Prick of the Spindle: Fiction: Bosworth: Grease Stains, Kismet, and Maternal Wisdom

© Cynthia Reeser, Femme Fatale

Grease Stains, Kismet, and Maternal Wisdom : A Novel
By Mel Bosworth

Chapters 5 through 6

Outside the bar, a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk.

“Is that the line to get in?” asked Samantha.

“Yes. No. I think everyone is just smoking. Good ol’ Massachusetts.”

Grinning, we sidestepped through the throng of smokers and went inside. The room was filled with cheers and jeers and lots of dark, polished wood and high-backed booths. Several screens around the room showed the end of the basketball game. The Celtics were losing. We moved to the far end of the bar.

“What are you drinking?” I asked.

Samantha told me. Then she ran off to the bathroom. I was left alone at the edge of the bar. Snaking a fifty out of my wallet, I waited. The bartender was slow, preoccupied with nothing. Finally, our eyes caught.

“I’ll take a this and a that,” I said. He nodded and moved off. Samantha returned and wrapped her arms around my waist. We looked up at the screens and waited for the drinks. They came and we moved off to a booth in the corner.

I held onto Samantha’s thigh. She pressed close to me. We were a couple. We were giddy with alcohol and crazy fish on a plate; we were giddy with each other. We sipped and cuddled and watched the game. The crowd inside was antsy, shaky. The Celtics were losing and we were inside a bar just outside of Boston. We needed shots of something.

“Shots?” I asked.

“Okay. What?”

“You pick.”

“Not tequila. I go nuts when I drink tequila.”

Hmmm…Maybe we should get some tequila.

“Ok,” I said. “How about a wimpy shot? Something like a red-headed slut or a grape-crush?”

“What’s in that?”

“I’m not sure. But they’re both easy.”

We got shots. I downed mine in one motion. Samantha sipped hers. She was so classy. The blood rushed to our faces, our ears and noses were red and our lips wet. We were drunks. Two drunks sitting in a bar. We were partners in crime.

The Celtics were losing. They were down ten with less than a minute to go. A blue-eyed, little waitress came over to the booth. She bowed. We were the King and the Queen of the bar. Everyone knew it. We knew it.

“Are you two alright over here?”

I pointed to our glasses.

“Fire it up?” I asked. She nodded.

“Do you want to start a tab?”

“Perfect.”

The waitress went away. In front of us, in the middle of the room, a woman paced back and forth, back and forth, often covering her face with her hands. On the screen, Paul Pierce was at the line shooting free-throws. Some smart-ass in the room said, “Don’t fucking miss.” And Pierce missed but it didn’t matter anyway. The Celtics were going to lose. Fuck it. I squeezed Samantha’s leg.

“How are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m fine. This is so much fun.”

“It’s too bad the Celtics are losing, though. This place is gonna be mad when they lose.”

“Yeah.”

“Another shot?”

“Okay.”

I looked around for our waitress. She had disappeared. I got up.

“I’m going to get shots at the bar. Our waitress is cute, but she’s slow.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“I love you, David.”

“I know.”

I went to the bar. I flagged the bartender and ordered. He nodded and proceeded to move to the far of the bar where he could lean. He sucked on a few limes and stared off into space. What the fuck? I thought. He was leaning and sucking for so long that I thought he had already forgotten my order. I gave him the crazy eyes and he kind of nodded slowly, as if waking from a daydream. What a fuck.

Across the room, over the tops of the booths, I could see Samantha. She was sitting, smiling, all alone at our big table in our big booth. I tried to get her attention by making silly faces but she didn’t look over at me. It was ok. I could play the voyeur. It was how we had met. I’d been watching her. I watched her now. Our ears and noses were red and our lips wet. Two drunks in a bar. The shots came.

“Thanks, you fucking piece of shit,” I mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said, Thanks, I’ve got to take my seat.”

“Whatever, man.” He offered me a lime to suck on. I ignored him and walked away with the shots. I slid next to Samantha.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

“Did I miss anything?”

Samantha pointed to the pacing woman.

“That woman is bugging out.”

“Big Celtics fan,” I said.

“Oh yeah.”

“Shot?”

“Yeah.”

We drank our shots. I downed mine in one motion. Samantha sipped hers. She was so classy. The Celtics lost. People whined.

“Fuck.”

“Bullshit.”

“That sucked. Let’s scram.”

“Nice work, Pierce.”

“Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Bullshit bullshit bullshit.”

