In a Moon Smile (30 page)

When two little rosebuds began to sprout on her chest in fifth grade, she experienced an odd rush of excitement. When the buds bloomed into beautiful, firm balls of flesh a couple of years later Becca felt pretty and mature. In her bedroom mirror, she examined the new breasts, squished them together with her hands, to give herself cleavage. She bounced up and down to watch them jiggle. She learned immediately that her fleshy knobs attracted male attention. Guys also commented on her long, muscular legs. They enjoyed her smile. They loved her laugh.

Becca carefully observed a continuing theme of female behavior. At home, her mother passively walked away when Becca’s father “laid down the law,” as he liked to call it during one of his rampages. Not one time did Becca see her mother, Lydia Bartlett, turn around in a red-faced rage to tell her bully of a husband to go to hell or to shut the hell up or to grow up and stop frightening the family. Nope, Lydia merely moused her way out of the conflict and quietly locked herself in the bedroom. When the family terrorist snored in the recliner, she would reappear and behave as if nothing had ever happened. Female teachers at school acted much like Becca’s mom. They were frequently interrupted by male coworkers. Sometimes they were criticized or belittled in front of faculty and students. For some reason, it seemed acceptable. Men got to act like assholes any time they wished. And women were fragile little birds, scurrying away with their heads down in shame.

For a couple of years, Becca kept track of the injustices. On the back page of one of her notebooks, she carefully printed the facts. Most administrators and principals had penises. Most store managers, dentists, physicians and astronauts had penises. Damn.

It was not a strange coincidence; it was a truth. Human beings who had vaginas could flirt and coo their way into higher social levels where the fun stuff happened. But after that, females had only a few career choices. Be a nurse and wipe asses. Be a babysitter or a florist or a maid. No matter how unfair it seemed, Becca saw the ungodly truth. People with those odd little sacks of hairy balls hanging around between their legs had all the power. They could have a head filled with Skittles and horse shit, but they still had more power than Becca Bartlett. By her junior year, Becca had a solid 4.0 grade point average, thank you very much. Her intelligence could take her wonderful places. And Becca planned to fight for her place amongst the people with testicles. Even if she had to turn into a bitch to get it accomplished.

During her sixteenth year of life, with the homecoming queen tiara hanging on the corner of her bedroom mirror, Becca was confused about how to successfully navigate through life, appearing to be dumber than a door knob while striking a pose like a conceited little shrew every time someone pointed a camera lens in her direction. She was already thinking about how to wade through the mud of social structuring. She wrongly assumed that her career goals were her biggest worry.

A week after that milestone sixteenth birthday, Becca’s mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor. Her father’s ranting stopped. Anything from his mouth was now tearful and soft like tiny feathers against his dying wife’s heart. It was too late in Becca’s eyes, for her dad to turn into a nice guy. Surely he didn’t believe it was possible to wipe away the years of temper tantrums, just because he was now watching his wife die. Becca resented her dad for being so explosive. Obviously, he had been capable all of her life, capable of handling his anger much more appropriately. She knew that to be true because when her mother became ill, he stopped shouting and stomping. Becca blamed his fiery temper for her mother’s death. Her dad had an extra dose of guilt gurgling around in his gut, Becca was certain of that. But she, too, had some struggles. She loved and adored her mother. But occasionally Becca wondered if she hated her too, for being so weak, for never standing up, for never fighting back.

Less than a year after the diagnosis, Lydia Bartlett was laid to rest. Becca guessed her mom fought to live with about as much zest as she fought for her marriage. Every month or so after her mother died, Becca made a trip to the cemetery. Beside a mound of dying flowers, she would sit on the grass, pull her knees up to her chin and talk to her mother’s memory. She admitted to the shiny black grave marker that everyone at school now treated her like a delicate flower. Being known as “that poor Bartlett girl who lost her mother” was infuriating.

By the end of the first semester, however, Becca found a safe place to land. Her calculus teacher, Mr. Wildman, took an interest in her. Initially, she stayed after school to study math formulas with him. They definitely shared a passion for math, of course, but also for classic literature.

