Don't Kiss Me: Stories (2 page)

MY BOYFRIEND DEL

You got a eye booger, Del tells me. I can’t look at it, it’s sick. You all gooey. A goober goo-face. This he finds funny, he laughs loud, his mouth huge, all teeth but for where a ridged half-tooth is working its way down in the front. I try but can’t get a purchase on why it was so funny, but even so I laugh too, I work out the eye booger with my fingertip and try to be demure when I wipe it on his momma’s carpet. All the magazines say it’s important to laugh together, laughter is important in any successful relationship, I laugh until Del gets distracted by his Transformer and tells me in his Transformer voice that it’s time for me to die. I die over and over, wilting into the carpet, one time I wilt onto his laser gun and he tells me to quit being a stupid dummy. This hurts, I pretend I have to use the bathroom, I run the water and cry a little. When I get back Del asks me, Number one or number two? but I don’t answer, I never know how to answer that.

Later we drive to the Arby’s for milk shakes. That’s something any other woman might get agitated about, having to always be the one who drives, the one who pays, but I like that about me and Del. He’s content just being taken.

You remember when we met? I ask him. He’s playing with the radio, a preacher shouting a woman moaning an old hillbilly crooning the news the weather the traffic. Yeah, he says, you was in the library same as me. He goes rigid, then a machine-gun fart rat-a-tats out from him and he relaxes. Scuse me, he says.

That’s right, I say, we both like books about aliens. Isn’t that something?

This tastes like barf, Del says, but he keeps drinking. We are quiet for a while, which is a relief cause it can be difficult, getting a nine-year-old to conversate. I drive around the parking lot, into the next parking lot, maybe we’ll go into the store and look at Legos, sometimes we do that, sometimes Del lets me take him to the ladies’ clothes area so I can get his opinion on tops.

This is boring, Del says, and I get scared he’s talking about us, so I rev the engine and pretend like I’m going to ram into an old woman with a shopping cart. Yeah, Del screams, I want to see her guts!

Back at his house he asks if I want to play Princess Leia and I am touched, I know he’d rather have her for a girlfriend than me, It’d be an honor, I tell him, and he hands me my lightsaber and then knocks it out of my hand with his. You’re dead cinnamon-bun dumb-hair, he says, looking up at me through his bangs, my hand is throbbing from where his lightsaber hit, again I die for him, I shudder and quake and cry out and fall at his feet and die. Now I’m going to maybe spit in your hair, you don’t know, keep your fat eyes closed, he says. Okay, I whisper.

Dinner, Del’s momma calls, and I stay dead, waiting for Del to ask if I can stay and eat, but when I open my eyes a moment later he says, You gotta go.

I get up on my knees and hold my arms out, Del lets me hold him, he smells like sweat and his momma’s shampoo, Herbal Essences, the pink kind, I checked. I squeeze him extra long cause I can’t get up the nerve to kiss his cheek, maybe next time. I’ll miss you, I say. Let go, he says, you acting like a butthole uglyface.

I pass his momma on the way out, standing at the stove in her housedress. You know I don’t like you coming around so much, she isn’t looking at me, just watching her own hand move the spoon around the pot. You a nice lady but my son is nine years old and you are what? You are what? I want to say I love your boy Del but I never even said that to Del yet, so I just leave it be.

On the way home I stop and buy a can of Beefaroni, me and Del can eat the same dinner even if we ain’t in the same place. Over the program I watch I can hear Del’s momma saying, You are what? You are what?