But we were still smiling; the King and the Queen. I was glad that Samantha got to see some of a Celtics game so close to Boston, even if they did lose. The other patrons tucked their tails between their legs and poured out onto the sidewalk and the street. The room got quiet. Then Depeche Mode began to pump through the speakers. I liked this bar. Samantha liked it too.

“I love Depeche Mode,” she said.

“Me too. Violator is their best album.”

Samantha stared at me then with eyes filled with love and alcohol. She bit her lip. I wanted to bite them too.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Most guys hate Depeche Mode.”

I’m not most guys.

“I like good music,” I explained. “Depeche Mode is good music.”

Two drunks in a bar. Two drunks in love in a bar. In Hudson. Just outside of Boston. Our waitress returned.

“How late are you open?” Samantha asked. It was the classic alcoholic question. I loved that.

“Until one,” said the waitress. “You’ve got plenty of time.”

“Great.”

“Drinks?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

The waitress left and we talked. The bar was wide open, calm. Samantha told me more crazy stories about the men she’d dated. I told her more crazy stories about the women I’d dated. We liked to trade crazy stories, just like at the restaurant, only now, we offered more detail. We were getting drunk, loose. I was squeezing her thigh. She pressed close to me. We got up and went outside to have a cigarette. And as we were dancing on the sidewalk, a group of heavy New York accents came spilling toward us. They were drunk, a bit rowdy.

“Hey. Let’s go inside this bar.”

“Nah. It’s dead. Look at it. It’s dead.”

“No one is in there.”

“We’re in there,” we said. We were wearing our monster suit again. Arms, legs, penis, vagina. Two heads. They loved Samantha immediately. They had to be cordial to me because I was with her, but they’d kill me given the chance.

“And who are you?” asked a bloke wearing a rugby shirt.

“I’m Samantha. I’m from Washington. I’m hot. I’m always right.”

She never says that. I don’t know why I keep writing it. I must think it’s funny.

Rugby guy told us they were visiting from New York. Then we all went inside the bar. They offered to buy us drinks. We had a posse now.

Back inside, we filled the now-empty bar. We took up stools. We got drinks. We chatted with our new friends. We took some pictures. They quickly learned that we were the King and Queen of the bar. They were our servants. They worked for us. We were Gods. Our ears and noses were red and our lips wet. We were drunks. We were in love.

“Who wants a shot of green monkey piss?” someone asked.

“I do!”

Samantha was one of the first “I do’s” and I looked over to her, surprised. She had turned into party girl. I loved this. The New York posse, who had come with a girl but who was dust compared to Samantha, loved this too. They were in love with Samantha. They wanted to cut my throat.

We slammed a row of shots. I tossed a twenty at someone and someone else ordered more drinks. I was drinking Jack Daniel’s through a straw; I had been for some time.

Music and drinks and we were the bar now, our group of miscreants and would-be murderers; we sang and laughed and a mountain of muscle sat next to Samantha and me after we motioned for him to come closer to the King and Queen. He told us a story.

“Guess who we fucking saw tonight?” he asked.

“Tom Brady?” I guessed.

“No. But you’re on the right track.”

“Josh Beckett?”

“Yes. Fucking Josh Beckett. He was at the liquor store buying five gallons of Hennessey. He had a hood up and he was pretending he was talking on his cell phone the whole time. What a dick.”

These guys hated everything about Boston sports teams. They were from New York. It was their birthright to hate Boston. But they needed us, just like we needed them. Samantha fanned herself with a menu.

“I forgot to tell you something,” she whispered to me.

“What?”

“I forgot to tell you about the dancing.”

The dancing…The dancing? What does that mean? Was she a stripper in Seattle? How did I miss that one? But no. Samantha just loved to dance. And so she danced.

“Oh my god,” someone said.

“Look at this.”

“That dude is the luckiest guy in here.”

“Let’s fucking kill him.”

“Oh my god.”

A small guy in a paisley shirt that reminded me of something from my own wardrobe pushed me. His name was Phil.

“Go dance with her!”

I shook my head. “No way. I’m watching this just like you guys.

Phil pushed me again.

“Go dance with her!”

“No way. Out of my realm of possibility. I’d ruin it for everyone.”

Phil cheered. Samantha danced for us. Her dark hair whirled like a dervish. Her hips swayed rhythmically while a white smile illuminated the bronzed, glistening flesh of her face. But she stopped dancing after getting everyone excited and she fell into me, laughing, smiling. Our ears and noses were red and our lips wet. We kissed.

“You’re awesome,” I told her.

“I love to dance!”

“You’re awesome.”

Then someone came over to me and whispered into my ear, “Dude, we’ve decided...We’re going to kill you and kidnap your girlfriend.”

