Tricks

  Now, at Least

  I won’t have to lie about where

  I’m going tonight. I can omit

  confessing the fun stuff, should

  any of it actually happen. Finally

  I get to clock out. Need to shower

  off the customers’ germs, put on

  clean clothes. Girls love clean.

  I’m good with giving it to them.

  It’s warm for late March, but then

  it never gets really cool in Vegas.

  The dry desert air is peppered

  with exhaust and city noise.

  It’s a short ride home, radio

  screaming, and I’m singing

  to myself as I park, head up

  the walk to the front door. Life

  is good, and I can’t help but smile

  as I go inside. Mom and Jack

  are in the kitchen. Even from

  here, the tone of Mom’s voice

  makes me know something’s

  up. I close the distance quietly.

  Wait and see what the doctor says.

  Could be lots of things besides …

  Doctor?

  Is someone hurt? Sick? What?

  I push through the door. “Lots

  of things besides what?” My eyes

  whip back and forth between them.

  Both their faces are the color of old

  paper. Almost, but not quite, white.

  Jack recovers first. Not important,

  son. I’ve just been having some

  problems with indigestion. Went

  in for tests. Could be an ulcer.

  Or maybe just your mother’s

  cookin’. Nothing to worry about.

  Then why is Mom wearing

  worry in two long horizontal

  lines across her forehead and

  two short vertical creases just

  above her nose? She’s easier

  to read than a comic book.

  Right Now

  I don’t really want to read her,

  at least not all the way to the last

  page. So I’m relieved when she

  reaches deep down for some humor.

  You want to blame my cooking?

  Then take me out to dinner.

  The garage door slams and in

  marches Cory. He’s thirteen,

  a skater, and thinks he’s tough.

  I let him maintain the fantasy.

  Cory may be pushing six feet

  tall, but he’s a little kid inside.

  We all clam up immediately,

  something Cory totally misses

  as he launches a verbal upchuck.

  I can’t believe it! They outlawed

  boards at the park. Something

  about liability. Damn it to hell!

  Mom sucks in her breath, and Jack

  jumps up from his chair. What

  did you say, young man? You

  apologize to your mother right

  this minute! His face is bright

  red. But he doesn’t look sick.

  Cory does not apologize. He stomps

  into the living room, muttering

  a long string of very bad curse

  words. Hmph … mother … sucker …

  hmph … have to if … Hey, did he

  say something about me?

  Jack trails him, and Mom and

  I follow. We are just in time to

  see Jack grab Cory by the collar.

  He spins him around until they’re

  face-to-face. This is still my house,

  young man. Now you apologize.

  There is something mean in

  Cory’s eyes, something I don’t

  remember seeing before. But Jack

  is in charge. Cory lowers his glare

  to the floor. Sorry. Now let me go.

  He tempers his tone. Please.

  It’s Almost Seven

  By the time I pick up Ronnie,

  who claims the front seat like

  she owns “shotgun.” Damn,

  the girl is fine, in a short denim

  skirt and skimpy lavender tank

  top. Oh, Ronnie and her tanks.

  Wave nice to my mommy, she

  says, turning to do the same.

  Then she yells out the window,

  Don’t worry, Mom. We won’t

  stay out too late. Cross my heart.

  Now, a mean whisper. Let’s go!

  She doesn’t have to ask twice.

  Last thing I need is her mom

  smelling the bud in my pocket.

  I aim for the freeway. “You look

  great.” Compliments are good ice-

  breakers. Ronnie is the ice queen.

  But tonight she seems almost

  thawed. Not quite warm, but

  not completely bitchy. She sniffs

  the air. Smells like you brought

  the party. We’ve never gotten high

  together. First time for everything.

  By the Time

  We reach Frozen75, we’ve def

  gotten high together. This guy

  I work with scores really good

  bud, and he’s not above dealing

  a little to me. “So what do you

  think about the smoke?”

  The ice queen has defrosted all

  the way to room temp. She laughs.

  It’s awesome. Then she reaches

  over, touches my leg. Tonight

  will be fun. Thanks for taking me.

  Her hand strokes my thigh gently.

  Which raises my heart rate,

  which raises several questions.

  Why me? Why now? Why go out

  of her way for tonight? But one

  of those questions will do for now.

  “I … I have to ask. Why me?”

  Out of the corner of my eye

  (I don’t dare look away from

  the road), I can see her shake

  her head. You really don’t know,

  do you? Cody, I’ve been in love

  with you for a very long time.

  A Poem by Eden Streit

  Being in Love

  Means hard questions.

  Will I? Won’t I? Should

  I? Could I? Yes? No?

  You?

