By CL Bledsoe
We’d sit on the balcony, drinking, smoking, watching
the girls across the way until they got tired of waiting
for us and came over.
They had the same name. The one I liked was dating
the other one’s brother. I’m sure he had
a name. The first time we had sex, he knocked
on the door, and she hid me in the closet.
She wore a skirt she hiked up to reveal no underwear.
I could almost smell the straw, the dusty barn.
She was beautiful in a way I didn’t deserve. Sexy
in a way I never thought I’d share.
I tried not to smirk when she showed me her drawings
of unicorns, goddesses, and talked about majoring in art.
I didn’t show her my poems about myself.
I thought she could cook because she had so many
spices in her kitchen, but it turned out she was
She called sometime after 2 a.m. asking if I had any
tools. “There’s a cat in my air conditioner,” she said.
I went over; the apartment was hot. A kitten mewled
from the vent. We found out later the people above
her had a bunch of cats and a kid stuck one in the air
vent. She kept it but let me name it.
She never wanted to go out because her boyfriend
might see her. After her roommate went to bed,
she’d come over to my place to have sex. She wanted
to be on bottom but I wanted her on top. We’d take
turns for an hour or so until we got bored.
I wanted to go down on her until I got a taste.
Friends would tell me they saw her with another guy.
I was too embarrassed to explain that I
was the other guy.
I got her flowers and she ran away.
She gave me a picture to put
by my bed and then told me not
to look at it. I didn’t admit
that I’d forgotten it was there.
I watched her crying in the rain as I left for band
practice after she said the test came back negative.
“It’s only science,” she said.
“It’s not really a relationship,” she said. I let her.
A few weeks later, she called me back over
for another lay.