“Please don’t.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

Good enough . I had bought myself some time. Now I had to make more friends. I bought more drinks; someone else bought more drinks. Everyone’s ears and noses were red and everyone’s lips wet. We were all drunk. The cute waitress appeared at my side and I settled up our tab from earlier. I wouldn’t know how much money I gave her. It wouldn’t matter.

“More green monkey piss!” someone boomed.

And so we lined up more shots. We drank them. Then we lined up more. We drank them. We were caving in. We were caving in fast.

Do we need to settle up any more with the horrid bartender? I wondered. Last call had come and gone. The lights were coming up now. Phil was making some bad noise with the blonde, shithead bartender. More money flew; we left a tip of some sort. We were nice to the waitress. Fuck the bartender. But we tipped him anyway. Then, the street.

Everything was tunnel-vision. Were we in the street? No, we were in an alleyway next to the bar. The air was thick. It was dark out. Shadows and light. Samantha squatted next to a dumpster. I followed suit and pissed on a metal staircase.

Did we say goodbye to the New York posse? I wondered. I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Job well done.

Samantha had become a puppet without strings. She was floppy. So floppy. And beautiful. I could see this through my tunnel-vision. She was crying. Her bag was on the ground. I slung it across my chest.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” I asked.

“I don’t…I don’t want you to go.”

She was crying. I held her face.

“Look at me.”

With wet, hazel eyes, she looked up at me. Our ears and noses were red and our lips wet.

“I’m right here,” I said. “I’m right in front of you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” We kissed. Then I was beckoned by a dull sense of responsibility.

“But we have to get out of here,” I said. “We have to get a cab.”

Samantha flailed her arms. She pushed me off.

“No. Get off of me.”

“It’s okay. Listen, we have to get out of here. You need to pull it together for just a few minutes, okay?”

There was more flailing. I wasn’t sure if she recognized me anymore. She sat on the ground. She smoked a cigarette. I stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk. I waved down a taxi. I opened the back door and stuck my head inside.

“It’ll be just a second, buddy. Just hang on. I’ll pay.”

“Whatever.”

I ran back into the alley and tried to scoop up Samantha. She was floppy, uncooperative. It was madness but I loved it.

“The cab is waiting,” I tried to tell her. “We’ve got to go now.”

“What? Fuck off.”

Gravity was having its way with her body. She would sleep in the alley if I let her. But I couldn’t do that. The New York boys must have been nearby, waiting to see if I’d leave her. But I wasn’t going to. She was my girlfriend. And so we wrestled. I won. I pulled her into my tunnel-vision and we made it into the back of the cab. She slumped against the door, her head low.

“Ledgewood,” I slurred. The car moved. I blacked out in the backseat with Samantha. When I opened my eyes, I saw that we were moving up Ledgewood and it was dark out and it was quiet.

“Stop right here!” I yelled.

The car came to a fast stop. I’d startled the driver. He must have thought we were dead. We were stopped at the end of the street. I tried to stir Samantha. She was making wet, drunken sounds. She was wasted. So was I. But someone had to run this show.

“C’mon, baby. We’re here. We have to get out now.”

I opened the back door.

“How much, buddy?” I asked.

“MMmmmmuuuussssshhh,” said the driver. I had no fucking clue what he said.

“Sounds good, my man.”

I shoved a twenty in his direction, maybe more, maybe less. I was confident that whatever I gave him would cover it. It was a short ride. Samantha was resisting me again. Then suddenly she was lucid.

“Where the fuck is my bag?”

“I have it. It’s right here across my chest.”

She sighed drunken relief.

“We have to get out now, baby,” I said.

There were grumbles and grunts, what the fucks and assholes and growls. She got out of the car. Or maybe I pulled her out of the car. We stood in the street. She stumbled in slow-motion onto a grassy bank; the front of someone’s lawn. The door of the cab was still open. I quickly assessed the situation and realized that I had to close the door. And so I did.

“Thanks, pal.”

Then I ran over to the lawn where Samantha had crashed. I worried that she would hit her head on the road. She was taking her clothes off.

“What are you…?”

Fuck it. I helped her take her clothes off. I took off my own clothes. We kissed and rolled around and the ground was soft and cool and we were in the grass and in the leaves and twigs and I pulled off her pants and then her panties and I went down on her and got a mouthful of leaves and I spat them out and I thought, This is so bad…We have to get out of here, but we weren’t stopping.

“We have to get out of here.”

Kiss, smooch, Kiss.

“We can’t be here. This is so fucking bad. We’re on the side of the road, baby.”

Kiss, smooch, Kiss.