Del has a new friend, this Simon child with glasses and a neon snotlip, he is over every afternoon now, the first time we meet I offer him a tissue and he tells me I should use it to wipe the old off my face. We drive to the Arby’s and Del sits in the backseat with Simon, I watch Del’s face in the rearview, I wait for him to look at me but he doesn’t, when we get to the Arby’s I tell them I don’t have no money even though I have fourteen dollars in a roll in my purse. On you? I ask Del, I am turned around and with a jovial look on my face, this is a adventure, my face is saying. Del says, Huh? and Simon says, We ain’t got a dime, lady, we ain’t even double digits yet. On you? I ask again. Let’s just wander the store, Del says, and my middle flutters cause I love when he is decisive. Hold my hand in the parking lot, I say to Del, for safety. In the magazines they talk about how important touch is, affection, showing instead of just telling. In high school I held a boy’s hand at a football game, the boy’s hand rigid and cold in mine, the lights exploding around us and the air smelling like pizza and hot dogs and bubble gum, the boy got up to use the restroom and took his cup of 7UP with him and did not return. Go on, I say to Del, holding out my hand. Not a chance in heck, he says, he has recently learned to belch, the word heck comes out in a moist growl.

In the store Del and Simon race to the drinking fountains, Simon gets a mouthful and gleeks it at my slacks, says, Oh hey, pisspants, Del points and laughs. In the magazines they say men are sometimes cruel because they are testing your emotional boundaries, I want Del to know I am boundless, I am a universe, I grit out a smile and follow them to the toys, they arm themselves with swords and commence to stabbing me, Simon saying, Lop off her tiddies, Simon saying, I wish these blades were real, and I wish you were dying like old ladies are supposed to, Del chops me in half. A woman smiles at me, says, Boys, I want to tell her Del is my man, tell her he is not a boy, but she is wearing a pink hair clip and a wooden necklace and this convinces me she would not understand. In the video games aisle I stand behind Del as he and Simon shoot at homeless people and prostitutes, I wait while they throw basketballs at each other’s crotch, I buy them hot dogs and Simon says, I knew you was lying about the money. I wait outside the bathroom while they relieve themselves, Simon comes out and says Del barfed up his hot dog, I don’t know if this is true or not. In the recreation area Simon and Del spin the wheels of the hanging bikes and dare each other to stick their fingers in the spokes, I am desperate for Del to look at me, for his gray eyes to meet mine, all I require is a single moment, it is all I need in this world, I cannot go home to the bed and the walls and the single channel on the television and the white plate on the table and the drying tulip from Del’s momma’s garden without my moment, and I know what the magazines say about jealousy being a powerful motivator when a man can’t commit, I grab for Simon and push my lips onto his, his smell like mold and ketchup and dirt, his heart beating out his whole body, his lips cold and wet, the snot, the snot, I pull away and he is wiping his mouth and gagging, the snot smeared across his cheek now, a glistening wing, his glasses fogged, Simon saying, What? What? Del emitting a high whining
ewwwww
, all eyes fixed on me, marbles of horror, I back away, I turn and walk through the blender aisle the baby clothes all the lotions and powders and mints and magazines asking me questions about myself, me thinking, How should I know? Me wondering why they don’t say nothing about a kiss being salty as a tear.

CANDLES

I AM IN THE CANDLE SHOPPE I CAN’T HELP IT

THE NEW AUTUMN LINE IS ORANGE NUTMEG AND IT IS AS CLOSE TO BARF AS THE BOTTOM OF A DIP CUP

I DIPPED ONCE RIDING IN THE CAB OF THE TRUCK OF MY ONE TRUE LOVE, HE WAS DRIVING HE WAS GETTING A HAND JOB FROM A PUERTO RICAN PUTA WE WERE GOING ABOUT FIFTEEN MILES AN HOUR NOT EVEN ENOUGH FOR THE WIND TO LIFT MY HAIR IN A POWERFUL FUCK YOU WAY

I HAD STOLEN THE DIP AND THE CUP AND NO ONE NOTICED

THERE WAS A WEB OF JIZZ ON THAT BITCH’S SKORT, I SAW IT WHEN WE STOPPED FOR CIGARETTES SHE STOOD IN THE MAGAZINES AISLE DOING NOTHING

THAT WAS A LONG TIME AGO

JULIAN IS THE MANAGER OF THE CANDLE SHOPPE HIS ASS IS LIKE TWO HALVES OF A BASKETBALL I HAVE TRIED MANY TIMES TO TOUCH IT

