Skin (17 page)

I ring the bell. Mr. Harrison answers. Mr. Harrison never answers.

“Hello… Sep.”

I can see from his eyes that he’s relieved he remembered my name. How can it be so hard for him? I’m the only steady babysitter they have. Anyone else is a once-is-enough sitter.

I walk in past him and Sarah comes flying across the room and tackles my shins.

“Football!” she screams.

I look down at her and am tempted to clap a hand over her mouth before she can say what I’m almost sure is coming next.

“Football?” says Mrs. Harrison, straightening her pearls as she comes into the room. “Girls don’t play football.”

“Joshua does!” screams Sarah. I knew it. Damn. “So I do, too.” She hugs me harder.

I struggle to keep my balance.

“Who’s Joshua?” asks Mrs. Harrison with a frown. “There aren’t any Joshuas in your nursery class.”

“He’s Sep’s Joshua.”

Mrs. Harrison looks at me.

“He’s a friend,” I say. “He came over last Friday while I was sitting. Do you mind?”

Mrs. Harrison’s lips part.

“No.” Mr. Harrison steps forward abruptly and takes Mrs. Harrison by the elbow. “You can have a friend over, Sep. Let’s go, Amy.”

Mrs. Harrison nods frantically. “Of course. Have fun.”

“You have fun,” I call, sincerely.

But they’re already gone. Like escapees.

I laugh.

Sarah lets go and stands in front of me. “What’s funny?”

“Your parents.”

She smiles. “Funny parents. Funny funny parents.” She runs once around me then straight to the couch. “Want—to—play—with—Le—gos?” Each syllable comes between jumps.

It is a springy couch. I remember it well.

“Sure.”

She sails off the couch and lands with a splatter, barely missing the coffee table. It’s a wonder that Sarah has made it alive this long. But in seconds she’s up off the floor without a tear and dumping the Legos in a heap.

The doorbell rings.

Sarah looks at me with a big O mouth.

I nod.

She runs for the door and opens it with a loud, “Hello, Joshua!”

“Hi, Boss.”

“I’m Sarah.”

“Hi, Sport.”

“I’m Sarah.”

“Hi, Sarah!”

“Yay!” Sarah grabs his hand and pulls him into the house.

I shut the door behind him.

“Want to play Legos or football?” asks Sarah. “You choose. You’re the guest. Choose.” She runs for the couch and jumps again. “Choose—choose—choose.”

I’ve seen Sarah hyper before. A lot. But this is extreme even for her. I swear it feels like sexual energy, because if I let myself, I could be jumping on that couch right beside her. How young do girls start feeling the thrill of sexuality?

“I’m kind of tired. How about you do Legos and I’ll sit on the couch and watch?”

Sarah lands from a jump onto her bottom. Then she scoots off the couch. “Okay. It’s yours. Sit.”

“Okay, Boss.”

Sarah giggles.

“I mean Sport.”

Sarah laughs.

“I mean Sarah.” Joshua sits on the couch.

Sarah goes to the Lego pile and sits demurely by it. “Come on, Sep. Let’s build. For Joshua.” This child is definitely flirting.

I sit across the pile from Sarah and we build.

“What are you making?” asks Joshua, after a while.

“Everything,” says Sarah. “See?” She holds up her creation.

“And you, Sep?”

I smile sheepishly. “I’m just putting together pieces at random.”

“That’s how I feel about building. I’m supposed to be building right now. It’s a stupid physics project on keystones, but I haven’t even started yet and it’s due Monday.” He leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees and wrings his hands. “Between practice after school every day and games on the weekends—I don’t know. I’m already behind. I wish I’d never taken physics.”

“What’s physics?” asks Sarah.

“Everything,” says Joshua. “Or, rather, everything is physics. That’s what my teacher says.”

“What’s keystones?”

I’m amazed that she remembers the word. She’s smart.

“They’re the stone in the middle of an arch that gives the whole thing stability. Without the keystone, the arch would fall apart.”

“Do you know what an arch is?” I ask Sarah.

“Everybody knows. A rainbow is an arch.”

