1:11. A soft vibration in my hand.
And I’m dressing in the dark. Putting on everything but my boots which I carry with me. Slipping past the bathroom. Looking back: Mom’s door closed. Stand here for a second. She’s snoring. Sneak down the stairs. Glow of the cable box, flickering lights of the wireless. Grab my jacket. Let myself out. Lincoln is there. “No food right now kitty. Go back inside. Go back inside.” I push him gently with my foot, back inside the house. Lock the top lock with my key. Sitting on the porch. Lay my jacket beside me. Lacing up my boots. See my breath in the air. No hurry. I like these walks. Hurrying while I tie my shoes isn’t really gonna make me any warmer. Feel the cold. Just feel it. Tie the knot. Double knot it. Pull it super-tight. Pull my jacket by its hood and spring down the stairs. Slip my arms through the sleeves. Leave the hood down. Need to be able to see things coming this time of night. Need to be able to hear clearly. Usually no one’s out but you never know. The thing is, if there was someone out, it would just be you and them.
Up the hill. Hands in pockets. My ears are cold but I have to keep my hood down. I let every sound possible come into my ears. The sound of my own footsteps on sidewalk, on the edge of the street, on the asphalt when I’m in the street. The sound of my steps on the gravel in the alley. Past a green dumpster under a lamp on a telephone pole. Quick movement of a cat. I stop and turn. It might have been a cat. It might have been something else. Did it go under the dumpster? I kneel. I don’t see it. It was probably a cat. It was definitely something small. Keep going. Keep going. There’s nobody out here. It’s just me. Just me. It’s me and the cold.
When Elizabeth Young died I took the longest walk of my life. I was at school when I found out about it. I walked right out of class, out the main doors, all the way down Indiana Avenue, across the bridge, and all the way into downtown. Then I walked around downtown. Got myself some time to think on that one. Didn’t come up with anything. But got myself some time to think. That was a cold walk. That was a much colder walk than tonight.
On your street I pass your very next door neighbor. He’s single with a kid. His wife just disappeared one day. I think she couldn’t handle being a mom. I nod at your neighbor. He knows why I’m out here. He just walks up and down the hill when he needs to think. We see each other all the time. He gives me a nod back and I smile. I think people whose wives disappear need smiles as often as we can give them. He doesn’t look judgmental, either. Like he doesn’t care that I’m going to your house in the middle of the night. He doesn’t seem like he would even remotely think to mention it to your parents. Or if he did, he’d somehow do it in such a soothing way they wouldn’t care. We’re mirrors, me and your neighbor. We wake up in the middle of the night to creep around in the dark. We cross in the middle of streets that are silent, streets that contain no one. We never speak. We just see each other and know what each of us is doing. We wake up in the middle of the night so that we’re the only ones awake, and so we own the streets, and so we scare people, and so when people see us, we will get under their skin. We wake up in the middle of the night because if we didn’t we’d die.
Outside your window I have to step over a rock garden divider and halfway into the bushes to reach the fishing line. I wrap it around my hand and pull.
A tink from inside your room.
I put my hands back in my jacket pockets. I can still see my breath. I raise my shoulders. My neck is tight. I look up at your window. Come on, William, wake up. A flash of light as you turn your desk lamp on and then immediately off. It has a twisting on-off switch. You just turn it one complete revolution. On and off.
I take my hands out of my pockets and balance with my arms as I make my way out of a leafless bush.
I get to the door before you and have to wait. When you do get here it’s the slightest turning of a bolt lock. It takes six seconds for you turn the switch. I imagine your thumb pressing into the ornate hand lock, pushing open the handle latch. Then you pull the door open six inches. That part makes less sound when you do it quickly. Then you slowly pull it open further. I step inside.
There’s carpet everywhere until we get to the bedroom so I don’t take off my boots here. The more time we spend here the more chance we’ll get caught. Imagine your dad coming downstairs in his pj’s and I’m sitting in the entryway taking off my boots. We take the stairs slow, me behind you. You have on a pair of boxers, that’s it, and your hairy legs are at my eye level. If I was feeling more jovial I would poke you in the butt. Tonight, though, no. Tonight I care as little as ever if we get caught. But tonight I’m just not in the mood for it.
On the second floor, we go past the door that goes upstairs where your parents sleep. We go past Jenna’s door—deep brown stained wood. You and I have never spoken about Jenna. I’m not sure what I’d say.
Inside your room I step slowly on the wooden floor. I turn around and we kiss. You’re closing the door.
“You know our paper boat? I crushed it.”
“It didn’t have the correct amenities?”
“It got soggy. So I kind of crushed it. But without the crunch. As it was wet. And wet things lose their crunchiness.”
“What’s going on?”
“I had to get out of there.”
“What happened?”
“I think I’m going crazy.”
“Ok.”
I sit on the bed. You’re undoing my boots.
Cold light in your room. Blue light from the alley. It wasn’t that cold during the day but it looks like it could snow now. Or it feels like snow. The trees outside your window give me a feeling of lightness in my stomach.