  Me? There is no me

  without you. Is there

  a you without

  me?

  And if we’re truly one,

  how will I breathe when

  circumstance pries us

  apart?

  You are my oxygen, my

  sustenance, the blood

  inside my veins. When

  we

  touch, you are my skin,

  hold all my joy inside

  of you. When you go, I

  wither.

  Eden

  Saturday Evening

  Papa is officiating a wedding. Mama,

  of course, went along. Few enough

  excuses to get all dressed up around here.

  Eve put on her Sunday best and went too.

  The bride has a really cute little brother,

  just about a year older than Eve.

  The groom has a nice-looking brother

  too, but I’m not the least bit interested.

  I’ve got someone I’d much rather see,

  so I begged off. Told them I didn’t

  feel very well. God is going to strike me

  down for sure if I keep lying this way.

  But I’ve got at least three hours

  to spend with Andrew. There’s a park

  right down the street from our house.

  It’s a short walk on a cool night,

  but by the time I reach Andrew’s truck,

  I’m hot all over. From the inside out.

  No One Around

  I slip into the Tundra unobserved.

  As the interior light goes dark
,

  I move into Andrew’s arms, accept

  his gentle kiss. But we don’t dare

  stay here. “Let’s go for a drive. Can’t

  believe how much I’ve missed you.”

  He grins and puts the truck in gear.

  It’s only been four days, you know.

  I slide my hand into the warmth of his.

  “And all I could think about was you.”

  True. Too true. In class. PE. The library.

  At home. Bible study. The dinner table.

  Faces. Whiteboards. Gym mats. Smudged

  together. Bells. Laughter. Curses. Blurred

  into white noise. Locker room armpits. Floor wax.

  Gourmet cafeteria. Marker ink. All smeared

  into senseless potpourri. Four days, the only

  clear picture, Andrew’s face. The only sound

  I wanted to hear, his soft hello. The only scent

  my nose kept sniffing for, alfalfa green.

  We Drive into the Foothills

  Andrew knows this area well. He turns

  up a dirt road, slick with spring melt ice.

  Unlikely we’ll run into anyone back here.

  Certainly not any old spy from Papa’s church.

  Andrew parks. Pretty tonight. Looks

  like you could reach out and touch

  the stars. Come on. He tugs me into

  the chill March air, lifts me into the bed

  of his truck. There’s a double sleeping bag

  there. We climb inside, and he slides his arm

  around my shoulder, pulls my head against

  his chest. Nice. He sighs. Very, very nice.

  Suddenly we’re kissing, beneath an ocean

  of distant suns. Can’t believe it’s me here,

  in this amazing place, with this amazing guy.

  I want him to hold me forever, never let go.

  I feel like I’m in a movie. Unrehearsed words

  tumble out of my mouth. “I love you.”

  There

  Said it. Didn’t really mean to, but now

  I’ve gone and done it. I tense, waiting

  for his response. It’s swift. Oh God,

  Eden, I love you, too. How did I ever

  live without you? It’s like I was missing

  a huge part of me. The best part of me.

  Until I found you. I want … I want …

  He loses his words. He never does that.

  I kiss his temples. Close his eyes with

  kisses. “What? What do you want?”

  His eyes stay closed. I stare up into the night

  as he says, I want to be with you always,

  to share forever with you. I want to give

  you more than I have to give now—security,

  a comfortable life. He pauses. Considers.

  Decides to finish. I want to take from you

  what I’ve no right to take. Not now. Not yet.

  But that doesn’t make me want it less….

  I Get What He Means

  And as much as I would like to chalk

  it up to him being a guy, truth is I want

  it too. At least I think I do, and only when

  I’m this close to Andrew. When I am, God

  forgive me, I want to know what it means

  to give myself to him so completely. Want

  to feel what it’s like when it’s absolutely

  right. Not that I’ve felt it when it’s wrong,

  or felt “it” at all. But I don’t want my heart

  to feel wrong about my body feeling good.

  I have no doubt it will feel incredible with Andrew.

  “I want to too. But I’m scared. I’ve never …”

  I know. I know you haven’t, and I know

  you’re scared. I’m scared too. You might

  not believe this, but I’ve never either. He

  stops. Smiles. Don’t tell anyone, okay?

  When you’re ready, when you trust me

  enough, I want you to be my first. My only.

  I So Want to Be

  His first. His only. I so want him to be

  mine. “I promise to be your first.

  “Your only. If we just had a little more

  time, I would be those things tonight… .”

  No. Not tonight. Not in the cold, hard bed

  of a pickup truck. When we do it, it will

  be in a warm feather bed, with soft quilts

  and pillows you fall into. I want it

  to be perfect. And if we don’t get it right

  the first time … He lets me finish.