Samantha was completely naked. So was I. We were fucking on a lawn. Then we were fucking on the side of the road. I looked at her tits, soft and white, under the streetlight. I worried about her head again. She was half in/ half out of the road.

This is bad. We can’t be here.

Then a red car rolled by. It rolled by slowly. We were naked and fucking in the road and on a lawn. It was late. It was dark.

I bet that car heard us and wanted to see the show. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I saw lights come on at the house we were terrorizing so they must have got a good show too. Thank god no one called the cops. Thank god. They probably would’ve brought Samantha home and I’d be in the clink on rape charges. But…People know love when they see it. We were in love.

We stopped. We had to stop. I pulled Samantha out of the road. She was spaghetti. I almost dropped her. I was getting wavy now too. The green monkey piss was racing through my system. I was failing fast, melting. We had to get out of there before something went wrong.

“Samantha, you have to pull it together. We have to get out of here.”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

I tried to round up our clothes. I was having a hard time finding everything. I got my pants and my shirt and my shoes on and fuck—I couldn’t find my cell phone. That was bad.

Where the fuck is it?

Sparking my lighter, I tip-toed around the lawn in search of my phone. Samantha was still naked, sitting, lying. I found my phone, miraculously, pressed down in the grass. Then I found her purse. I slung it across my chest. Then I found her pants. Then her shirt. Then her little, long-sleeved hoodie. I pulled her over and started to dress her. It was hard work. Samantha didn’t resist, but she didn’t help either. Finally, I got her pants on. Then the hoodie. I stuffed her shirt and bra into my back pockets. We were almost ready to move. Then she pulled off all of her clothes again. I was exasperated, but patient.

“Samantha.”

“No.”

“C’mon.”

“No.”

We went through the routine again. Pants on, then hoodie. We were covered in leaves and twigs. We were almost ready. Samantha started to take off the hoodie. I stopped her this time.

“Samantha, listen to me. It’s late. We’re on the side of the road. We can’t be here anymore. We have to go back to the house. We have to leave this place. What I need you to do is pull it together, just for a few minutes so we can get inside. You can do this. You can do this.”

Her head was low and her hair was full of leaves and twigs. I still had a hard-on. She looked up at me and smiled. Then she said, “No.”

Fuck it, I thought. I’m not fighting with her anymore. We need action. We need to elude the police, the neighborhood watch. And so I pulled her to her feet.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Here we go.”

I moved Samantha up the street. I didn’t have to carry her. Once her body was set in motion, it remembered how to walk, and so it did. It didn’t walk well the whole way, but her body was walking, and I was holding onto her, and she was slowly coming to the surface of the alcohol, she was slowly coming back to me.

“We’re so fucked,” I said.

“I don’t want you to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

We made it to her uncle’s house. We made it up the cement steps. We were trying to be hushed. We stood on the porch and I gave Samantha her bag. She fumbled around, looking for the keys to the house. She couldn’t find them. Then the door opened. I shrunk so fast, I became nothing.

I’m such a fucking asshole.

Samantha lit up like a pinball machine. Her mother, Sissy Spacek, stood in the doorway.

“What are you kids doing?” she asked.

She’s been awake for a while, I thought. She’s been watching our show.

I was tiny, hiding inside of myself. Samantha recoiled to this new scene like she had been hit with ice water. I was small but Samantha was back from oblivion.

“I couldn’t find the keys,” she said, surprisingly straight all of a sudden. I kept my head and my eyes low. We had to get inside. We had to get past Sissy. We had to get out of sight. The cops were on their way; they had to be.

“Well, get in here, you fucking idiots,” Sissy said, stepping aside. We stumbled inside. I tried to keep my front to Sissy so she wouldn’t see the clothes hanging from my back pockets. I would later learn that she’d seem them anyway, despite my best drunken efforts of concealment.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled. I moved past Sissy and followed Samantha into the studio. Sissy trailed us, questioning.

“It’s four in the morning. Where have you two been?”

Samantha stood in the shadows of the studio, flipping her hair. Leaves and twigs showered down from our bodies.

“We met these kids,” she said. “They wanted to kidnap me but David wouldn’t let them.”

“Eh?”

Sissy looked at me. I nodded idiotically.

“That’s right,” I said. “But we’re fine. Took the long way home, is all.”

“I see.”

More leaves and twigs seasoned the floor. Sissy rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. I sat on a little couch in the studio with my hands on my thighs, trying to play it cool. Samantha ran upstairs to get blankets, leaving me alone with Sissy.

“Are you going to be alright down here, David?” she asked.

