November 13 #2
A nonchalant shrug was what he got in return.
“Yeah. It’s not like I want my first time to be special or anything.
Sex is mechanical. It’s just a biological thing two people do, which apparently makes them feel good.
It’s like eating or jogging. It’s momentary and satisfying and simultaneously fulfills a basic human need, but once it’s over, you move on with life. ”
His mind toyed with the challenge of proving her wrong, but he swiftly nipped that in the bud.
“You don’t know anything. Sex is not like jogging.
Letting someone you barely know into your personal space is not easy.
It requires some level of trust and patience to learn another person’s body.
And then to get naked with that person…” It was strange that he actually sounded like the sentimental one between the two of them.
“I’m calling bullshit, Jasmin. You were freaking out for wearing a dress, where you were still fully covered, mind you.
I don’t think you have it in you to have a one-night stand. ”
“I’m new at this,” she responded, still unfazed. “I’m not comfortable yet, but I’ll get there. I just have to put myself out there a bit more and be willing to…experiment. Who knows what would have happened if I just kissed Dean yesterday?”
He froze, his fists clenching without him even realizing it. This was a strange feeling and it didn’t feel at all like protectiveness. “Who’s Dean?”
“He’s Mandy’s future brother-in-law. He’s actually a really nice guy…and super cute. Not as hot as you, but he’s definitely nice to look at. A bit touchy-feely, though. He tried to kiss me a couple times, but…”
Kevin stopped listening. This feeling that wasn’t protectiveness was intensifying with every word. “What’s next?” he asked, cutting her off as he glanced at the paper again. “Number four: Do something scary. Why is there a tick next to this one?”
She smiled. “I picked up Larry the Lumberjack, remember?”
“Okay. Number five: Make lots of friends.” He tried to hold back a sneer. “This one is even dumber than number three.”
Her eyebrows creased as she glared at him. “Why are you being such an asshole?”
“There is more of a chance of you having fifty one-night stands between here and Georgia than you making one real friend.” He noticed that small twitch of her face, the brain-drain twitch.
What he’d said hurt her feelings. She took it like he said no one would want to be her friend, because…
issues, but that’s not how he meant it. “Jasmin, a friend isn’t someone who likes your photos on Instagram or shares you posts on Facebook.
Friends aren’t people who take you out for a good time and get you drunk.
A friend…a real friend is someone who knows what mood you’re in by the way you say hello…
and he doesn’t care if you’re in a bad mood on one day because he knows he’s gonna be there the next.
A friend will tell his momma to make you chicken soup when you’re sick, then spend the whole the day in your room playing video games so you don’t have to be alone.
A friend will give you his last Oreo just to make you feel better.
That’s a real friend…and I guarantee you won’t find that in any of the random people you’re gonna meet on this road trip. ”
She stared at him, pensive and apprehensive. “Who is he? Your friend? He sounds like a great guy.”
Kevin gritted his teeth and cast his eyes to the floor. With just a few words he’d given too much away. “It’s hypothetical,” he answered softly. “I don’t have any friends.”
He went quiet, allowing the weight of his last sentence to settle on his shoulders, the overwhelming burden of guilt.
He didn’t have any friends, not anymore.
He was alive and well and on his way to Florida to fulfill a dream that wasn’t his.
Placing his hand on his chest, he felt the dog-tag chain beneath his sweater.
It was a constant reminder of what he’d lost. What took fifteen years to build was destroyed in a split second.
Her hand, which was still resting on his shoulder, moved up and gently stroked the fine stubble on his face.
She didn’t say anything, but he could feel her eyes on him.
He let himself enjoy that silent comfort for a few moments, even though he had no intention of telling her why he needed it.
He just closed his eyes and took it all in.
Her soft hand on his cheek. Her sweet strawberry scent.
But eventually it was time to come back to reality and he pulled her hand off his face, placing it back on her lap.
She waited…and waited for him to open up and when he didn’t, she sighed. “You’re grouchy again.” Reaching into her knapsack, she took out her cell phone. “Let’s see if we can cheer you up.”
He didn’t want to be cheered up; he wanted to drown in the melancholy. She scrolled through her playlist and then the beat of Chris Brown and Nicki Minaj’s Love More filled the laundromat.
