regret physically. It cinches my little waist nicely. It looks like a southern-belle dress because the skirt is so wide; if I tied a Hula-Hoop in it, I’d be a true Scarlett O’Hara. Amanda has been staring at Sam angrily all evening.
Beautiful,
Sam says to me as we are leaving, deliberately ignoring her. It has been a long time since he has given me a compliment, and I can’t help but be smug at the way he’s treating the she-witch. I can tell he is a little anxious. He’s clutching my hand tight, and it’s sweaty. I’ve never seen him like this. I know he is hoping for his medicine.
When we arrive at Sid’s, we sit on the sofa, sipping on the drinks Sid gives us in red plastic cups. We do this for a while, and the boys make uneasy small talk. Sid’s just a normal guy, not much older than Sam or me. He’s wearing jeans and sneakers and a white T-shirt. He doesn’t look like anyone special. His house is plain inside. There’s nothing here but a sofa and a coffee table and a few empty Chinese takeout containers and a guitar propped in one corner and a cat slinking around on the windowsill.
It’s strange that they are so awkward together, Sam and Sid, even though they’re friends. The drinks are strange, too. I thought they were glasses of mango juice at first, but now I notice some bitter taste behind the sweet. I sip until the world is hazy. I am not sure what world we are in right now. It seems like one or the other won’t stick. I lean into Sam’s shoulder and close my eyes, waiting for the world to settle. I allow my mind to drift, leaning farther into the soft leather couch cushions, as I wait for Sam and Sid to finish talking business. To finish talking about Sam’s health, so Sid and I can get to know each other. Sid does not seem like the doctors I remember from Before. I have vague memories that might have happened to me or might have been something I saw on TV, but I remember doctors in sterile offices with white jackets and stethoscopes, a kind woman who whisked me to such places the second I got a sore throat. But everything is different with Sam, and I have gotten accustomed to it. So even though it is different tonight, I am not worried. We have been out together before. But the world has not spun like this any other time.
Their words are underwater. I don’t hear anything anymore.
Sam is sitting next to me. His arm was around my shoulders, but now his hand is creeping up my thigh. It reaches higher, touching me tentatively, as if it is afraid. Then he is touching me where he touches only when we are both in our world, happy together and alone. It feels good then, but it is strange and foreign now. I feel another hand on me, this time on my chest. I struggle to open my eyes. I pry them open just slightly, and I see Sid next to me. I am being rude by falling asleep the first time we meet. But is it Sid’s hand on my chest, under my dress? His other on my stomach, rubbing low? I try to move, but it is as if my mind is not connected to my body anymore, as if I am not a part of any world at all and my motor functions have ceased to operate. It isn’t a bad feeling. I stop worrying and let go, float along the haze where I can feel nothing.
* * *
When I wake up later, I am curled up on the sofa as if nothing has happened. Sid is nowhere in sight. Sam is nudging me. He looks happy. There is a shine to his eyes that was missing before.
Did you get it, Sam?
I ask sleepily.
Yes, baby,
he says. Even though his eyes shine, something in them doesn’t look right. He carries me home in his arms. I am small, but he hasn’t been strong enough to carry me in a long time. I’m happy that he’s gotten stronger. He puts me to bed carefully, because I am still too sleepy and sluggish to do it myself. He is being especially tender tonight. He touches my hair and whispers, “I’m sorry,” over and over. I know somewhere deep down what he is sorry for, but just now I can’t place it. I only need to
Beautiful,
Sam says to me as we are leaving, deliberately ignoring her. It has been a long time since he has given me a compliment, and I can’t help but be smug at the way he’s treating the she-witch. I can tell he is a little anxious. He’s clutching my hand tight, and it’s sweaty. I’ve never seen him like this. I know he is hoping for his medicine.
When we arrive at Sid’s, we sit on the sofa, sipping on the drinks Sid gives us in red plastic cups. We do this for a while, and the boys make uneasy small talk. Sid’s just a normal guy, not much older than Sam or me. He’s wearing jeans and sneakers and a white T-shirt. He doesn’t look like anyone special. His house is plain inside. There’s nothing here but a sofa and a coffee table and a few empty Chinese takeout containers and a guitar propped in one corner and a cat slinking around on the windowsill.
It’s strange that they are so awkward together, Sam and Sid, even though they’re friends. The drinks are strange, too. I thought they were glasses of mango juice at first, but now I notice some bitter taste behind the sweet. I sip until the world is hazy. I am not sure what world we are in right now. It seems like one or the other won’t stick. I lean into Sam’s shoulder and close my eyes, waiting for the world to settle. I allow my mind to drift, leaning farther into the soft leather couch cushions, as I wait for Sam and Sid to finish talking business. To finish talking about Sam’s health, so Sid and I can get to know each other. Sid does not seem like the doctors I remember from Before. I have vague memories that might have happened to me or might have been something I saw on TV, but I remember doctors in sterile offices with white jackets and stethoscopes, a kind woman who whisked me to such places the second I got a sore throat. But everything is different with Sam, and I have gotten accustomed to it. So even though it is different tonight, I am not worried. We have been out together before. But the world has not spun like this any other time.
Their words are underwater. I don’t hear anything anymore.
Sam is sitting next to me. His arm was around my shoulders, but now his hand is creeping up my thigh. It reaches higher, touching me tentatively, as if it is afraid. Then he is touching me where he touches only when we are both in our world, happy together and alone. It feels good then, but it is strange and foreign now. I feel another hand on me, this time on my chest. I struggle to open my eyes. I pry them open just slightly, and I see Sid next to me. I am being rude by falling asleep the first time we meet. But is it Sid’s hand on my chest, under my dress? His other on my stomach, rubbing low? I try to move, but it is as if my mind is not connected to my body anymore, as if I am not a part of any world at all and my motor functions have ceased to operate. It isn’t a bad feeling. I stop worrying and let go, float along the haze where I can feel nothing.
* * *
When I wake up later, I am curled up on the sofa as if nothing has happened. Sid is nowhere in sight. Sam is nudging me. He looks happy. There is a shine to his eyes that was missing before.
Did you get it, Sam?
I ask sleepily.
Yes, baby,
he says. Even though his eyes shine, something in them doesn’t look right. He carries me home in his arms. I am small, but he hasn’t been strong enough to carry me in a long time. I’m happy that he’s gotten stronger. He puts me to bed carefully, because I am still too sleepy and sluggish to do it myself. He is being especially tender tonight. He touches my hair and whispers, “I’m sorry,” over and over. I know somewhere deep down what he is sorry for, but just now I can’t place it. I only need to
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