Committed to You (11 page)

“No. That’s fine.” She ran her fingers through my soaked hair. “You’re hair is so curly right now. You’re head is covered in all of these pretty little curls.”

“Yeah. It’ll be puffy and curly until I blow dry it out.”

She gazed into my eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

“Alrighty.” I got out of her arms. “This is another sign that I may have given you too much alcohol today. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Look!” She pointed to another huge hill. “Let’s go over there.”

She raced off before I could tell her hell no.

“Just one dance to a song and I’ll go back in the car,” Cynthia begged me.

“And when the hell will the song be playing?”

“I’ll sing it. Come on, Evie. Please.”

“One badly sung song and then we take your stupid ass back in the car?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Go ahead and make a fool out of yourself.”

“Join me.” She winked her eye.

And so we performed this deranged recital on the top of an even bigger hill at the center of the park. I couldn’t remember why I’d changed my mind. In one instance, it seemed like a stupid idea, but as I rushed up after her, my body’s tension relaxed, my head fogged into this peaceful state, and suddenly all I could see was the amazing natural beauty breathing life around us.

Marijuana and alcohol is the poor man’s mediation. Mom used to say that all the time. Now I truly got it, although her point was for me to find healthier and more functional ways to deal with stress.

“Men suck!” Cynthia yelled.

“I’ll second that!” I fist pumped with both hands.

“Death sucks too!”

“Uh. . .alrighty. Hell yes!”

We threw our shoes to the side and leaped around barefoot. Wet grass slipped along the bottoms of our feet. Cold water painted our skin. The moon appeared and bathed us in shimmering light. We were two witches from the old days outside in the middle of nature, casting spells to soothe our broken hearts. Our clothes stuck to our bodies while the clouds moved in a swirling pattern above us, mimicking our play. Hours passed. We sang old songs, ones we heard our mothers play, and others we’d played ourselves. We discovered we shared a love for the same types of lyrics, the ones that yanked out our hearts and displayed the beating muscle right in front of us.

We cried together, hand in hand as wind whipped around our moist bodies and the trees rocked violently back and forth. We cried. Neither of us asked why we shed tears. The reasoning no longer mattered. It was just the two of us on a hill in the middle of a storm that beat down on that little area in the world, and no one was there to witness it but us, so it was okay.

When my legs grew tired and my muscles burned from the expended energy, I dragged her back to the car. “You’re insane.”

“It was your idea.”

“No. I said I did it when I was a kid, no one said to jump your crazy behind out of the car and run out in a storm.”

She got in the back and gestured for me to follow her. “Our suitcases are in the trunk. We could probably pull down the back seat from the inside, get some dry clothes, change, and then call Jay to get us. Mom would give Jay her car.”

I climbed in with her and shut the door. “I have no idea how to fold Pipe’s seats down and knowing him, something will probably shoot out at us like a big dildo or anal plugs.”

“Anal plugs?”

“Don’t ask. You just don’t want to know how freaky Pipe gets.”

“I’ll trust you then.”

I locked the back doors. Darkness lathered the park now. Even the moonlight didn’t give me a clear view. My head seemed to be clear of my brownie high, but still turning around and around from the liquor. “I can’t believe you went out there.”

“You followed me,” she countered with a smirk.

“How could I not? You know how to get back to your house, without you I wouldn’t know how to pick up my one and only true love … Pipe.”

She hooted and clapped. “God, wouldn’t life be perfect if Pipe was heterosexual.”

“Yep.”

“Then I would marry him,” we said in unison.

“Fuck!” I hit her shoulder. “I refuse to share Pipe with you. Not happening. Enough is enough.”

She slapped me back, barely tapping my own shoulder. “No more hitting, Evie. You have a heavy hand.”

“I do?” I charged for her. She shrieked. I held her down to the seat. “Say you’ll never go after Pipe, if someday he decided that he is heterosexual and longs to settle down with a woman. You will not mess with him!”

Giggles exploded from her throat. “W-what?”

“Say it.” I tickled the area under her arms.

“I solemnly swear to never confess my love to Pipe.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

I released her.

“Unless, he’s hetero, then all bets are off.” She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “May the best woman win!”

This time she was ready for me, she caught my arms before I could grab her and pulled me to her.

Goodness, she’s strong.

I’d been about to tell her that, when she captured my mouth into a kiss.

Softness encased me. Pure softness. That was all I could think of. After only experiencing men’s hard touch all of my life, her pliant flesh rubbing up against mine, delivered naughty tingles along my body. Groaning, she sucked on my bottom lip and grasped onto my waist. We melted into each other, hastily making enough room to lie down together on the back seat.

The rain picked up again, battering the vehicle with a heavier drumming pattern. The beat echoed through me. The car rocked from side to side, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the wind, the storm, or Cynthia and me sliding our bodies together.

She tugged at my shirt to pull it up. The movement woke the logical part of me up a little. I trapped her hands in mine. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered back. “Maybe we shouldn’t over think this. Let’s just do it.”

I kept her fingers close to me. “Maybe we should think about it.”

“Why?”

“Do you even feel any arousal from this?”

She formed her lips into a huge smile. “Yes. My whole body is on fire.”

Anticipation surged through my veins. My sex clenched at the newness of the experience, at the possibility of what could over take my body.

What is happening to me? First I’m in a threesome. Now I’m kissing girls. This is the moment when you’ve gone too far with the drinking and smoking. This is the moment when you stop, Evie.

“I’ve kissed a girl before, but it never felt like this.” She rubbed the tip of her nose against mine. “When I kissed you, my panties got so wet, I didn’t want to stop. What about you?”

Panties? Wet? What? I am not having this conversation with her.

“Are you wet, Evie?”

