Still: she was my magician, and I was hers. One who brightens the eyes of the one who brightens eyes. And when Jules didn’t have a show, and when I didn’t have to work—which were rare days—hanging out at the apartment was best. We did that thing where once you’re with someone, you stop hanging out with the rest of your friends. Which is a terrible thing to do—you should never do that. But we did it—and you will too. It’s just the way it happens. You think this person is your whole world. And for a while they are.
"Come check this one out!"
I’d go to the window.
Jules is leaning out, looking across the street, where some guy is pushing his kids in a stroller. It’s a big one—with seats facing front and back. And the guy is a transvestite. I’ve never seen him before—but it’s a freaky neighborhood. He’s wearing heels and they’re not working too well with the broken sidewalks.
"Isn’t she beautiful?" Jules would say. "Look at her."
"It’s a guy," I say.
And Jules genuinely wouldn’t know it was a guy.
And I’d realize: all she was noticing was the dress—beautiful dress—and the way the woman held herself, and the thought of having kids.
"Do you want to do that with me?"
"Not now," she’d say. Then she’d say: "Yes." Then we’d kiss and stuff. Then she’d say: "Do you want to do it now?"
And I’d say: "No." I want to find a better job first. I want to find a job I like. "I don’t think it’s responsible to have kids before you have a way to support them."
"You have a way to support them."
"I know," I say, "But I want a better way to support them."
Jules rolls her eyes and says "Pfff", and then we make love, but we make sure not to have children. It’s an hour later and I’m lying on my back, sweaty. Jules is face down on the carpet next to me, arm on my chest.
I say: "I want to have kids somewhere where they get some culture. Where they can learn. Somewhere bigger. With good schools."
"The schools here suck," Jules says to the carpet.
"How did we survive," I say. "How did you?"
"We’re different," she says. "Plus I went to better schools. We can’t expect to have gifted children. You’ve thought of this, haven’t you? I know you must have, somewhere in that big brain of yours—"
"Whatever parts of it are still functioning."
"Oh, it’s functioning. It’s functioning. You know that, right? You..and me..we might have normal kids." She props herself up on me. "You..might have a stupid kid. Could you handle that?"
I think for a while. But I’m not thinking of whether I could handle a stupid kid—I’m thinking of how beautiful Jules is, and how lucky I am that she’s propped up on me, this close, looking back at me.
"Stop looking at me," she says. "I know that look. What’s gonna happen—when your kid is dumb as nails?"
"Isn’t the expression..sharp as..nails or a tack or something?"
"You are dumb as a nail," she says. "One of the ones that breaks when you hit it."
"You mean bends."
"A bent nail is a broken nail," she says. "How do you hit a bent nail? How do you hammer in a bent nail? That’s..a broken..nail."
"I’d be fine with it," I say. "I don’t care if our kid is dumb."
That I said "our kid" turns us both on, and we fuck again, and this time we look each other in the eyes and we don’t worry about getting pregnant.