“Yes, yes,” I said. “This will be fine. Thank you for letting me crash here.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. Well, good night.”

“Yes, thank you. Good night.”

Sissy left. Samantha returned with blankets and sat down next to me. We started to kiss. We stopped to snap a picture. We moved to the floor. We were fucked. Our ears and noses were red and our lips wet.

I got up and turned off the lights. The sun was coming up and the room was glowing with dawn. Wrapped in blankets, we lay on the carpet in the studio, uncomfortable, kissing, hugging. We tried to have sex again. But we were fucked now worse than before. The alcohol wouldn’t release us. I had a condom somewhere, miles away. I didn’t care.

And so we tried to have sex, with varying degrees of success. My knees got rug-burned. I had trouble staying hard. Samantha’s cookie was dry as a bone. I decided to go down on her but it didn’t help much. And so I fucked her with my hand and stuck my tongue up her ass. She was awake, making noises, but our ship was sinking and this wasn’t happening. And so we fumbled around and fucked it up and then we passed out.

A few hours later, it was nine in the morning and Samantha was awake. She and Sissy were driving to the Cape soon and I had to leave. We were still wasted.

“You can’t leave today.”

“I think I have to.”

My hat was pulled low over my eyes.

“But you can’t leave today.”

“I think I have to.”

Samantha and I were sitting out on the stoop. It was 9:30 a.m. on Saturday and although we were somewhat lucid and functional, we were still drunk. Our eyes were glassy and we were dirty and the occasional twig would spill from some part of our monster suit. We were close and giddy and laughing manically. Samantha was pressed into my side, speaking feverishly.

“Listen. I have a plan.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to tell my mother that I don’t want to go to the Cape today. She can go alone. We can hang out at the house all day.”

“And we can have sex?”

“All day. In every room.”

This sounded like an amazing idea. But I was doubtful. This was bad. This was so bad. Samantha’s mother had been planning their Cape Cod trip for weeks. They would only be in Hudson for three more days.

“You think your mom will go for it?”

“Yes. She has to.”

“So…what do we do?”

I could hear the gerbil spinning frantically behind Samantha’s hazel eyes as she cooked up the plan.

“Well, I’ll do all the talking. But you have to back me up.”

“And how do I do that?”

“You just have to stand next to me, looking adorable.”

I frowned and weighed things in my head. Then I asked, “Sex? All day?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“In every fucking room. I’m going to eat you alive.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“If you think you can pull it off.”

“I can. We have to do this.”

The stoop was cold. The sun was coming up in the east; the tops of the pine trees were orange. Ledgewood was sleepy. But the scent of our crimes lingered about the neighborhood like the scent of burnt toast in a kitchen. We tried to piece the night together.

“I can’t believe we fucked on someone’s lawn,” I said. “And then the road.”

“We did what?”

Oh, God. She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember any of it. Sad, but understandable.

“We had sex at the end of the street,” I said. “You don’t remember?”

“No…I don’t remember any of it. I wish I did.”

“Do you remember crying outside of the bar?”

“I was crying? What a drama queen.”

“It was sweet.”

Then the door opened behind us.

“I didn’t know you two were up already.”

Samantha squeezed my knee and got up.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered.

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

I pulled my hat even lower over my eyes and hugged myself. I was tired but I was smiling.

There’s no fucking way that this is going to work , I thought. I have to go now. Fuck.

I heard some rough sounds coming from inside the house. I shriveled up into my shell.

“I’m not driving to the Cape by myself, Samantha.”

“But we have maps.”

“I’m NOT driving to the Cape by myself, Samantha.”

“But…”

Son of a bitch.

I pushed off the stoop. The grating sound of reality rung like a rusty cowbell around my neck. Samantha came out. Her eyes were low now too, defeated. She sat next to me.

“Fuck. Damn woman,” she said.

Then Sissy came to the doorway. I shook my head and held up my hands.

“I don’t want to screw you up,” I said. “I’ve got to go anyway. I have work tomorrow. I don’t want to screw you up.”

“No no no,” said Sissy. “You’re not screwing us up.”

She paused. She was thinking.

This could be good.

Samantha and I clasped hands.

Sex all day sex all day. Still a chance. Maybe.

Sissy spoke kindly. “We don’t have to go to the Cape today, Samantha. We can go tomorrow. That way we can sleep here tonight and we can leave really early tomorrow and I can do some cleaning around the house.”

Wow. This wasn’t what we were shooting for but this was good. Samantha was grinning a big shit-eating grin.

“Ok, mom.”

Knitting my brows together, I tried to look helpless. I was helpless. This was out of my hands. Didn’t I have a plan once? Ages ago.

