Jenna’s door is stained wood. Deep brown. Long vertical swirls and fist-sized knots. An old metal doorknob. She’s the only girl I know who doesn’t have anything taped on the outside of her door. I think she thinks she’s too cool for that. And it’s kinda true.
I hear you close the shower door. You take long showers. Usually at least 20 minutes. Each of your sisters has their own room. Abby’s door is open. The little one. Room looks like a nuclear bomb went off. And Jenna’s door. I really hope you don’t have video cameras in this house. But you can’t. I mean I would know by now if you did.
I push open Jenna’s door.
Sound of the shower behind me. I’ve got at least fifteen minutes. Ten at a minimum.
At the top of the drawer are the nice ones, the ones she wears on a daily basis, the ones she wears when she’s jogging or doing laundry. At the bottom of the drawer, in the back, are the special ones. The colored ones. The lacy ones. My favorite pair of hers are silky white. Shiny silk with a sheen on the outside. I love to smell them, steal them, to put them on my head and I love to put them on me and pretend that I’m her. Pretend that when my hand goes inside them it’s so that my fingers will be next to her skin. Pretend that my vagina is her vagina. That my cunt is her cunt. Nothing makes me wetter faster, nothing makes me cum quicker than wearing Jenna’s stolen panties and pretending that I’m her. And I sneak them back into her drawer afterward, folding them exactly the way she folded them, putting them in the exact spot she put them, even though she probably put them into her drawer with less thought than I do. Every time I open that drawer I become her. I know exactly where everything goes, know it better than she does. Slide the drawer closed gently and quietly—slightly open if she left it that way, ever so slightly, not even a crack showing, just not pushed tight to the cabinet. I do this every day when I’m at the house with you like this. I like it when Jenna’s home when you and I are there, because I know she’s wearing some of the panties I’ve seen in her drawer. But I like it in a different way when no one’s here but us, because I know which ones she’s wearing by which ones are missing.
And I am her when I’m inside them.
When she has boys over she wears the white silky ones. When the white silky ones are in her dirty pile I masturbate with the plain ones. I like them all because all of them are hers. I imagine kissing Jenna on the lips. I don’t know if I would enjoy the softness of her actual body if we actually touched. I’m not sure if I was looking at her actual face and I put my fingers in her, if I would like the way it looked. She’s something to me, something more than she should be. I have so many ideas about her. And I can’t help myself with her panties. It’s worth continually risking getting caught. I guess there’s some part of you that doesn’t want to get caught and some part of you that does. Ultimately it doesn’t matter because it’s exciting either way. If you did catch me I think a) you would be mad, and b) we would make love, deep love. Maybe not that day but I bet we would if you caught me. I like being scared you will but I don’t want you to. It’s part of our relationship, the deep part, the unseen part, the unknown part. What’s the difference between something that happens in your subconscious that you never know about, and something that happens in the physical world that you never know about? What’s the difference, to you, between things I do in my mind that you never know about and things I do in real life that you never know about? Some things are said to your face. Some things are said behind your back. Some things I say under my breath. Some things I never knew I said, because I don’t remember. But they happened anyway. Somewhere, they did happen. Somewhere, they are real. They’re in the other side of my dreams, the part of my dreams I don’t know about. Maybe those are your dreams. Your secrets. Things like that are all around me, really. The whole shape of the world that I can see, all the surfaces that I can see, their other sides are the things you do when I’m not looking, the things you hide from me. Those things you say without me. The me that’s in your dreams.