“That’s right,” I say. “You’re smart, Sarah. But rainbows aren’t built by people. When people build arches from blocks of stone, they need something to hold it all together. The keystone does that. It’s at the very top, in the center.”

“Glue is good.”

“Right again,” I say. “But that’s cheating. On this project at least.” I look over at Joshua and tilt my head in question.

He nods. “No glue. Definitely no glue.”

I turn back to Sarah. “If you cut the stones right and have a keystone, pressure alone can hold it firm.”

“Use Legos.” Sarah scoops up a handful and holds them out toward Joshua.

“Legos have those little bumps that hold them together. That’s sort of like glue.”

“Cheating is bad,” says Sarah. She drops the Legos on the floor again.

“So what are you going to do?” I ask Joshua.

“I don’t know. I guess tomorrow I’ll try to find some sort of cube—maybe Styrofoam or something—and shave it to make the curving parts and whatever. It’s a big pain.
Mrs. Spinelli is treating us like fourth graders, as though we won’t get the concept unless we do it with our own hands.”

“I’m four,” says Sarah.

“‘Fourth graders’ doesn’t mean they’re four years old,” I say. “It means—”

“But I’m four,” interrupts Sarah. “After Halloween, I’ll be five. Now I’m four.” She stares at me.

I stare back. “I’m sixteen,” I say.

“So am I,” says Joshua.

“I agree with Mrs. Spinelli,” I say. “I think it’s good to learn with your body—your hands. It’s different from just learning with your head. And you’re a hands guy anyway. You play football. You’ve got physics in your body every time you throw or catch that ball.”

He smiles. “If you start up that road, you’ll say dogs can do physics. They run and catch Frisbees, after all.”

“Not Rattle,” I say.

“Rattle.” He smiles and shakes his head. “How is the pup?”

“Practically blind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s just because he’s so old now. He’s a tam… He’s a happy garbage guy.”

“Like I’m a happy ‘hands guy’?”

I smile. “Anyway, don’t begrudge Mrs. Spinelli’s wanting you to build an arch.”

“With a keystone, don’t forget. This is Pennsylvania, the Keystone State.”

“We have sweet potatoes,” says Sarah.

“Sweet potatoes?” Joshua gives a lopsided smile.

“You can make anything with sweet potatoes. Mommy says. Soup, pie, bread.” Sarah marches into the kitchen and comes back with three big sweet potatoes. Joshua and I look at each other and smile. We chop them into cubes.

A half hour later an orange arch stands about eight inches high on a pane of glass from one of the old photo frames in Sarah’s garage. That way Mrs. Spinelli will be able to look at it from underneath and see every part. That was Sarah’s idea, too.

Sarah might be brilliant. Sarah and Devin. Brilliant people.

We bathe Sarah and she sits between Joshua and me on her bed. He offered her his lap, but she got shy and nestled closer against me. He reads aloud. Three books. Like always.

Then we both kiss her good night.

And we go back into the living room.

We stand a moment, silent. Then Joshua takes me in
his arms and holds me close, and we kiss. He maneuvers us to the couch.

“Lights out,” I say quickly. Evil deceiver that I’ve become. I’ve been thinking about this all day, all week. The fact that I should tell Joshua about my vitiligo just sits there like a festering wound hidden under a lacy shawl. But I have no intention of exposing it—I refuse to think why, sometimes a person has a right not to think—so my job is to keep him from lifting the lace. I need the safety of the dark. “Lights out, first.”

“How come?”

“It’s my way of having a Ganesh necklace.”

“What’s a Ganesh necklace?”

“A Hindu god that hangs around your neck and removes all obstacles.”

“You know, half the time with you I have no idea what’s going on. But I’m game.” Joshua gets up and turns off the overhead light. Then he turns off the lamp by the chair, too.

“It’s completely dark,” I say.

“Wait a moment.” Joshua stands still. “Can you see my silhouette now?”

“Yes.”

“I can see yours, too. And even in the dark you’re beautiful.”

He couldn’t have said anything worse. I can’t do this. In an instant I’m all new resolve. “Will you sit with me and talk?”

“Sure.” He comes and sits beside me. He doesn’t touch me, not even with his leg.

“I’m not beautiful.”

