I Don't Want to Lose You (28 page)

             
“Then let me clear your mind.”  He went back to my neck and I could tell that a hickey would show itself if I didn't stop him.  There were only so many times my co-workers were going to accept
I burned myself with the curling iron
as an excuse for a mark on my neck.

             
“Get out of here,” I roared and walked over to the sink to wash my hands before continuing to peel the apples.

             
Phaedra came in through the front door and could see us in the kitchen.  She entered and said hello.  She did a double take at Theo and went closer to take a look at his tattoo.  When he saw that part of it was blocked, he moved his shirt so that she could see the whole thing. 

             
She walked over to me.  “So you got it like that, huh?” she asked.

             
I pointed to him and said, “There it is,” and gave her a big, toothy smile knowing that it was eating her up inside that my name was on his tattoo.  She loved tattoos and was turning green right before my eyes.

             
She nodded. “Cool.  I'm going to go start on homework.  Don't make dinner.  Dad gave me money for pizza.  I want to do Grease tonight.”  She walked out.

             
“What does she mean by 'do Grease tonight?'” Theo asked.

             
“About once every couple of months we would watch it and perform to the songs.  Since I hadn't been here for a few months, she asked me if we could do it while we were here.  I guess tonight is when she had fit it into her schedule.”

             
He pouted.  “What about my schedule with you?”

             
“Love, I got you.  Let me finish this and get it in the oven first.  You just make sure you look like this,” I pointed from his head to toes, “when I get in there.  Go read.”  I shooed him out of the room.

             
He left, which allowed me to continue with the apples.  The thought of him made me rush through the recipe to hurry up and get the pie in the oven with the hope that everything was in it.  I turned the timer on and almost ran to my room.  I closed the door behind me and locked it and turned to see him sitting at my desk.  I bit my bottom lip and picked out a CD to play in my stereo. 

             
“We don't need mood music,” he said.  “I'm already in the mood.”

             
I waved off his silliness.  “It's 'I don't want my sister to hear us' music.”

             
I put in the Best of the Isley Brothers and I sashayed over to him to the rhythm of the song “For the Love of You.”  I took the book out of his hand and marked it and made him stand up since the bed was across the room.  I gave him a long, hard kiss filled with so much passion that I had to stop to breathe.

             
“What's wrong?” he asked.

             
“I just had to come up for air.  Every time I kiss you my heart starts racing.”

             
“Is that a good thing?  You know I got heart problems and what's good to you is bad to me.”             

             
I chuckled.  “It's a very good thing to me.  It's happy that it's you on the receiving end.  It's like what your adrenaline goes through when you're on a roller coaster ride.  You know what's about to happen and your heart starts to race with anticipation.”

             
“Is that why you like making out with me so much?  My lips are a roller coaster ride?”

             
“Yep, my favorite one.  I should name them.  What's a good name for a roller coaster with a lip theme?”  I was getting distracted because I suddenly was lost in thought trying to create a name.  “Hmm.  Lipcitement?  No, that’s corny.  Rollerlipa?   Liparolla?  Help me out here.”

             
“I don't know,” he said while kissing my neck and moving me towards the bed.  “And I don't care right now either.”

             
When the pizza arrived we all sat down in the family room to start watching Grease.

             
“Who gets the wig this time?  I forget.” Phaedra asked me.

             
“What wig?” asked Theo.

             
“You do,” I answered her first.  “We have a blonde wig for whoever does Sandy.  Theo, do you want to sing any parts?  You know you know something from this movie.”

             
“No way.  I'd rather sit here and enjoy the show you two put on,” he answered.             

             
Phaedra and I ate pizza until the opening song came on.  I sang lead and she had back up and we did the choreography we always had for it.  We sat down to eat our pizza between songs.  I took on Danny’s songs.  After “Summer Nights,” Theo commented on how he was surprised we both were able to do the last note.  I also did the songs that Rizzo sung.  After we ate the pizza, I got all of us a slice of apple pie a la mode.  When the movie was over we decided it was time to go to bed.

             
Theo was propped up in the bed holding his book in his lap while watching me get ready for bed.  After I put my pajama gown on, I got his evening medications out and handed them to him with a bottle of water.   I straightened some things up on my desk and with our luggage to help keep the room looking tidy before getting into the bed, all while being stared at.

             
“Is there a booger on my face that I need to get off or something?” I asked.