Sissy disappeared into the echoes of the house. The door closed. Samantha, freshly animated and optimistic, turned to me and said, “Now we have to get her out of the house for a while so we can have sex.”

“In every room?”

“In every room.”

“How do we do that?”

“I don’t know. But this is good.”

And it was good.

We decided to explore our crime scene from the night before. We put on shoes and grabbed a couple of cigarettes.

As we moved down the street, I couldn’t help but feel guilty, but excitedly so. Like two animals, we’d left our stinky mark up and down this motherfucker. I kept looking over my shoulder.

As we neared the crime scene we started pointing and laughing. The lawn had been trampled. It looked like two bears had slept there the night before. The short bank that pushed out to the edge of the road was clawed up and dug up and tore up and dirt and leaves lay on the pavement in a spatter pattern that strangely resembled the outline of a man and a woman. Fucking.

“Do you remember?” I asked.

“Oh, my god.”

“Do you remember?”

Please remember at least some of it. It’s in that pretty head, I know it. But…No.

“Oh my god,” she said. Then, “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

Something was lying in the grass. We knew what it was but we didn’t know what it was. Samantha slowed up and I tap-danced over to it. I looked around and snatched it up. Pink panties. I quickly stuffed them into my back pocket.

“Your fucking panties,” I said.

“Oh, my god.”

We hustled back up the street before we were recognized. The faces of sleepy, puffy-eyed strangers pressed up against windows as we skirted past.

Samantha was naked in a bathtub, sitting in a few inches of warm water. My hand was pressed flat against her back. I’d just washed my face and my hands and brushed my teeth. From a small cup, she poured water over her head. I was next to the tub, on my knees. The water in the tub was low, but I was overflowing. I dropped my head onto my arm.

“I really do love you,” I whispered. Then I wanted to cry. But I didn’t.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yeah…I’m okay,” I said. I picked up my head and looked at Samantha. She was sitting in the tub, naked, all wet, and she looked so innocent, so pretty, so…fucking trusting. I was moved, completely. My eyes were sad and she recognized my sadness and we kissed. I felt better then. Samantha made me feel better.

“So, David, why are you writing all of this? Why are you writing all of this and sending it 3000 miles to my daughter?”

Sissy was talking to me. I was staring at a plate of pancakes and eggs and a glass of chocolate milk. We were inside a warm diner just down the street from Ledgewood and my stomach was queasy and my eyes were so tired. Sissy was across from me and Samantha was sitting next to me. I’d eaten about a third of my breakfast and that was about all that I was going to eat. My focus had shifted to keeping myself in the chair and off of the floor. But Sissy was talking to me.

“David?”

“Yeah? Oh, yeah. Why am I writing this? I’m…”

I sucked on my bottom lip and sat up straight and rubbed my hands together. Samantha turned to get a better look at me. She wanted to hear this too. And rightfully so. She was one of the stars of this tale. I smiled nervously. Then I began.

“Well, for starters, let me just say that I’m very grateful and thankful that I got to meet you this week, Sissy. You didn’t know me, fuck, Samantha didn’t know me, and you let me into your family, your…life. I thank you for that.”

Sissy nodded and took a bite of sausage. Samantha rubbed my leg encouragingly. I continued.

“When I was out in Seattle a few months ago, I was on another planet. Just like now. And I…I didn’t know that I would meet Samantha then. God knows I was looking for her. And…Creepily, maybe, freakishly, kinda, I found her, we found each other.”

Samantha took my hand. It calmed me.

“And I didn’t want to let that go then. I didn’t want it to disappear. God knows it could have. And so we made the effort. And now, this week, this…means so much to me I don’t know why. Wait…Yes, I do.”

Sissy was watching me but not austerely; her blue eyes were soft and kind. Samantha was smiling. I noticed a speck of egg on her chin. I gingerly, lovingly, wiped it away with my napkin. I drew my attention back to the words.

“Sissy, I’m in love with your daughter. And I think she’s in love with me. It’s crazy, it’s fucked up, we’re both obvious maniacs, we have our own lives to live 3000 miles apart but…it’s real. I can feel that it’s real. And for now, I think that can be enough.”

Sissy sighed. She raised her eyebrows.

“So, Why are you writing this?” she asked.

I answered without thinking.

“Because I have to. I have to write this. I don’t ever want to forget it.”

I was suddenly blindsided. Samantha tackled me out of my chair and I was on my feet and she was ripping at my clothes.

“Kiss me, you fuck,” she said.

“What?”