“Umm … I … enjoyed it, more than I thought I would, but I don’t think I’m a card carrying lesbian.” Jittery vibrations coursed through my bloodstream. I was stimulated beyond compare and high off of something, but it had nothing to do with drugs and alcohol. Yet this still didn’t seem right. It wasn’t me.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Cynthia said.

“I’m not really comfortable with answering it.”

“Have you ever kissed a woman before?”

“Never.” I let her go. “Let’s get off of me and talk about you, Ms. Asexual. Why do you think you experienced arousal with me, but not with anyone else?”

“It’s going to sound stupid if I tell you.”

“Just say it,” I said. “Enough crazy crap has happened tonight. You might as well add to the pile.”

“I think I can relax around you, give my body to you fully with no fear.”

O-kay.

I cleared my throat. “Why?”

She avoided my eyes, turned away, and cuddled in the crook of my arm. “Because you saved me from
him
.”

“So I’m playing all of the great Michael Jackson videos for her.” Pipe sliced a couple more lemons and hooked them on the edges of three glasses set in front of him. “She’s my niece so I need to make sure she has a proper education in US music history. Here you go.” He slid the drinks to Cyn’s mother and two aunts. “Go easy on those, ladies. There’s a special bite at the end.”

“Bite is good,” Cyn’s mom slurred.

Behind them, I sliced my neck with my hand in an effort to cut them off from his makeshift bar that he’d thrown together in the kitchen. Pipe had been boozing up Cyn’s mom all day. She’d asked for water. He volunteered and brought out a rum and coke. I was shocked we didn’t get kicked out.

Upon realizing that Cyn and Evie stranded us at the gloomy little house, Pipe stood up in the back yard, announced to the somber group that he’d be making alcohol drinks in the kitchen. No one responded for two uncomfortable minutes. My whole body had tensed. I didn’t even know I could sweat as much as I did and in such a short amount of time.

Good thing for us, Cyn’s mom got up with a smile and gestured for Pipe to follow her. Minutes later, he pulled out a blender, stacks of fruit, several bottles of alcohol, and had a decent sized group forming around him just like he loved it.

“So I tell my niece, she’s my only one for now, my brother is like fifteen years older than me, he’s from my dad’s first marriage, but either way my brother refuses to have anymore cute little girls. The rest of his pack have been smelly little boys that like to stuff Sponge Bob miniature characters into my bongs—”

“Pipe you’re going off topic.” I spun my hand around in a circle for him to wrap the story up.

Can we not talk about bongs in front of Cyn’s family?

“Sorry, HP.”

Cyn’s mom threw a curious glance my way. “HP? Is this your nick name?”

“Pipe’s new one for me,” I said. Pipe had shorted
Heisman Pimp
to HP in an effort to not piss Evie off. “Pipe just started calling me HP.”

“Naw. I would say the world has coined it.” Pipe laughed.

“What does it stand for?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Harry Potter,” I blurted out. “I’m a huge fan. The press somehow got wind of it.”

That seemed to please her as she turned back to Pipe and his ridiculous story.

“Maddy is my niece’s name,” Pipe said.

Actually it was Madeline, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to interrupt Pipe any further.

“I’m like Maddy; Michael Jackson is a god. This is the first rule of American music. There are tons of gods throughout history, but Michael Jackson is his own special supernatural being that sits well above the rest. I make her stand up next to me, in full MJ gear, I’m talking the one white glitter glove on the right hand of course and black pants pulled up high enough to show our white socks. She’s rocking my favorite red Thriller jacket that my dad bought me for Christmas when I was ten. I’m in full retro MJ drag—black jacket, gold officer lapels, and gold crotch cup over tight pants. We’re ready to rule the world, if it’ll have us.”

“How old is your niece?” one of Cyn’s aunts asked.

“She’s eight and gorgeous.” He started cleaning out the blender, which I had no idea he knew how to do. Of all the activities I’d witness Pipe carry out, cleaning had never been one of them.

“We go through all of his first videos,” Pipe continued. “Even when he was with Jackson Five. This is the time when he has that rich brown skin and those short afros crowning his head like a halo. We get to the
Off the Wall
album videos, my niece is sweaty and going crazy with me. Next we finish the
Thriller
album.” Pipe wiped down the counter. “What happens next is crazy. We get to the
Bad
album. MJ appears on the screen all pale skinned and long, curly black hair well past his shoulders. I’m dancing and hopping around the room, thrusting my crotch and roaring at the ceiling. My niece stands there with the oddest look I’d ever seen. At first I think it’s me that she thinks is crazy. But of course not. She captures my arm and stops me. ’Uncle Pipe, who’s this guy?’ she asks. I tell her, ‘It’s MJ.’ She refuses to believe that the rich brown-skinned Michael Jackson from
Thriller
is the same pale-skinned one dancing in front of us and screaming that he’s bad.”

Cyn’s aunts burst out in laughter.

“I tell her it’s really MJ. She’s not buying it at all. ’That’s not the same man from early, Uncle Pipe. This guy is lighter and his hair is like a girl’s hair.’ We spend a good hour on this. I’m showing her online articles about his plastic surgery. She’s getting sadder by the minute. ’But Uncle you told me to always accept yourself for who you are. Why did he change his nose and face? Why do you like him still?’ And I stand there in front of her with no response.” Pipe rinsed off the last couple of glasses and stuck them in the dishwasher.

Where the hell did he learn how to wash dishes? YouTube?

“And that is how I lost faith in a god,” Pipe concluded.

Cyn’s mom covered her face and giggled.

I shook my head.

“What?” Pipe lined the wall with half filled bottles of alcohol.

“Cyn’s Aunt didn’t ask you that. Their question was do you go to church,” I explained. “It had nothing to do with videos, Michael Jackson, or music gods.”