Fiction
Christopher Vaught
Untitled
Evie's sound asleep. Her head, once so gently placed, has now given to dead
weight onto the left side of my chest. The palm of her left hand has ceased
to hold mine and finds itself a home on my stomach. Her breathing has a slight
wheeze to it. Mine is strained so not to disturb her. Turning my head a bit
and my nose buries into a section of her hair. All thick and long and still
retaining a faint whiff of whatever shampoo she uses. Mostly I smell an overpowering
scent of smoke, which is funny since Evie's a non smoker. She even got me
to quit, somewhat indirectly. But everyone else at the party was puffing away
and the ventilation, like it is at most of the apartments rented by art students,
was poor. She stirs a bit, shifting her legs against my own. I can feel the
two days worth of stubble on her thighs when they slide down mine searching
for a new position and this would suggest that tonight was not preplanned.
Comfortable, the movement has stopped and Evie is at ease. Asleep. In my arms.
And me. I'm wide fucking awake.
Right now, I'm the argument. The breathing exception to that old wives tale that
after sex men just roll over and fall asleep. That one orgasm and any post coital
reflection is a thing that men simply can't be bothered with. Okay, maybe I'm
dramatizing just a bit. Any other girl. Any other time. Then I'd be the posterboy
for the stereotypical male.
But this isn't just any other girl. And this isn't any other time. This is Evie.
Beautiful Evie. And this is the first and possibly only time we'll have sex.
How this happened is as much a mystery and a stunner as anything I've ever encountered.
Leaving the party, it was just a short, drunk stumble to her place. Thankfully,
it wasn't too cold. It's been rather warm for December. I assumed she just wanted
me to escort her home safely. Perhaps a bit of conversation and then I'd make
my way back to everyone else.
Once we arrived, I almost broke down when I saw the boxes. Stacked atop one another
sealed with packing tape. The bookshelves bare. Her sculptures not in the places
I was used to seeing them. My intuition telling me that her antique tea set was
carefully wrapped up and packed away, while her clothes were treated in the same
fashion she launders them, all lumped together without care.
I felt hollow. Empty with the knowledge that the fantasy I had labored under
these last weeks of her moving off was now a reality. As she ducked off into
the kitchen, I rubbed my eyes and composed myself. This is now. Deal with tomorrow,
well, tomorrow.
Going to the couch, I didn't lower myself lightly in as much as I dropped. I
had started to fidget about with one of the throw pillows, the one that looks
like a giant cheesecracker, when she said something. Her voice, low and soft
like it always seems when we talk on the phone and I ask her to speak up. I didn't
understand what she had said before that split second recognition kicked in and
I realize that I did indeed hear her correctly.
I called out, "No thanks. I believe I've had enough to drink." And
with that statement I reminded myself that I was entirely too buzzed for the
situation I had now been placed in. I know me all too well. No drunk talk. Mustn't
become overly emotional. Say too much. Stick to anything that won't make her
feel awkward. Remember this is Evie and she doesn't want to retread worn territory.
Remember your pledge to be her friend. That if she wanted more, she wouldn't
have broken up with you. It's been hard these last few months. But you've done
good. And there have been outlets. Rewards. Quitting smoking. Getting in shape.
Finding the motivation to finish the comic and getting it published. Don't fuck
this with a drunken moment of weakness. One more day. Just one. Hold out. Stand
tall. Be a hero.
Of course, Evie didn't make things easy for me. Upon finishing my pep talk, she
returns. Standing in the kitchen doorway. Striking an all too familiar pose.
Her right arm extended, bracing itself against the framework. Her head cocked
to the side. One hand on her hip. Her legs fixed into a figure four position.
The right foot resting on its toes. I'd seen this before.
Weeks after we stopped seeing each other and agreeing to be friends, I was at
a party thrown by Little Joe. I was standing in the kitchen talking to Spoon
and someone else whose identity escapes me when I heard her calling my name.
Turning around, she stood just like that against the fridge. Now, I've seen a
lot of porn. I've been with many women who have playacted in some manner trying
to be seductive. Hell, advertising for something as simple as orange juice has
now been designed to remind us of sex. I have a great deal of mental imagery
and nothing I've ever witnessed comes close to this being the sexiest image I've
ever seen.
She's even wearing the same outfit. A pink top with a low neck, clinging to her
frame. That same puffy white skirt that reaches her ankles.
She cooed, "Well, I need some more wine," and retreated back into the
kitchen. Evie's not one for posturing, which is rare (and this is me stereotyping
here) for an art student. Or for that matter, a woman. Honestly, I'd say I'm
more dramatic than her. And it's at this instant that it dawns on me. Whether
she's aware of it or not, I believe she speaks so soft and quietly because her
actions and body speak volumes for her.