A few weeks later, she started meeting her teacher at a quiet café a few miles from town. Becca had not yet acquired a taste for coffee, but she sipped it anyway, always aware that she wanted Mr. Wildman to view her as a young woman. When her teacher shyly requested that she address him by his first name, which was Russ, Becca knew she had successfully played the game of womanhood. Her role was no longer attached to being a student, barely old enough to drive that beat-up old Honda Civic. No, she was a gem in Russ Wildman’s eyes. He told her frequently how much he adored her ideas. He showered her with compliments about her intelligence. He said she was bright and strong, focused and very talented. He even encouraged Becca’s eagerness for learning. Finally, she had the attention of a man who was not the least bit intimidated by her brain.

As they sat together at the café table, Becca studied her teacher’s facial features and mannerisms.
He was a well-traveled man who told wonderfully vivid tales about hitchhiking through Europe. He was tall with the slight build of a marathon runner. His hair was a sandy brown, cut short and precise. A dab of light brown moustache accentuated his beautiful, full top lip.

When she realized that she was attracted to her teacher, Becca was amazed. She daydreamed about his mouth against hers. Even with the gap of nearly twenty years between them, Becca already felt attached to him. She felt mature. She prided herself in keeping the attention of a man who was so well-versed and educated. She never minded the secrecy of their relationship, either. In fact, the secrecy made her feel special and daring. She enjoyed the privacy. If no one knew about their relationship, then it would be impossible for them to take it away.

Then came the afternoon when Mr. Wildman suggested that Becca stop by his home instead of meeting at the crowded little café. She found the address easily, a plain brick ranch with a manicured yard. She passed the house twice before finally mustering the nerve to point her car toward Mr. Wildman’s driveway. When Becca knocked at the front door, Russ Wildman swung the door open with a sweet smile and playfully pulled her inside. “How nice to have company,” he grinned again. “My wife and children have gone to Wisconsin for a few days to visit my wife’s grandparents.”

While she pretended to be calm and interested only in the fact that she now had an opportunity to experience a different dimension of her teacher, Russ Wildman led Becca into a large open room. With a skylight perched among the wood beams in the vaulted ceiling, the room was a designated space for living. It was messy with dusty end tables, books and little-boy toys. She scanned photos of his family while he cleared an area on the couch for them both to sit down.

He seemed more animated here than he was when they met at the café. “So,” he smiled again as Becca sat down beside him on the rather worn green sofa. “Did you read more pages of Dante’s Inferno?”

Becca didn’t want to discuss that book or any other books. She wasn’t interested in a lively debate about any of their usual topics of discussion. With her heart clanging around in her ears, she looked at her teacher and said, “Do you want to kiss me?”

If he was stunned by her question, Russ Wildman certainly hid it well. In one motion, he gently pushed Becca back against the cushions. His weight was on top of her, warm and enveloping. His mouth was on hers, searching rather desperately it seemed, to know how to proceed. To be honest, Becca had a very limited sexual history. In fact, she had had sex only once before. And she guessed it didn’t exactly count as intercourse since the young man ejaculated on her thigh before he got her panties off.

But here and now, in the arms of a real man, a man who celebrated her intelligence and never treated her like a child, Becca surrendered any questions or reservations or fears she might have had in the past. She felt ready to be a sexually active woman. And she wanted to cross that bridge with this man. She doubted that she was in love with Russ Wildman. But she respected him, trusted him and appreciated the passion of his mouth, which had now found a soft dip on her neck. When her teacher sat up, staring intently into her eyes, Becca refused to respond like a girl at sixteen. In so many ways, Becca had been an old lady for all of her life. She placed her hands on each side of her handsome teacher’s face and guided his mouth toward her breasts. It was an unspoken but powerful request for intimacy. It was the behavior her teacher might have expected from his wife, Darla, who worked as the children’s librarian at Hartridge Elementary School. He groaned and awkwardly began to unbutton Becca’s blouse.