“Isn’t that a subjective matter?”

I try again. “I almost got a tattoo yesterday.” It seems like so long ago—but it was just yesterday.

I hear him suck in air. “Is this a… I don’t know… some kind of confession or something?”

“Sort of.”

He’s silent. Finally, he says, “You sure didn’t act like that last weekend.” His voice is quiet and sad.

“Like what?”

“Like what you’re telling me.”

“What do you think I’m telling you?”

“What are you telling me?”

“That I almost got a tattoo to hide behind.”

“Oh.” He gives a little laugh. “I thought you were saying you were lesbian.”

“What?” I give a laugh. “Why would you think that?”

“Some of the lesbians at school started that last year. Didn’t you know? They got pink triangles on their ankles, with junky little things inside.”

I wonder if Melanie’s a lesbian. “I didn’t know. No.”

“I mean, I don’t care. I’ve got nothing against lesbians.” He laughs. “They like doing a lot of the same things I like doing, after all. I just don’t want you being one.”

“I’m not.”

“Good. That’s very good.”

I should tell him. I was just about to. And this is the right time. I should tell him. It’s ridiculous not to.

But it will be too brief as it is. I won’t make it briefer. I can’t. Even if he hates me later. Even if I hate myself. I want to have Joshua as a boyfriend for however long I can.

Silence hums in the air.

“I don’t like tattoos much,” whispers Joshua. “In fact, they give me the chills. My grandmother had a long number tattooed on her arm. She was in Auschwitz when she was a little girl. I used to stare at that number when I’d sit on her lap, but I was afraid to touch it.” He breathes really hard. “But if you got one, I’d do my best to learn to love it.”

I can’t speak. I blink back tears.

Silence again.

Finally, Joshua lets out a long sigh. He takes my hand. “I want to hold you, Sep. I want to kiss you. I want to… I want to do whatever you want to do. I want to know you.”

I bring his hand up in front of me and press my face into it.

And we lie down and kiss. Slow and then fast and everything soft and hard. Like Ovid’s idea of the creation, a whirl of everything, a universe emerging from chaos. Only I don’t feel like I’m coming together. I feel like I’m coming apart. Falling into nine hundred little pieces. Like snowflakes. How far can you fall into a kiss?

Joshua rolls so I’m on top. His hands go up and down my back. Those big, wide hands. They press my ribcage. And I remember Ms. Martin making us lift up our own ribcages, telling us to feel the happiness inside. Right now there is happiness inside me. Joshua’s hands give me happiness, they become my happiness. Up and down, never straying toward my sides, so firmly up and down. Up and down till I’m almost crazy, begging him inside my head.

And then they tug at my shirt. They pull it up. Slowly. Agonizingly slowly. But steady. This is happening. It’s real. Maybe there is a Lord in heaven.

I straddle his waist and lift my arms up high and my shirt comes off over my head. He sits partway up and kisses my neck and throat and the hollows above and below my collarbone. He kisses at the top of my breasts. And his hands fumble with my bra clasps, but only for a second. My bra slips down my arms. He untangles it from my wrists and cups my breasts with both hands. I gasp at how good it feels.

I am here.

Colors don’t show in the dark. And you can’t feel them. Colors don’t matter now. My breasts feel as good as anyone’s. I am as good as anyone. In this moment I am worthy of him.

And it isn’t unfair to Joshua. He’s doing what he wants to do. He’s a hands guy, a happy hands guy. I’m not hurting him. Please. I can’t be hurting him.

We are kissing and his hands keep stroking me. It just keeps getting better. And now, at last, his head moves toward me. I can feel the wet heat as he opens his mouth.

This is the meaning of
exquisite
.

I AM STANDING BESIDE my bed in the second warrior pose. I have been practicing this pose on and off all morning—to the right, then to the left, equal amounts of time on both sides. It takes strength. My arms ache. My thighs shake. But being a warrior is worth it.

At first I just counted in my head, to make sure I was holding the pose the same amount of time on both sides. Symmetry matters. It’s part of balance—and balance is part of harmony and harmony is good. I want good. But now I have a feel for how much time has passed. So I just hold the pose without counting.