I felt the beginnings of an uncomfortable blush creep its way up my neck to my cheeks. When I was finished dressing I cleared my throat and glanced at him. I could just make out the shape of his bare back.

“I’m all done.”

He twisted, his eyes moved over my body still wrapped in the blanket, and he nodded. “Okay, let’s get back.”

Duane took a few steps, carrying him maybe ten feet, but then stopped. I hadn’t yet moved as I was more or less swimming in a sea of mental melancholy. He might be right, we might be suited, but so what? Nothing could ever come of it other than a few months—at best, years—of being together.

In my typical fashion of getting ahead of myself, my mind leapt to a time two years from now when I would be ready to leave Green Valley. What if Duane and I were extremely well suited? What if we became serious? What if I couldn’t leave him?

I glanced up just in time to sense then see him returning to where I stood. Instinctively, I took a step back; but he held me by my arms and halted my retreat.

“Tina, your cousin,” he said, his voice thick with both hesitation and ferocity.

“Yes, Tina is my cousin.”

“She dared me to kiss her.”

I pressed my lips together and swallowed, feeling again like I had heartburn. “You did kiss her, and she’s your ex-girlfriend.”

“She was never my girl.”

I didn’t want to argue semantics. “Right, you’ve been with Tina since before I left for college, but she was never your girl. What about her?”

He hesitated for a beat, then said, “You remember who I was with before you left for college?”

I responded through gritted teeth, “Duane, what about Tina?”

He seemed to shake himself before starting again. “Tina…” He nodded, then took another step, bringing him firmly inside my personal space. “When I kissed her earlier, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Well, it looked like something to me.”

   “It wasn’t. Not with her. But with you, at the community center, I meant what I said. I’ve always wanted you. And I am sorry you didn’t know it was me, because…” His voice lost its fierce edge, but roughened, his next words emerged sounding like an aching confession. “I’d really like for there to be a next time.”

CHAPTER 5

“Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you've never been, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground.”

― Judith Thurman

 

~Jessica~

I was distracted.

Not even Rick Steves’ Europe could hold my attention.

It was all Duane’s fault. His words and lips, and hands, and eyes, and his penis’ fault.

He had a nice one; at least it had felt nice in comparison to the only other penis of my acquaintance, thick and long and smooth and rock hard. I didn’t get a peek at it backstage or when he’d dared me to go skinny-dipping. However¸ I could recall with surprising clarity what it looked like when we were younger, when he’d been naked chasing me through the woods, or the time before that when a bunch of us went skinny-dipping in the waterfalls near Burgess. He was circumcised. I’d noted it as a teenager because I’d just finished eighth grade health class (also known as sex education).

I never expected to be fixating on Duane’s circumcised penis. Yet there I was, sitting at my desk at work, grading pop quizzes, trying to recall the glorious weight of him in my hand…

How irritating, because now I was having a lusty hot flash.

I groaned, letting my red pen drop as my face fell into my hands.

How had I even arrived here, in this purgatory? Yes, I was drooling over the memory of his sexual magnetism from afar. But it was more than that. So much more. And this more was beyond distressing. Duane’s admission—that our time backstage at the community center had been something he’d wanted for a long time and he wanted a repeat—felt overwhelming.

I’d known him forever. I knew all about him, or I thought I did.

His confession felt like finding out my cat—Sir Edmund Hillary, named after the first man to climb Mt Everest—could talk and wanted to give me a tongue bath. At best, Sir Hillary was indifferent to my existence. At worst, he may have been plotting my demise. He was an audacious Calico psychopath, always pushing his litterbox from its place beside the toilet in the bathroom directly in front of the shower, but only when I was in the shower…

Anyway, I decided I was cursed by the spirit of J.R.R. Tolkien for my ironic sexy Gandalf blasphemy. That’s why I couldn’t stop thinking about Duane Winston’s body parts and his perplexing suggestion we were suited.

Five days had passed since Halloween and my busy, bizarre night. Of course I’d avoided him since. What would I say? What could I say?

Hi, Duane. I don’t know whether I like you or not, and you confuse the hell out of me, but I’d like to buy you a piece of pie so we can argue about the color of the sky. Let’s schedule that.

Or how about,

Hello, Duane. I obviously lack self-respect and common sense because—even though you kissed my cousin, your sexy stripper ex-girlfriend right in front of me—I don’t find that weird or creepy or disrespectful. Let’s go out for ice cream cones so I can watch you lick yours.

Making matters more muddled, Tina had cornered me Sunday afternoon at Daisy’s Nut House. My daddy and I had gone out for breakfast after Sunday service. She’d been super friendly. She wanted to get together, hang out, do cousin stuff.

We hadn’t really spoken to each other since we were thirteen. I hadn’t been cool enough to be her friend when we were in high school. When I went to college and she started working as an exotic dancer, we’d rarely interacted, and then only during family get-togethers.

But now she wanted to re-establish a relationship.

And I was having oddly whimsical and amorous thoughts about her ex-boyfriend.

“So, are you ready to tell me what happened when you disappeared with one of the Winston twins?”

I didn’t look up at Claire’s question even though she startled me a little. I could tell by the direction of her voice that she was standing in the doorway of my classroom.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to watch you stare into space for several minutes before plunking your head into your hands and making those lovely moaning sounds. I can’t decide what the sounds mean, but they sure are interesting.”

I shook my head and peered at her through my fingers. “A circumcised penis.”

I was gratified when she choked on air, “Ah…what?”

“A circumcised penis. That’s what happened. And some hot looks, hotter kisses, truth or dare, then maybe we’re suited—I don’t know—skinny-dipping and rubbing for warmth and—”

“Stop, stop right there.” She held her hands up. “We can’t have this kind of conversation at work.”

“Why not? Is it against policy?”

“Not precisely, but drinking while at work is a big no-no.”

“I’m not drinking.”

“But I’d like to be a little tipsy if we’re going to talk about the Winston brothers and whether or not they’re circumcised.”

I let my hands drop and gave her a little smile. “You went to school with Billy and Cletus, sandwiched between the two, right? Billy a grade above, Cletus a grade behind?”

She nodded and said quietly, “Yes, but I know Jethro best. He and Ben were best friends.”

I could feel my smile turn sad before I could stop it, and regretted the unintentional pity that must’ve shown in my eyes. Claire looked away and cleared her throat, looking equal parts resigned and impatient.

“Ben used to joke that he didn’t have the patience to learn the Winston boys’ names, so he called all of Jethro’s brothers Jethro Jr.” Claire addressed this to her feet and paired it with a small laugh.