She smiled to herself, content with the fact that she had achieved a balance between the genders. She had a man who loved her mind but also lusted for her firm, athletic body. She had won. For however long the affair lasted, Becca patted herself on the back for such an accomplishment. She beat the system. She merged brain and body and declared victory.

After the sexual experience on Russ Wildman’s living room sofa, their meetings moved to a rather nasty, rundown establishment called Gilson’s Motor Lodge. Becca feared she would walk out of the small, dark room with a yucky case of fleas or bedbugs or crabs, but she never voiced the concern. Russ had a family at home and a tight budget.

One sticky early summer day, Becca muttered after class that she would like to see him that afternoon at their usual rendezvous spot. He raised his eyebrows to communicate that it was Tuesday, not their usual meeting time. When a couple of students walked into class early, Becca straightened her back and smiled innocently. “Thanks very much for your help, Mr. Wildman.” She turned to walk away, knowing that his eyes were on her ass. She also knew he would be there. He was her puppy, playing by her rules. And Becca enjoyed that part immensely.

Shortly after the school day ended, Becca checked into the motel room, brushed her hair and sat on the edge of the stained chenille bedspread. Always before, she’d arrive early, strip down to a thong and a lacy bra or sometimes a teddy. When Mr. Wildman walked into the room, he’d pounce on her like a hungry panther, making Becca laugh and lose herself in passion she had never known before.

After two hours of sex and talk, Russ would sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Slowly, he’d button his oxford shirt, reach for his boxers and zip khaki pants, step into shiny loafers and go home to his real life. With Darla, he shared two little boys, Sam and Spencer, and a golden retriever named Max. Minutes after her teacher left, Becca would dress quickly and return to her life; finishing some homework, starting dinner and talking on the phone with friends.

A few months ago, her brothers moved out which left Becca alone to watch her father drink himself into a stupor in front of the TV. She hated the house after her mother died. Any type of happiness died along with her mom that day. It seemed to Becca that the sun stopped shining through the windows. Her mother’s house plants died. Even the stray alley cats stopped visiting the back door. They somehow knew that Lydia wasn’t there anymore, to sneak them some scraps from dinner. Becca cherished every single moment she could avoid being at home. Meeting Mr. Wildman at the motel was like a mini-vacation. She used that time with him as an escape from reality. As soon as she graduated from high school, Becca knew she would immediately leave this hell. She carefully planned for that day.

“I’ve missed you,” Russ smiled when he entered the motel room and found Becca resting on the bed. He walked over and ran his fingertips through Becca’s hair. “Let’s get those clothes off, shall we?” he whispered in a low voice.

“Wait,” Becca giggled as she pushed his eager hands away. “I wanted to tell you something.”

As he sat down beside his very own little Lolita, Russ Wildman could not hide the worry on his face. Maybe someone in the community had seen them. But he and Becca were both overly cautious. Well, anything could happen. A few times, Russ thought about the grave consequences of his actions. He knew every single traumatic outcome. He could lose his career. He could possibly be charged with statutory rape. He might lose his family and become another divorced guy who played dad a couple of times a month. Yes, he knew all the different ways he could be destroyed, but none of it was dangerous enough or frightening enough to make Russ turn and walk away. Becca was an amazing young woman; with those huge, serious eyes, Becca had youthful energy but it was trapped, somehow, by a deep sadness.

As he sat there, waiting for Becca to explain why she requested a meeting, Russ noted that the dingy little room did not feel sexually charged like usual. He looked around the room, which smelled of stale cigarettes, then turned his attention back to Becca. Her long slender fingers were knotted on her lap. Her hair was gathered in a loose scarf over her left shoulder. But her expression gave no indication of trouble, instead of stressing about what Becca might say, Russ found himself aroused. This lovely young woman drove him crazy. He swallowed hard as desire tightened his chest. Russ knew the scent of that sweet curve of her hip and the lovely
softness
behind her ears. From Becca’s breasts to her naval, he gave soft kisses that always made her shiver. He knew that, unlike Darla, Becca thoroughly enjoyed their sexual jaunts. She was trusting and open minded. She was practically insatiable. So much so that when Russ left these motel meetings, his legs were wobbly and he was exhausted.