MY FAVORITE SCENT IS BEACH SANDALS, IT IS SALTY

MY SON CALLS IT BITCH SANDALS

MY SON IS FOURTEEN HE IS ALWAYS STANDING WITH A BOOK A TOWEL A HAT HIS FOLDED CLAMMY HANDS COVERING HIS CROTCH HE DOES NOT KNOW I KNOW AND IT IS BETTER THAT WAY

I READ THAT IN A PARENTING MAGAZINE

WHEN JULIAN DESCRIBES SOMETHING AS “EARTHY” I KNOW WHAT HE MEANS IS “SHITTY”

I HAVE NEVER KNOWN A MAN WHO HAS MORE THAN TWO SYLLABLES IN HIS NAME

I HAD A DREAM JULIAN WAS SHOWING ME A CANDLE THAT WAS CALLED SUCK IT LIKE A STRAW

ITS COMPANION SCENT WAS LICK YOU LIKE AN ICE CREAM CONE

I HAVE NEVER BEEN ATTRACTED TO A MAN OF A DIFFERENT CULTURE BUT THAT ASS I AM NOT MADE OF STONE

I AM FONDLING A CANDLE SET CALLED HERBACEOUS TWILIGHT, I WANT TO ASK JULIAN WHY IT’S NOT JUST CALLED OLD FORGOTTEN BONG BUT HE IS HELPING AN OLD MAN OBSESSED WITH THE SMELL OF LAUNDRY

I HAVE FOUND THAT THE CANDLES WITH THE PRETTIEST COLORS ARE ALWAYS THE FOULEST, I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE SOME GREEN CANDLES BUT THEY ARE ALL CUCUMBER MELON

CUCUMBER MELON SMELLS LIKE AFTERBIRTH

I BREATHE WITH MY MOUTH OPEN WHEN I’M IN THE CANDLE STORE

SOMETIMES I AM SITTING AT HOME WITH A CRAVING AND I CAN’T PUT MY FINGER ON IT AND THEN BLAMMO, I WILL REALIZE I AM CRAVING THE TASTE OF THE CANDLE STORE

IT HAS A TASTE, I’M NOT ON GLUE

I JUMPED THAT PUTA BEHIND THE P.E. TRAILER, SHE PULLED MY HAIR AND SCREAMED AND I PUNCHED A TOOTH INTO HER THROAT

I TRY NOT TO FEEL VICTORY THINKING OF THAT

IT IS DIFFICULT NOT TO

I GOT INTO THAT BOY’S TRUCK AND TOLD HIM WHERE TO DRIVE AND WHEN HE PULLED OVER I CLIMBED INTO HIS LAP, THE LOOK IN HIS EYES

I LOVE THINKING OF THAT LOOK

JULIAN IS ASSURING THE MAN THAT THE FRESH COTTON CANDLE SET SMELLS EXACTLY LIKE BOUNCE DRYER SHEETS ONCE LIT

I KNOW THIS IS NOT TRUE, I KNOW IT ACTUALLY SMELLS LIKE KOOL-AID BACKWASH

THE OLD MAN IS ASIAN, I CAN SEE THAT NOW, THERE DIDN’T USE TO BE BUT ONE ASIAN IN THIS COMMUNITY BACK IN THE DAY, THE HIGH SCHOOL ALGEBRA TEACHER, BUT NOW THEY ARE EVERYWHERE, I SMILE EXTRA BIG AT HIM TO LET HIM KNOW I AM COMFORTABLE WITH OUR MULTICULTURAL SOCIETY

AND I AM

COMFORTABLE WITH IT, I MEAN

THE OLD MAN IS TELLING JULIAN HE HAS THE ORANGE NUTMEG LINE IN HIS DOWNSTAIRS BATHROOM, I FEEL SYMPATHY FOR THE SWIRLING VOMITOUS TOMB HIS HOUSE MUST BE

THERE CAME A DAY WHEN I RAN OUT OF CLASS TO BARF UP AGAINST THE LOCKERS, THERE WAS A BABY FOR A WHILE BUT THEN IT WENT AWAY