She pushed her mouth onto mine and we threw our clothes everywhere and Sissy sat back and smiled. We fell on top of the table. Glasses broke, silverware flew in all directions. The other patrons sat quietly and ate their breakfasts. No one outside of our table could see us. We were in a parallel universe.

Samantha’s ass was pressed in my half-eaten pancakes. She threw water in my face and then licked it off. Sissy covered her mouth and giggled. Then the table started shaking and we were fucking on our breakfast and our heads were close and we were breathy and hot and the words were coming effortlessly, sensually.

“I love you.”

Sissy read a menu to give us some privacy.

Back at the house on Ledgewood, Samantha and I sat on the mossy lawn in the sun. Samantha was on my lap. I held her.

“You’re strong,” she said.

I’m not that strong , I thought. It’s all an illusion. I’m a walking disaster, my life a cautionary tale for the better-adjusted.

But I smiled anyway. Then I pulled a piece of grass and chewed on it.

We were curled up on a red sofa in the studio. We were in our monster suit. Arms, legs, penis, vagina. Two heads. Samantha’s mother was going to run some errands but not before snapping a picture of the beast that was us. She took the picture. We giggled. Then she left. We were alone. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Samantha ran upstairs. I told her I’d be there in a minute.

I called my mother and told her I’d be coming back tonight. She understood. Mothers always understand. I hung up and plugged in my cell phone. Then I went to the bathroom and then I went upstairs.

Samantha was curled up on a twin bed. She was so sleepy. I climbed up next to her. The room was very bright and hot. We lay close.

“Hey.”

We kissed, we cuddled and we touched. We were slow, deliberate. We were miles away from fucking in every room of the house but that was okay. The bed was small and we were wrapped up in each other and we fell asleep. I was still there. She was still there. I was so glad that she talked me into staying. I was so glad that she didn’t go to the Cape. We slept. We were so tired. We slept. And that was enough.

It was late afternoon, early evening. We were driving. Samantha sat next to me. The sun was slinking down in the west but I still had to use my visor from time to time. I’d forgotten my sunglasses.

“Where is the movie theatre?” I asked.

“It’s off of Moon Street in Hudson. I think we missed it.”

“I didn’t even see anything.”

“Me neither.”

I was touching Samantha’s leg. She was touching my hand; we held hands. We were slow. Everything was okay. But the cowbell of reality still hung about my neck, and Samantha’s too, only it was no longer in the form of her mother’s stern voice from the morning, but of something much more visceral, heavy, something now. It was in the car with us, it was in the music, it was in our hands as we touched, it was in the lights that we moved through, it was in the road, it was in the sun…The sun was in my eyes. I dropped the visor and sighed. I was getting heavy…and sad.

“I don’t think we’re going to find it,” I said.

“Yeah.”

Then I had a bad idea.

“Do you want to go to my hometown? It’s not that far away.”

Samantha slid up in her seat. She crossed her legs and sat in the lotus position.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Yeah. We’re right here at the Mass Pike. This is the way I go home. We could get on right now. We could be there in no time, we could see a movie—”

“And I could meet your mom and your dad and your dog and your cat?”

I cringed. Fuck. I recognized my bad idea. I wasn’t ready for that yet. Samantha didn’t understand my discomfort.

“Ugh…Ah, no…I’d just zip through town and we could see a movie and get some dinner. And then I’d bring you back.”

“But…Why?”

My parents are crazy. Crazier than me. My father is a madman. My mother is made of glass. Our house is old, older than your uncle’s house. My father is a cross between Jack Nicholson and John Cougar with a bit of Vietnam marine stirred in for good measure. My mother is old and kind and her eyes often register fear. We’re a disaster. My whole family…wonderful disaster. But it’s not all bad…It’s not bad at all, really, but…I’m not ready for that yet. This week has gone so well, I don’t want to scare you away. And believe me, it would. You have to know me for years to get me…but you seem to get me already. That’s amazing. But..no…No, I have to be ready for that.

“I’m wigging out, Samantha,” I said. “I have to be ready…I’m not ready today.”

And things finally came full circle: I was the chicken shit and Samantha was the bat shit. We made it to Washburn before I fully grasped this concept. We got off the exit and turned around, the sun now at our backs.

We were quiet. I was quietly flipping out. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. Samantha offered me a cigarette.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sorry…I’m out of it.”

“It’s okay. We can go back to Hudson and get Mexican.”

Finally, a good idea. I love it.

“That’s a good idea, Samantha.”

“I know.”

We drove down route 10, heading east. We talked. We were calm. We were married. We’d known each other only a few days.

“Tell me your scariest story,” said Samantha.

