say. "And a nice one too. Not as nice as yours, but... yes, it does." She's giggling. She stops.

"I'm... giddy," she says. "I'm dizzy, I think." We're up. We're at the door. She's out on the sidewalk. She kisses me just inside the door, turns and walks away. I let the storm door close.

Then, she's gone. I'm alone. It's dark. It's real. It happened. She's... real.

I go to the laundry room, switch on the light, take things out of the washer, put them in the dryer. Turn off the light. Go to bed. Morning comes. Work. 5:00 o'clock. Come home. Jam. Put a beef roast in the crock pot. Sleep. Work. Home. Cook vegetables. It's Friday. Plan to go to Cubby's tomorrow, what songs I'll play. She doesn't show up anywhere, on the street outside work, at my apartment, parking lot down the street. I'm looking. Every silver car. I'm looking. That's okay. I wish she'd show up. I don't go find her at her Mother's house. I wish I could go find her. Sleep. Come Saturday morning...