THE LORD TAKETH, THANK GOD

THE TRUCK BABY IS HOW I CAME TO THINK OF IT

I NEVER TOLD THE BOY, BUT I WISHED I HAD TOLD HIM SO HE COULD THANK ME FOR NOT TELLING HIM

JULIAN HAS FINISHED WITH THE MAN, I SEE HIM FIDDLING WITH SOME PAPERS AT THE REGISTER, I KNOW HE IS HOPING I WILL LEAVE

I WANT TO TELL JULIAN THE BESTSELLING CHILDHOOD SUMMER CANDLE HE SOLD ME LAST WEEK SMELLS LIKE BUBBLE GUM WEDGED BETWEEN TWO FUNGUS TOES

SOMETIMES YOU KNOW WHEN YOU SHOULDN’T SAY SOMETHING

IF JULIAN WERE A CANDLE HE’D BE NAMED AMARETTO EXPLOSION OR MOCHA ANGEL

I WANT JULIAN TO BE A CANDLE

SO I CAN TAKE HIM HOME

IT IS FIVE MINUTES FROM CLOSING TIME, I DROVE HERE AFTER THERE WAS NOTHING ON TELEVISION, MY SON EATING HIS DINNER IN HIS ROOM, ME PICKING UP THE PHONE AND PUTTING IT BACK DOWN, ME SITTING ON MY PORCH TO WATCH THE SUN SET, THE SUN MELTING LIKE THE DISCONTINUED PSYCHEDELIC SHERBET LINE

I DROVE HERE I CAN’T HELP IT

BEACH SANDALS SMELLS LIKE THE DIRT ROAD ME AND THE BOY PULLED OVER ON

I CAN’T HELP IT

I WAS A HOT BITCH IN MY DAY BUT NOW I AM SHAPED LIKE A CANDLE

DISHES

At breakfast my kid practices his ABCs and barfs into his cereal bowl just before Q. My other kid points out how the barf splashed onto the table in the shape of Oklahoma. I don’t tell him it looks more like Texas, he’s a little kid and if he wants to mistake Texas for Oklahoma it’s no skin off my tit. My husband wipes up the barf and I watch his shorts bunch in his ass.

Before I leave for work my kid hands me a brown bag and tells me he’s made my lunch, when I’m halfway down the driveway he yells after me, Big girls gotta eat! and I guess I taught him that saying, it’s what I usually say when I’m eating in front of other people, because I am a big girl, that’s a fact, and it makes people feel better if it’s acknowledged. I give my kid a thumbs-up and oink like a pig, he loves it, standing in the doorway in his undies, doubled over.

Backing down the driveway I roll over the front wheel of my kid’s bike, but he doesn’t see, he’d gone back inside, the dog in the doorway now, the puddle eyes in that box head watching me balefully.

At the light I eat what’s in the brown bag, a Fruit Roll-Up and seven Tootsie Rolls, a half-drunk juice box, the single Goldfish cracker way down at the bottom.

At work a lady wants her hair to look exactly like a bowl of Trix. The girl next to me helps a lady who wants hair the exact shade of maple syrup. Rich, she tells the girl, rich and lustrous. In the back we laugh at her, mime rubbing our nipples in the heat of climax, saying, Lllllustrous! A man with a glass eye tells me his hair used to be more pepper but he was glad for the salt, it’s distinguished, I nick the pink mole on his neck but he doesn’t notice. A girl comes in asking for red Kool-Aid hair but it comes out more like orange Triaminic, she doesn’t seem to care, some people like being ugly I guess.

Later on I trim the waxer’s bangs and in return she waxes my bikini line. Hold this back, she says, pushes up on my belly fat, layered blobs of tapioca pudding. Big girls gotta eat, I say, and the waxer laughs, holds her legs together like she might pee. You are too funny, she says, you are just too funny. Breathes in deep, rips the strips of paper, holds them up to show me, pube Fruit Roll-Ups. See all that nasty hair we got? See all those roots? Next time we’ll do your arms.