We talked and we talked and we shared. It all came very easy. We had nothing to hide from each other anymore. I drove slowly, often disregarding the road. I listened to her. She listened to me. The sun was going down. The sky was pink and purple and blue. We washed each other in candor. It was all very refreshing and…comforting. It was good to be so close to someone and not be afraid.

Back in Hudson, I found a place to park just off of Moon Street. We got out and it was twilight and the town was colorful. We walked hand in hand to a Mexican restaurant.

Inside, we were greeted by a big, fake lizard that said something in Spanish. We smiled at each other and then a hostess with a heavy southern accent brought us to a patio out back. It was nice, but we’d soon regret it; the mosquitoes were horrible. My hat was low. We’d been telling dirty stories. A waiter took our order and then left.

“So…I can’t believe you were trying to get me to come over that night,” said Samantha.

“I was.”

“Did you wave to me?”

I thought about it. Then I grinned and said, “In a way, I suppose.”

We laughed. Samantha sipped on a Mexican beer. I sipped on my soda. Our food came. I wanted to throw rice and beans at Samantha. I didn’t tell her this. Or maybe I did. We ate. We talked. We laughed. We got bitten by mosquitoes. They attacked Samantha more than me. I felt bad about that. We settled up the bill and I was suddenly very poor. We left. As we moved out, the big, fake lizard popped up and whispered, “Adios, my little lovers.”

We blushed and pressed into each other. The cowbell around our necks had begun to ring, loudly.

At a stoplight.

“Look at that shit,” I said, pointing.

“What?”

“Look.”

Across the street from us was a big, neon sign that read, “Cinema.”

“We’re fucking idiots,” I said.

“Yes we are.”

We held hands. Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy sang sad songs for us as we drove toward Main Street. Then Chess. Then Ledgewood. It was dark out. It was eight o’clock. I had to leave.

“Goodbye, Sissy. Thank you for everything.”

“Goodbye, David.”

We embraced. And it was right, good. She had been my mother too these last few days.

“You’ll come to see us soon?” she asked.

“Yes, very soon.”

“Good. Samantha will be happy.”

I’ll be happy too.

Samantha stood in the open doorway.

“Let’s go outside, David,” she said.

“Okay.”

We were calm but hyper-aware. We didn’t want to miss a fucking thing. Sissy pressed a large, yellow bag into my palm.

“Don’t forget this,” she said with a smile. I smiled back.

“Of course not.”

The bag was filled with M&Ms. They hoped that by ridding the house of candy they might somehow deter future spills.

You never know.

I waved a last time to Sissy and followed Samantha outside into the night. I put the yellow bag into the back of my truck. Then I gave Samantha everything that I could give her.

“Take my fleece. Take my basketball. Take my love. Take my madness. Take my eyes.”

I popped an eye out and offered it to her. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“You can keep your eyes, David. You’ll need them.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.”

“C’mere.”

And we rushed into each other’s arms, and it was tight, and strong, and warm, and it was the last time we’d get to be the monster suit for a while. And so we lingered. We lingered in each other’s arms.

“I wish I could give you more,” she said.

“You’ve given me plenty, Samantha. We’ve got time.”

We parted but we were still connected. Samantha looked at me with those hazel eyes.

“We’ve got time?” she asked.

“Yes.”

We kissed. We kissed. And we were slow, and sad, and happy. We parted. I got into my truck. She back-pedaled to the bottom of the steps. I waved. She waved. We’d done this before but this time it was different. This time I wasn’t coming back in a few days.

“I’ll call you in two hours,” I said.

“Call me in two hours.”

“I will.”

“I know you will.”

I love you.

I started the truck and drove away. Samantha slunk sadly up the cement steps and into the house. I turned onto Chess. Samantha’s mother stopped her in the hallway. I called my mother to let her know I was on my way home.

“Samantha?” asked Sissy.

“Hey, Mom. It’s me. I’m on my way home.”

“Yes, Mom?”

How was everything?” she asked.

“Why was your shirt tucked into David’s pocket last night?”

I sighed.

Samantha sighed.

“Everything was great, Mom. I’m nutty nuts for this girl.”

“Mom, just let it go. Can’t you see I’m fucking fruitcake for this guy?”

My mother nodded. I could hear her nod through the phone. Mothers understand.

Samantha’s mother nodded. Her face was kind. Mothers understand.

Mel Bosworth lives and breathes in Western Massachusetts, where he finds much joy in the little things. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Word Riot, elimae, Blue Print Review, The Stray Branch, and Mud Luscious, among others. Please visit his website, eddiesocko.blogspot.com.