Joining me at the couch. I can't help but notice that she didn't leave much cushion
space between our two bodies. I try not to read into this though. We're drunk.
She sipped her wine as music starts. I guess I wasn't paying attention. I was
trying to rundown a checklist of friendly discussion topics while staring at
the bare walls. I didn't see her turn on the stereo. And what starts playing
is the beginning to Arcade Fire's Funeral. The same album I let her borrow to
burn when we first started hanging out. The same album that was my soundtrack
one late night drive into the country while my heart broke. I was once in a long
time relationship. Four years, off and on. And when it ended, I knew it was best.
Yes, I was upset, but I never cried. Evie and I were only dating for a month
(and this would be a generous estimate) and as of right now I've been moved to
tears on three occasions. And none of that single tear down the cheek bullshit.
But the Oh-dear-God-I'm-so-glad-no-one-can-see-me-make-this-ugly-face cries.
The ones that hurt in the gut and throat. "Neighborhood #1 Tunnels" was
underway and I was sitting with Evie. Oh, you play a dirty game of pool, woman.
She looked at me, starting to say something and stopped herself. Me, I say nothing.
I'm afraid of what would come out. Evie and I have had the drunk talk. I don't
remember it being pretty or beneficial.
No, we didn't speak. Seriously, what's left to say? In less than a year of knowing
Evie, we've covered everything there is to say to one another.
I waited. Knowing that I was on borrowed time upon borrowed time. Any minute,
she's gonna chug down what's in the glass and send me off packing. I turn and
look at the door. Once I cross that threshold, that's it. Goodbye for good.
Back to her and I find that she hasn't taken her eyes off me. And we stare at
each other, perhaps too long. But really for me just how long is too long? It's
not like I get this opportunity tomorrow. I smile. All of this time we've known
each other and I never decided if I like looking at her eyes through her glasses
or over the top of them. Her head is always tilted at an angle where I'm looking
down. Her blue eyes, dilated like always. Which is funny, since Evie doesn't
do drugs.
She dropped her gaze for just a second and returns as if she's gonna speak again,
but instead bites her lip. And before I can ask her What, she's killed the wine.
Dropped the glass. And mounts me.
Looking back, this was perhaps the best tactic. I had no time to second guess
myself. No time to say something dumb to ruin the moment. No time to worry if
the whiskey would keep me from performing. (Even though the cock acts of its
own accord, tonight we were of the same mindset)
Evie has always been fearless, in ways that I can't. Courageous as she was, removing
both my shirt and then hers under the bright lights of the living room, it wasn't
long before modesty would send us off to the darkened bedroom.
Now, we didn't date a long time. And, I was never in a hurry to push things physically.
I figured we'd get to that. Aside from a couple times that we made out, most
nights we just spooned. Tonight, there was a lot of discovery. A lot of foreplay.
Which is good. I like foreplay. And I got an eyeful of things that I once before
only saw with clothes on.
Forever recorded in my memory will be the perspective of different positions.
How the light from outside along with the windowpane formed little blue squares
onto her pale skin. The curves. And points. And how satisfying that the view
I had while going down on her was exactly how I always imagined it could be.
Right now, my arm tingles from holding her, but I don't mind really. And here,
awake, I can give her a once over, I know that what I'll take away from tonight
is the way we looked at each other. Generally, I bury my head. Or I look away.
Jesus, the faces people make during sex are too laughable to continue sometimes.
Not Evie. She held my face and pulled me closer. Tonight she wanted everything
and I wanted nothing more than to give it to her. Tonight, I was finally able
to.
Why or how this happened, I can't say for sure. Maybe she read the desperation
in my face and took pity on me? I have been accused of wearing my heart on my
sleeve.
Maybe she was just horny.
Perhaps she just wanted something to remember me by or the time she spent here?
Or that we need closure?
It's anyone's guess. And I'm not gonna fuck it up like I always do by asking
silly questions.
Right now everything is like it should be.
The clock on her bedside table says seven, but it's still far too dark outside.
her clock must be fast. I can't help but notice that the little ceramic figurines
from the flea market are missing. She wanted both, but only bought the zebra.
I went back the next day, alone and surprised her with the lion.
I could fall asleep. Easily. But I can't.
I go to sleep. I'll snore. And she'll wake.
I feel almost like a visitor as it is, grateful for this night. If she wakes,
she might feel guilty or whatever and ask me to leave. Whose to say?
I need a reprieve. A last second call from the governor.
Evie, if it were up to me, I'd say sleep forever. And if you do wake, don't get
up. And I'll lay here, breathing shallow and exhausted and awake. Holding you,
numbed arm and all. And I'll keep those thoughts and feelings to myself. I'll
be whatever you need for as long as you'll let me.
And I'll sleep once you're gone.
When I'm alone.
God, what I wouldn't do right now for a cigarette.