Into Jenna’s room. Check the dirty clothes. Huh. Where are they? Oh well, I guess I’ll wear the blue ones with a striped band. Or maybe the white and red Hello Kitty ones. Oh how I’d love to tongue Jenna’s cunt through the Hello Kitty on the Hello Kitty ones. It’s just in the right place, the Hello Kitty. The people who made those panties knew what they were doing. Top drawer. Way in the back. I’m gonna do this. It’s risky but I’m gonna do this. Take ‘em. Right now. Silky white. Yep. Folded. In that same spot. In my hand. Close the cabinet. Still the sound of your shower. Out. Out. You might look. You might look. You might notice. If you do, maybe you’ll just think you’re going crazy. Out of Jenna’s room. Are you done with your shower? Still. Be still. Nope. You’re still showering. What if you come out of the bathroom right now and see me coming out of her room? Um. Her door was open and I thought I’d close it so it wouldn’t let any cold air in from the hallway. It was—I thought I saw a gel pen just like mine in there but it was actually a flashlight. What is your sister doing with an emergency flashlight in her dresser anyway? Are you guys worried about power outages? Also, do you think I could borrow your sister’s gel pen? I can’t find mine. Totally quiet. Just the sound of the shower running. I’m by myself. Back in your room. I don’t even have to take my clothes off to do this. I lie on your bed with the door open picturing Jenna coming home from school in her Canon running shorts and long-sleeved sweatshirt. Seeing me lying on your bed and seeing what I’m about to do. She’d probably be jogging in place and she’d take one earbud out of her ear and watch me do it. Hi Jenna. I push down my skirt. How was your day? I lift the top of my panties and place her carefully folded white silk ones right in the pit of my crotch. The way she folded them. That’s her fold. I took her fold from her room as she folded them and put that against me. I pull mine up snug. Her silk on me. A surge, a surge of warmth, tickling, tingling, expanding. I pull up my skirt. This is gonna be a fun day.
I get up and find the duffel bag at the top of your closet. We’re gonna pack some things. Put the bag on your bed. Put the boxers with the smiley faces on them into the bag. Put the green-and-gray striped shirt with the white collar into the bag. That shirt looks so cute on you. Think about the bulge in your pants. Put my dirty purple piglet ruffle socks into the bag. Press everything down. We’ll wash it all later. Still plenty of room. Put your Serengeti-large and tiger-sharp African game knife into the bag. Perfect. Press everything down. Zip. Lovely. Unzip. Lovely. One last look. Inhale. Lovely. Zip it up.
Bag in hand, I bang on the bathroom door. “What are you doing in there? Jerking off without me?”
“Are we late?” Your garbled voice through the water sounds. “I’m just thinking.”
“Well think fast. We gotta go get my bookbag. And I need to change.”
I go downstairs cautiously. No one’s home but I go slowly just to be safe. It’s all quiet. Dining room empty. Breakfast dishes in the kitchen. I let myself out the back and then into the garage.
Flip on the overhead light. It’s dingy yellow. Hardly lightens things at all. I hit the door switch and after some grinding and grumbling the garage is open to the alley. Your yellow-painted bug is sitting there cutely. I saw you take that entire engine apart once, set every belt and tube and screw on the floor of the garage, oil it all, shine it, and put it back together piece by piece. The whole engine. Myself, I don’t know a thing about cars. I open the driver’s side door and place your duffel bag on top of a horrendous pile of shit in the back seat. I tap the bug on its roof for good luck. I say hello to the bug in my mind. But the bug does not say hello back, even in my mind. We’re not verbal with one another, but we’re pleasant nonetheless. I think we need to paint this bug blue. Chalky blue. Not light blue, and definitely not baby blue, but some sort of light chalky blue.
I sit in the driver’s seat. Put my hands on the wheel. Someone goes past in the alley. Was it your neighbor? Your garage is cleaner than my idea of what a garage should be. Garages are places where people kill themselves. I wonder vaguely as to the mechanics of this. Is it really as simple as sitting there with the car on? Don’t you need a hose or something? Can it be a water hose? Or is it a certain kind of hose you need? How do people figure that out? I guess the ones who don’t do enough research are the ones who kill themselves unsuccessfully and end up in the hospital with their family all around them, crying.
I’m think I’m about to have a nervous breakdown. I’m packing my stuff tonight. I’m putting everything in the bug and I’m going to Albuquerque. Maybe Sedona. If I can make it that far. Probably end up in Oklahoma but at least it’s not here where we have confederate flags on people’s trucks and the highest murder per-capita in the country. English teachers handing out crossword puzzles. Some people, when you say that to them about the English teachers handing out crossword puzzles, they don’t understand what the problem is. Hey, if you don’t understand what the problem is with that then I can’t help you.
I’m gonna put everything in that back seat.