Your hands on my feet. Pushing my legs into your bed.
It’s a bunk bed and on the underside of the top bunk you have a video camera rubber-banded to a truss. There are pictures under there. Pages from books. None pornographic. Snapshots. Diagrams. A couple of me.
I slide over. You hate your bunk beds but I love that you still have them. You reach between the steps of the end ladder and check the vent. If it’s not closed your parents might hear us. Actually they’ve never caught us, they’ve never come in. The main thing about the vent is that when it’s open, sometimes we hear them. And as sick a person as I am, please understand that hearing your parents do it is worse than distracting.
Your arms are around me and we kiss again. You brush my hair with your fingers. Your bed is still hot.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I might need to tomorrow too.”
“Good.” You half whisper it.
And even though in theory your parents might come in at any time, and even though your little sister is in the next room, and even though Jenna herself is in the next room after that, and even though my life sucks, and even though I can’t stay long because around 3:45 at the latest I’m gonna have to traipse my way back home in the cold all by myself—even though all these things, for this moment I am warm and snug and close with you in a little pocket of covers in your bed.
Waking. Slight blanket feel. My fingers. Blanket between my legs. Movement. My legs, and what’s between them. Curling up. Grip my hand on the sheet. Muscle. Contract the muscle. There’s my William.
Light. Tuesday. It’s Tuesday. Look around.
“What time is it?” Is it possible I don’t get out of bed today? No. Not possible. The smell of french toast.
“Shhh. Just stay here. Wait till they leave.”
Uncover. Recover. Uncover. I’m still at William’s house. “Oh fuck I’m sorry.” Roll out of bed. Wood floor, cold. Where’s my sock.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re here.” You get out of bed and check your computer. “It’s 7:18.” You press play on some music. It’s a girl band, but I won’t say who because I don’t want to embarrass you. “They’ll be gone by 7:40 at the latest.” You say it quietly but not whispering.
I lie back in bed. Cover my mouth and giggle. There’s an evil look in my eyes. I make my finger into a hook and with it tell you to come back to bed.
You do.
I push you down by your chest and get on top of you, straddle you. The top bunk is low. I can’t sit up, so I’m like a rider on a crotch rocket. Literally. I pull myself up and my eyes are flashing. I say. “Let’s have some fun while we wait.”
You don’t go inside me. I don’t know why that is. Maybe it’s because we have to keep quiet. Maybe it’s because one or more of us doesn’t completely want to. I don’t know if I’m ready to make love but I know I’m close. I’m not in a hurry but I think I will do it this year. Next year at the latest. Some people have sex when they’re twelve. I guess I’m slow. I remember Jenna got completely naked in a storage room off the library when we were in fourth grade. There were boys and girls in the room when she did it. What were we doing in there? We were cutting class, I guess. In the fourth grade. I guess if I was cutting class back then it would be unreasonable to expect that I would stop now. Anyway we dared her to pull down her pants but she took all her clothes off. I guess I had more of a fixation with her than most of the people in that storage room. And that started before I saw her naked and didn’t have much to do with having seen her naked once I had. It started out as a thing with her hair. Or maybe the fact that she was a crossing guard on the street I crossed so I saw her every day. She parted her hair on the side and sometimes had this off-center ponytail that fascinated me. It was the first time I had seen an off-center ponytail and something about the length and the cut of her hair made me unable to stop looking at her. When I think about her I think about the neon orange crossing guard belt she wore every day after school. Crossing guards got to leave at 2:45 so that by the time the rest of us got out and made it to the intersections, they would be set up. They’d have their belts on. Neon orange that went around her waist and had a strap that went diagonally up her chest, over one shoulder, and down her back.
I kind of lost track of her for a couple years. It was before you and I got together and she and I were involved in different programs. Or rather, she was involved in programs. I was involved in becoming a degenerate, reading Heinlein novels and Aldous Huxley. Then in seventh grade I sat next to her in algebra. It was extremely annoying because she could multiply and subtract faster than me, but I knew I was smarter than her. Finally I asked her how she could subtract so fast and she showed me these dumb little tricks she was doing. Breaking a hard subtraction into two easier ones. That was the only thing I ever learned from Jenna. It’s not that she’s dumb at all. But my main enjoyments of her have not been intellectual.
I don’t think of her when I’m with you. I want you to know that. I mean my mind does wander all the time. Even sometimes when we’re together. And sometimes it might wander to thoughts of your sister. But it’s not in a sexual way when you and I are doing stuff. It’s not like—I don’t know. Whatever.
At 7:44 we hear the front door close. You go into the hallway first. Then I come out half-dressed behind you. I kiss you and send you on your way. I’ll have some time to myself in your room while you shower. It’s too soon since I last bathed and we don’t shower together. That’s just not something we do yet. But we do kiss in the hallway and all I have on is my underwear. This is how we always do it. Hopefully no one has any video cameras installed in your house. I’m not ready to take a shower with you. I don’t want to do it in the shower my first time. I don’t want to do it in water my first time. But soon, I think. Soon. I want us to make love, Pony Boy.