Page 48 of Life, Love, and Other Messes

I loved finding the sweet within the frisky. Ruining that perfect kiss with a bumping of noses. Tangling suave women in their lover’s bras, breaking tremulous tension with giggle fits. Whether or not I wrote exactly what I’d experienced, I wrote what I knew. Well, and then some. I’d seen the diameter of some dildos and could do the math to figure out what else fit where, whether I’d tried it or not. I could write stone butches, I could write two high femme tops trying to navigate one another. I thought for a moment about what Lisa had imagined me to be. I was a chameleon on the page, but where did I really fall?

This book was about a curvy tomboy somewhere under the umbrella of soft butch and a jock femme who had been sharing tales of awful dates and horrible sexual experiences, each searching for the perfect match, only to find love within their friendship. Nobody had nine cats or an aversion to tofu, but I had to admit my tomboy contained hints of Lisa. I’d intentionally created the other character to be quite different from me, and when I pictured the two together, I wasn’t imagining what I wished could happen between the two of us. I honestly hadn’t really gone there. I wanted to hold her, wanted to touch her soft curves, but I couldn’t picture us in bed, which was a good thing because if I did I’d probably shit all over our friendship and humiliate myself and she’d never speak to me again.

A hint of a cloudy feeling, just the slightest tinge of tension started in my neck, and I rolled my head gently side to side, stared up at the sky, let my shoulders relax. I focused on the screen, on the words, on what they felt like. Soft skin and sliding T-shirts off and hands everywhere. The scents, the tastes. A legitimate hot flash derailed me and I caught my heart pounding. I had to laugh, set the computer next to me, spread out my limbs until the moment passed. As much as it sucked to be female, the delicate, the calculated, the sensual made up for it. My laptop back where it belonged, I wrote, I wrote, until the scene was over and I could breathe again.

That was good thing, because by then, the headache was starting for real.

By Tuesday evening, I was curled up on my bed, covers over my face, whimpering. Withdrawal was a monster. My whole head throbbed insistently, the world felt muted and thick, and I had dragged my ass to the bathroom to vomit four times. I couldn’t come close to taking Ollie for a walk, but I staggered to the kitchen every few hours to let him out and swallow some water. I’d taken more ibuprofen than I remembered to count, but most of it didn’t stay in my system anyway.

I tried to think about the book, I tried to think about how Lisa had texted about the dolphin cruise they’d gone on, but it hurt to think. All I could do was lie there and exist in darkness and silence. And to know that this would pass. It always did, but every time it felt like it took longer.

I finally managed to sleep, and woke up around two p.m. on what I was pretty sure was Wednesday feeling somewhat better. I ate some toast, let Ollie out, and considered going on a walk, but the sky was bright blue and I wasn’t sure I could take full sun quite yet. My brain was full, as though it had been compiling ideas while my head around it screamed, and I sat at my laptop the second Ollie came in, rushing to free them.

I wrote. The room grew dark and still and brighter again and Ollie went out and in. When I emerged from the office for real, my phone said it was Friday and my body said I hadn’t slept, showered, or had a good meal in forty-eight hours. Soda cans littered my desk, and according to Ollie, I smelled. I considered throwing on a ball cap and heading out in search of fast food, but I took a proper shower, found clean clothes, assured Ollie I’d be right back, and headed out to my favorite pizza place.

They knew Veronica and me there. I’d only been a few times since May, and the owner had looked at me like I was missing an appendage. This time, I walked in with my head held high, ordered a small pepperoni pie and my seven hundredth soda, and brought the red pepper flakes to my table.

I scrolled through my phone to see what was happening in the world, played back a message of the usual from Mom, responded to an email from Jace. The server, a petite girl with red streaks in her butt-length braids, was named Kiara. She gave me a big smile. “Where’s your friend?”

With three words, the facade fell into helpless shards around me. I wanted to slug Veronica. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to bury myself in a pit and cry. “Oh. She’s in St. Louis.”

“Visiting?”

Now, I wanted to slug Kiara, but I knew she was just being her sweet self and meant none of the harm swarming in my skull. I was going to say no, that she’d moved, but what if Veronica brought Ally here? What if Kiara knew I was lying? Anguished, I faltered badly. “Yes,” I finally said. “Visiting her grandmother.”

“Oh nice. Well, enjoy your dinner.”

I stared at my dinner, wondering if I could possibly push a bite past my lips. I stared at my dinner and remembered that afternoon at Veronica’s with the boxes and the tofu. I stared at my dinner and remembered every stupid, humiliating thing I’d done in my life. Then my phone buzzed.

So I just needed to tell you that we were in the water today and June got stung by a jellyfish and freaked the fuck out. Some random guy wanted to pee on it even though I told him twenty times that’s a myth and it’s disgusting and I literally had to tackle him to keep him from doing it. I’m sure it hurts a lot but June decided she was dying and we had to bring her to the hospital. They told her to take a Benadryl and go home ha-ha. I love these guys and I love this place but I’m definitely ready to come home. Say hi to my old man.

It was what I needed. I spent ten minutes going back and forth with Lisa, and what began as little nibbles on my pizza moved into actual bites and consumption of entire slices. Half an hour later, I went home with a full belly, took Ollie for a quick walk, and went to bed.

I was enjoying another day of unfettered writing when my phone buzzed. It read Mom so I let it go. Fifteen minutes later, it rang again.

“Hi, Mom.” I kept typing the paragraph I’d been working on.

“Hi, Samantha. Have you spoken to your brother lately?”

“I have not.”

“Well, Rebecca broke her arm. She had to have surgery and was in the hospital overnight. It was terrible.”

“What happened?”

“She was trying to use Seth’s skateboard.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Rebecca, the fourth of Kevin and Missy’s children, was four years old and a wonderful hellion. The only time I’d seen her in a dress since she was a baby she’d hiked it up and sat like a trucker on the sanctuary stairs during Children’s Time at church. Mom was not thrilled. I had my money on Asher and Rebecca being the gay ones. “Well, good for her. Everybody has their moment.”

“Samantha! She needed surgery!”

“And I bet she was a champ. She’s a brave little thing.”

“I suppose.” Mom was quiet for a moment, probably pondering how rude and heartless I was. “Your father had a nice birthday.”

I stopped typing and considered throwing my phone. I’d called him, he’d thanked me, and said they were going out to dinner somewhere. “I’m glad. Where did you go to dinner?”

“The new seafood restaurant on Fourteen. You haven’t been there.”