Timmy Waldron
The Sad Little Happiness of Drinks and Kisses
On my way back to work from the doctor's office I run into Clay. She
was
downtown watching a photographer take pictures of a few hundred naked
people lying on Embarcadero. "I know what fat people look like under
their clothes now," she tells me. "I have to live with that."
"I guess that's like your own personal Nam."
"Totally." She takes a sip from her Jamba Juice and shakes her head.
"What are you doing for the rest of the day?"
"Back to work."
"Awe, don't go. Come to the park with me, it's so nice out," she pines.
I feign disinterest, but inside I'm already making up excuses for my
boss.
"Okay, I give."
"Yeah Ethan!" Clay jumps in place and claps her hands before leaning in
to kiss me on the cheek. "Are you turning red?"
"No," I tell her, but that only makes me blush more.
"Ethan, I made you blush, awe. That's so cute."
We take her car to the park, she is a horrendous driver. Clay doesn't
know exactly where she is going. We make many unnecessary turns, and
take unusually long pauses at stop signs. It seems she is homing in on
the place. I don't offer any suggestions or ask if she knows she has
already circled the park twice. I'm too frightened to speak. We clip a
bike messenger and knock him into a parked car.
"He owed me money," Clay deadpans, I force out a nervous laugh. She
pulls into a 7-11 store sans blinker. "Got any cash?"
"Sure." I pull fifteen bucks out of my pocket and hand it to her. She
smiles at me before running into the 7-11. I look at the digital clock
on her dashboard and get lost in the blinking dots between the numbers,
that's all it takes, I'm out.
Can you catch narcolepsy? Can someone on the subway give it to you?
Maybe from a dirty toilet seat, maybe from unprotected sex with
yourself, is it treatable? The condition has become embarrassing. I
fall asleep in cabs, on the toilet at work, and behind the TransAmerica
building during my lunch break. I've woken up on trains in the middle
of the night, not knowing where I am, my clothes stained and disheveled.
I'm like a werewolf, no memory of the carnage, just the telltale signs
of a crime. I find ketchup and mustard spattered on my clothes, the
taste of hotdog or pretzel fresh in my mouth. Money disappears from my
wallet and I end up in parts of the city I have never set eyes on
before. My doctor gave me a prescription to help me out, but I haven't
had it filled yet.
Clay leans on the horn. "I'm up, I swear." I open my eyes and see one
of
the park's windmills over the tree line.
"You must be great company on a long drive."
"I'm up, settle."
We walk around the park on tree-covered dirt paths, around the ponds,
and in the shadows of the windmills. We jump from rock to rock and
splash water on each other. The creek is probably a bathroom for the
park's homeless, but that doesn't immediately occur to me. I reach out
and grab her by the waist and squeeze. She lets out the most delightful
squeal I have ever heard. We are all smiles.
"Let's have a little picnic over there." Clay points to an alcove
surrounded by wild bamboo and large water smoothed rocks. "We'll have
some privacy."
"Let's." I agree. She takes me by the hand and walks me to her spot.
Our chance meeting is going much better than I could have expected. I had
been interested in her for some time, but not gotten much by way of a
response. Plus, my roommate JB had made some veiled comment about
hooking up with her recently, something like 'she gives good head',
whatever that means. But nothing seemed to come out of that, and it
doesn't really matter to me at this point. We sit down Indian style on
her blanket and she puts her purse between us; out of it she pulls a
small bottle of rum and a plastic jug of lemonade.
"Ever have it?"
"I don't think so."
"It's called a New Deal. I likes 'em." She pours out a third of the
lemonade and refills it with rum. We trade sips and talk easily about
where we came from and what we plan on accomplishing while living out
West. It's not long before we finish Clay's New Deal, and it is even
less time after that when we start kissing.
In every kiss there is a promise of things to come, whether it is the
primal satisfaction of finger banging and knob polishing, or something
grand like the emergence of a new love. As we kiss, I let myself enjoy
her with an open heart. I drift off to endless weekends with her,
weekends where we'd hardly ever leave the bed, where we'd only get up
to
shower together or maybe eat delivery in our pajamas.
I sigh as I kiss her, in that dreamy kind of way that never seems real
when you see it in the movies. She takes my hand and places it between
her legs. I start rubbing her through her jeans. I feel like someone
might be watching, just because, well, we are making out in the park.
But I don't open my eyes, I don't care. She begins to breath heavy, my
wrist starts to ache. We aren't kissing anymore. My open mouth grazes
hers as she lets out short, hot, breathy, moans. She takes hold of a
fist full of my hair and holds me tight as she comes.
"Wow." I say as we let each other go. She lies back on her blanket, I
lean on my elbow next to her. Clay's eyes are closed but she is
smiling, enjoying that feeling.
"Hey," I say to her when she opens up her eyes.
"Well," Clay adjusts herself a bit and does her best not to look me in
the eye. "Random huh?"
"Right." I give her another nervous chuckle, turn away, and stand up. I
walk a few steps and shift my pants. I brush some leaves off my shirt
and pick at specs of dirt that I'd normally ignore, mostly I try not to
contemplate the cool meaning that fuels the word 'RANDOM'.
"Listen," she tells me in the car. "That was great, you're a great
kisser."
"Thanks. You too," I turn red. "I mean really."
"I just don't want JB to find out about this."
"Why?"
"I just don't," Clay states firmly. "And I won't tell him about seeing
you today."
"Okay," I say. "Why would I care if JB knows I saw you, is there
something going on between you two?"
"I just don't want him to hear about this." Clay starts the car and turns
the radio up as loud as it will go. "Is that so hard to understand?"
"I have to be honest, I'm a little confused." I yell. "You're kind of
giving me mixed signals."
"I have to drop you off at the Muni stop; I have to do something on
the
other side of town. I can't take you home."
"You have to be kidding."
"Sorry, Ethan." Clay pulls up to the kiosk at the N stop.
"Hey." I knock on her window after closing the door behind me. She
rolls it down a crack. "Could I get the change from that bottle?" She mouths
the word "sorry" and drives away. I go into the kiosk and sit down.
There is a restaurant across the street called Crepes on Cole. The sign
says it's "A great place for crepes." My eyes get heavy, I can't keep
them open. Do you ever wish you had a venereal disease? I do. If I had
VD I could maybe give it to Clay and she could maybe give it to JB. I
force my eyes open for a second, the sign looks like it says "this
place gives me the crepes," and then I'm out.
©2006 by Timmy Waldron