             
“What?  No,” he answered.

             
“You've been staring me down.  Did I do something?”

             
He grunted.  “What haven't you done?”

             
I frowned.  “I didn't do anything,” I said in a high pitched voice.

             
“You're a constant surprise of things that make me love you more.  I learned a couple of things about you today.”

             
“Like what?”  I didn't know what he could have been referring to.

             
“I learned that you like to read more than I thought you did.  I learned that you have an eclectic taste in music.  You have classical, blues, jazz and everything else over there. I can’t believe there was even Shakira.  I didn’t think you knew who she was.”

             
“Why?  Because it’s a Spanish album?  Did you think that I only limited myself to 80s music?” I asked.

             
“I did, to be honest.  Then I didn't know that you could sing. I've heard you sing before but not like you did tonight.”

             
“You still don't know that.  I can't sing.  I may have a nice voice, so I've been told, but I can't sing.  I imitate.” 

             
“Well, you do a good job of imitating then.”

             
“I do love to sing.  Sometimes I would be trapped in here for hours and go from CD to CD just putting on a concert for myself.  The longest time was about six hours.”

             
“Six hours?  Were you hoarse later?”

             
“No.  I could have kept on but my parents got annoyed and told me to shut up.”

             
“Sing a song to me.”

             
“What? Are you for real?”  I was kind of flattered that he liked my voice enough to want me to sing to him.

             
“Yeah.  Pick a song for me and sing it to me.  Just you, no music.”

             
My eyes got big.  “Acapella?  I got to think of what I can sing well without music to block how horrible I sound.”  I thought for a minute and then I had it. “I have to sit up so that I can control my breathing better.” I reached for his hand as I sang to him Anita Baker's “Angel,” feeling every word of the song.  Just as I had told him, I imitated Anita Baker and her mannerisms from her videos, including the closing of the eyes and rocking.  I gave a decent performance if I could say so myself even though I intentionally cut out a verse or two to shorten the song, but it wasn’t like he would have known.

             
When I was done, he kissed my hand and said, “That was beautiful, babe.  You should sing to me more often.”

             
“Yeah, I'm sure you're parents would love to hear that every day.  So where are we in this book?”

             
It was movie night and time for me to show him Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart Club Band.  I made some popcorn and we sat down to watch it.

             
Before the movie started with the first song, he asked, “Are you going to be singing and dancing through this one?”

             
“While it had crossed my mind, I've decided to just watch instead of participate.”

             
“You don't have to hold back for me.  I enjoy it.”             

             
I wasn't feeling it and shook my head no.  I turned my attention back to the movie so that he would watch it. I did hum along to some songs but I didn't sing.  Then the moment came in the movie that I knew was going to get me because it did every time.  The girl died and Peter Frampton was crying on her glass casket while singing “Golden Slumbers.” 

             
And the river began to flow.

             
“Are you okay?” he asked.

             
“I'll be fine in a few minutes.  This part always makes me cry.”

             
He left to get me some tissue.  He came back and sat next to me and put his arm around my shoulder as I dabbed my eyes.  We watched the rest of the movie without my brain doing its connections to other things to make me keep crying, thank goodness.

             
“Babe,” he said when the movie ended, “this is one of the most horrible movies that I've ever seen. I can't believe so many famous people were a part of it.”

             
“I know.  I don't understand why it was my favorite movie as a little girl, but I like it now purely for the music.  The plot was horrid.”

             
“Despite knowing that, you made me sit through it anyway?”

             
“Yep.  Don't act like we haven't sat through other bad movies,” I said.

             
“But this was pretty bad.”

             
“All right, I get it,” I said in a raised voice with a hint of anger.  “You didn't care for it.  It was a waste of your time.  I'll be sure to never have you watch another bad movie that I might like again.”  I got up and walked out.

             
He got up and followed me.  “What's wrong?”

             
I didn't respond and just went through my stuff to get some pajamas to put on.

             
“Monica, what's wrong?” he asked.

             
My back was turned to him and, the truth was, I didn't know why I snapped.  My eyes were welling up and I was irritated for not knowing what was disturbing me because this wasn't like me.  Was it that I was feeling overwhelmed with everything?  Was it that soon it would be me in the Peter Frampton role singing “Golden Slumbers?”  Was it that this movie had been an entrenched part of my life and he expressed hatred for it?  But it was a pretty bad movie.