  “Practice makes perfect?” We laugh

  together. Easy. Meant to be. And I know

  the first time someone makes love to me,

  it will be perfect. Because it will be Andrew.

  We Should Head Back

  But I can’t. Not quite yet. I need some

  answers that will prove he means what

  he says. “So why did you wait? And how

  did you know the right person was me?”

  I know all guys are supposed to be sluts

  or something. But sex with just anyone

  never did seem exactly right to me.

  Maybe it’s my Catholic upbringing,

  or hell, who knows? Maybe I need Viagra

  already. He laughs. Nah, that can’t be

  the problem. When I’m with you, I don’t

  need a pill to want to make love to you.

  He always says the right things.

  Maybe he should be a politician.

  As for you, I suspected you might be

  the right person the first night we met.

  You were so sure of yourself, your beliefs,

  and you didn’t let me sway you. I loved

  your self-confidence, your obvious loyalty.

  Your solid sense of right and wrong.

  Okay, so maybe he’s not exactly politician

  material. “When did you know for sure?”

  The first time I kissed you. One kiss,

  I was totally hooked. Addicted to you.

  I could never love anyone the way I love

  you. I’d follow you across the universe.

  I look up at the sky, brimming stars

  and the rise of a waning moon.

  “The universe is a big place. If I was lost

  up there, how would you ever find me?”

  He gathers me in, kisses me gently.

  Don’t you know? We’re connected

  by an invisible chain. It’s very long, very

  light. But also very strong. It can’t rust.

  Can’t break. And the only thing that can

  sever it is if you ever stop loving me.

  We Drive Back into Town

  Back to the park, which is deserted.

  Dark, but for a single streetlight

  at the far end. Andrew parks away

  from it and I slide across the seat, into

  his arms. One last kiss. Or two. I don’t

  want to stop. Don’t want to go home.

  “I’ll never stop loving you,” I whisper.

  “And I want to make love with you soon.”

  My body aches with wanting that very

  thing. “Maybe we should run away.”

  If I thought that was the right thing

  to do, I wouldn’t hesitate one minute.

  But it’s not. You’d never forgive yourself,

  and that would mean never forgiving me.

  Once you turn eighteen, once I graduate,

  we can go anywhere. I’ll get a job. You can

  go to school. Or stay home and let me take

  care of you. Whatever makes you happy.

  He kisses me one last time. As long as

  we’re together, everything will be all right.

  I Walk Home Slowly

  Trying to soak up the things Andrew

  said tonigh
t. Sponge them up, absorb

  them through my skin, into my flesh, so

  they’ll always live inside of me. I know

  Andrew and I were meant to be together.

  How can I prove it to my parents? How

  can I make them understand that love

  this real, this deep, must come from God?

  I look up again at the night sky, but here,

  city lights take center stage, mute

  the celestial backdrop. I don’t belong

  here, in the city. Don’t belong in my

  parents’ cold house. I’m a stray, called

  to another place. A wild place, where

  rules and expectations don’t dare intrude.

  A warm place, safe in Andrew’s arms.

  The House Is Quiet

  They’re still not home, and that’s great

  by me. I don’t need questions. Don’t want

  to make up excuses. Have no patience

  for a sister-to-sister chat session.

  The clock says nine thirty, but it seems

  much later. I go into my room, trade

  jeans for a soft flannel nightgown,

  lie on my bed in the dark, listening

  to silence. Something happened tonight.

  Something wonderful. Terrifying.

  An awakening. This must be how Eve

  (the original) felt after taking a bite

  of forbidden fruit. Every nerve on fire,

  every fiber of flesh alive with desire.

  If Andrew was here, beside me on my

  not-exactly-a-feather bed, I would give

  him my virginity, give it gladly, without

  a second thought. It belongs to him.

  I close my eyes, return to the foothills,

  to the back of the Tundra, to a double

  sleeping bag. I slip inside, into the warm

  envelope of goose down. And Andrew.

  His voice fills my head. I want to

  take from you what I’ve no right to.…

  Oh, Andrew. I want that too. Tonight.

  Right now. My body is begging to learn

  what your body wants to teach it. Need

  blisters up, and with it, a way to teach

  myself some of what I’m dying to know.

  Abstinence programs encourage it.

  Mama not only discourages it, but swears

  it put Mary Magdalene on the highway

  to degradation. What Mama forgets is that Mary

  Magdalene was the forgiveness poster child.

  My Hand, Disguised

  As Andrew’s hand, moves lightly

  down my neck, over collarbone,