a friendship destroyed
by a night that turned us into
a mockery of lovers.
friendship,
cynicism,
amusement.
commradery,
alienation,
attraction?
"Fuck Homecoming, let's get high."
A covert operation:
"Dad, i'm sleeping over at Rachel's."
"Okay, just call me when you get there."
A quick call made on a rain-soaked back road
after almost smashing my side mirror into a mailbox.
i get there.
introduction, idle chat.
sneaking out for contraband black cherry vodka.
"This shit tastes like cough syrup."
we chase it with apple juice.
i skip through the night giddily.
we inhale bittersweet pot smoke
and wander through your neighborhood
followed by the moon.
we lose your house,
then find your dark basement.
we're tangled under a blanket
but still innocent, watching Family Guy.
i'm elated, finally doing
what real teenagers are supposed to do.
you're too comfortable.
i make the first move.
my shirt goes off.
i feel both promiscuous and unattractive.
hands on my breasts, fingers between my thighs.
i have to ask if i can kiss you.
coersion disguised as persuasion, disguised as an act of love.
C'mon.
No, you don't have any condoms.
You won't get pregnant the first time.
No.
C'mon.
No.
C'mon.
Fine.
You know, you have a choice in this, too...
Not anymore i don't.
we're standing in the bathroom, the only room with a lock.
You smile at me, uncertiantly and we embrace,
almost afraid, but we know we can't not do this now.
i'm lying on your bathroom floor,
naked from the waist down.
you remove none of your clothes.
you're on top of me and inside me,
nothing between us physically or emotionally.
my eyes are closed and i think i'm trying to comprehend what's happening.
i think your lips brush my face.
you breathe in short pulses.
you squeeze your arms around me tight, then it's over.
i pick my panties out of my pajama pants,
sitting on the tile floor and thinking about
how right that all felt.
we go upstairs and get some juice.
i wonder if i should feel anything now.
did i just mature or cross a threshold or something?
i feel nothing and i am pleased.
but when we're back downstairs,
i wonder if i should tell you that i love you.
you just fucked me. doesn't that mean you love me?
i think about the other time i told a guy i loved him.
better not to make that mistake again,
even though i could just blame it on intoxication.
we sit on the couch, under the same blanket but not quite as close.
i'm getting tired and you go upstairs to sleep in your bed
while i sleep alone.
the next morning comes and nothing is mentioned
other than how drunk and high we were
and how awesome it was.
i kinda worry about how we didn't use condoms,
but i'm mostly still buzzed for the drive home.
i imagine happy possibilities.
i wonder if this means that we're dating now.
i see you in school a few days later.
you won't even look at me.
i know we weren't lovers.
now i guess we can't even be friends.
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