“Okay.” She stood up and moved in front of him. “Before I start, I just want you to know that people would pay good money to see a show like this in Vegas, and you’re getting it for free, Son, so you better be grateful.”
He could already feel himself softening. “I’m not sure if I feel privileged or…scared.”
“You should be very scared, ’cause this is gonna come at you at a level of sexy you’ve never experienced before.”
“I can’t wait.”
She started dancing and it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. Enthusiasm didn’t make up for lack of coordination. She did a booty pop, which was too stiff to actually pop and it was so wrong on so many levels.
“Is that…is that a twerk?” he asked, genuinely confused. “It looks like it’s trying to be a twerk. Like if Miley Cyrus had to mate with…a zombie, their love-child would twerk like that.”
She swiftly moved into a stilted moonwalk and then ended it with a weird kind of lotus pose. “Did you see that? That was like Michael Jackson meets a Charlie’s Angel.”
Despite his mood, he found himself grinning. “Those two should never meet. Ever.”
It only got worse after that. Some moves were boisterous, others were outrageous and somewhat vulgar.
“I’m taking this party to the floor.”
“Please don’t.”
What ensued was incredibly creative—a one-arm push up stance mixed with a rather grotesque bump and grind into the floor. There may have been an element of breakdancing in there, but he couldn’t be sure.
He placed his hand over his eyes, but was still peeping through his fingers. “It’s like watching a train-wreck. It’s horrifying, but I-I can’t look away.”
“Face it.” She hopped back up. “You don’t wanna look away from this awesomeness.”
She did a few more ungraceful booty pops and he was sort of disappointed when the song came to an end.
“God,” she huffed, sounding breathless as she sat down beside him again. “That must have been such a turn on for you. I can’t believe you didn’t pounce on me.”
“You have no idea how hard it was to restrain myself.”
“I know. I’m impossible to resist. Hashtag: SexOnLegs. Hashtag: ControlYourself.”
He smiled, amused at how she could make fun of herself so easily. It was amazing how she could get so shy at times and yet she was still so out there. Confident in her crazy, yet so insecure in everything else. It was a very intriguing combination. “You do know no one actually says hashtag.”
She smiled back, pretending that the undercurrent of emotion wasn’t there, but she reached over and gave his hand a gentle squeeze to let him know that all that foolishness was just to cheer him up.
It was only for a few seconds, then she let go and slipped into normal conversation again as if all of it meant nothing when they both knew it didn’t.
“So…uh…in that song,” she began, “Nicki Minaj says something and I’m a little confused.”
“What did she say?”
“What does…what does…um…dick on H and uh…and uh…p-p…p…pussy on W mean?”
Her discomfort with the word was kinda cute. “Well…H stands for hard and W stands for wet.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened when it clicked. “OH! That’s a bit graphic.”
“Wait. So the fact that she just throws out the words dick and pussy isn’t graphic, but once you know the status of that genitalia…then it becomes graphic?”
“Yeah. I mean, before then it’s just like…chilling in your pants, but the adjective implies that a verb is coming…like some fucking is about to go down.”
He shook his head, completely dumbstruck. “When did you start talking like this?”
“When I discovered my inner gangsta. Now I be cussing like I’m straight outta Compton.”
“But you’re not from Compton. You’re not even from this country.”
“I kinda am; I was born here. And also you guys stole our Charlize Theron and our Trevor Noah. The least you could do is give me Compton.”
She carried on talking about other crap and this time he didn’t want her to shut up.
This wasn’t a slow-paced close to a busy day.
It was more of an emotional roller-coaster.
In the short time they’d been there, he’d felt annoyance, happiness, anger, loss, guilt, sadness, and—dare he admit it—even a bit of jealousy.
And then she squashed everything up into a tight ball of solace.
On the surface, to any outsider looking in, that was just crazy dancing, vulgar comments, and stupid jokes, but to him that was something much deeper.
It was the Oreo to make him feel better and he didn’t want to think about what that might mean.
If in two hours at the laundromat this girl could make him feel so many things, he dreaded to think what might happen in the next few weeks.