It doesn’t need to be packed nice and neat. We can organize it when we unpack, after we get wherever we’re going. Wait till we have some shelves to put this shit in before we worry about where everything’s gonna go. Biggest mistake of my life: not dropping out after ninth grade. This is the last year I’m doing this. You have to understand, when you’re in a political argument or an argument about education, even a religious argument, economics, whatever, that you’re arguing within the framework that has been set up by the discussion. My life is like that right now. Whether I’m on the pro side or the con side of this hypothetical argument, certain invisible assumptions have been set up for me, so as original as I think I’m being, or as controversial, essentially I’m not saying shit. Argue till the cows come home. Argue till the bell rings. Argue till your breath runs out. Doesn’t change the basic pretense of the conversation, which is the same for people on both sides of the argument. If I take one suitcase of clothes and a crate of personal items that should be plenty. Not even a crate. Maybe just a suitcase and my bookbag. I don’t need much for a trip like this. We’ll get more stuff when we get there. Close the driver’s door. The floor is cluttered with pens. You like to take notes. You’re always writing, even when you drive. But you should never do that. You should never take notes in life. While you’re taking notes you’re missing out on things you should be doing right then. Instead of later when you’re processing your list. But I’m getting distracted. Don’t do that. Tonight we’re gonna pack the car. I hit my head on the steering wheel, thrice, softly. It’s not don’t take any notes. It’s don’t follow your notes. Or just: don’t follow notes. That the note distracts from actually doing the thing the note is designed to make you do. Can I get everything I need into this back seat? I think I can get everything that I need into this back seat. What do I need? Some clothes. Sandpaper. My books. And keys. Keys. We’ve got to make a second set of keys. And we need to repaint this thing.
Imagine California. Even if I have to work in a factory. I can do that. I can probably work in a library or a coffeehouse. Don’t really want to wash dishes, and I know I can never serve as I’d have to speak my mind with the patrons (which wouldn’t be pretty). People who go to restaurants are assholes. But I could work in a factory. You can’t be egotistical about your job when you work in a factory. Which isn’t to say anything negative about people who work in factories. Quite the opposite. Their job just doesn’t give them anything to be overly proud of. Which I think is a great advantage. Rob works at GM. I could do that.
I could do that. But it wouldn’t matter what my job was. Even when I met all the dorks who live in whatever town we go to, it would be ok. They would at least be new dorks! I just would never invite them to the house. Anyway I’m a dork too.
I might even steal your bug if you won’t go with me. I wouldn’t like it. I wouldn’t want to drive alone at first. And I definitely wouldn’t want to live alone at first. But I would do it if I had to. If I have to I will. I don’t think you’d mind if I stole your car. I think you’d understand it was for a greater purpose. I’d drive this bug right to New Mexico. I think I would like Montana, North Dakota, or South Dakota. Anywhere that’s bleak.
You’re right beside me. Standing next to me. Next to the bug.
I pull you in. “I think we should leave today.”
“Ok. Seriously?” You smell like freshly cleaned boy.
“I’m gonna die here. If not today then Friday. Come away with me. We’ll start a circus.” Whatever you want to make a note about doing, that’s what you should be doing now. That’s it. Don’t make the note. Use the idea that you should make a note as impetus to simply do the thing. Right now. “Will you?”
“I want to go in summer.” You avoid my eyes.
“I know you want to graduate here.”
“Not really. I just—want to finish the year.” But you do. You do. You want to graduate here.
“What are you learning? They’re not teaching you anything.”
“My class at Sinclair.”
“They have community colleges everywhere.”
You shrug.
I would try distracting you with sex, but there’s no use distracting someone with sex in a situation like this. “Please. Come with me.”
You settle yourself in the driver’s seat and I’m sliding over.
“Seatbelt.” You say, and close your door.
I put on my seatbelt. “Please let’s go today. If we’re ever gonna go let’s go today. I’ll be nice, I promise. I’ll even drive. You can read to me.” Smile. Put my hand on your leg and lean into you. Let you smell my neck. (It’s worth a try.) “I’ll even pack your things. Look. I already put some things in here. We’ll just put a few more in and then we’ll go.” Kiss your lips. Kiss them again. My pleading eyes. “Want me to pack for you?”
Of course you say no. You find some madly polite way of doing it, as usual. I love you. I do. And in an hour all this will be forgiven. But you’re lucky I speak to you. You’re lucky I make time in my life for you. When I’m an old woman I will live on a mountain and be inaccessible to anyone who can’t climb it. That is how lucky you are, William. Because you happen to know me at a time in my life when I need the company. In the future I am much more picky.