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“Because I didn’t want to be. Because I’m an idiot. Because of many things I just don’t want to feel right now,” she says in one breath.
I place my arm around her shoulder and bring her closer to me. “We’re so fucked up. Look at us. We’re naked and—” A tingling sensation runs up my thigh. “Was that you? There have to be crabs somewhere. Oh fuck, and scorpions.”
Kate ignores my panic attack, staring back at the moon with doleful eyes, her lips trembling slightly.
“Who do you think is more fucked up?” she wonders out loud. “Me or you?”
“Me… no, wait. Maybe you.”
We continue to lie there, quietly drinking the bottle of vodka which Kate pulled out of her bag, pretending the world around us doesn’t exist. At some point during a rendition of “Lean on Me,” I stop singing for a moment with a clearer head, despite the alcohol running through my veins.
“Then let’s call this a successful night. You’re not pregnant, and my dick is still intact.”
“Intact, yes.” She laughs, following with an obnoxious snort. “Just… afraid to come to the party.”
It’s impossible to hide my embarrassment. I’m not one to be red-faced, but I can feel my cheeks burning despite the cold air. All I can do at a time like this is laugh at myself. “Do you know how fucking freezing that water is?”
“So, that was just all to impress me? Mr. Tough Guy, who can handle the shriveling cold water?” She chuckles loudly.
“Shriveling is an understatement. I take it back… this night is awful. It couldn’t get any worse.”
And right when I say the words, a torch flashes over our eyes.
“You’re under arrest for indecent exposure in a public area.”
Oh fuck.
NOAH
When I turned thirteen, my mom gave me the talk. The one which involved girls, how my body would go through changes, and how sometimes I might want to act on my physical feelings by having sex with a girl. Given Mom’s teenage turmoil, she wasn’t leaving it up to some uninterested teacher to inform me about teen pregnancy.
Mom didn’t hold back, teaching me everything from how easily a girl could get pregnant to how readily you could catch a disease. At the time, I was embarrassed and confused by the whole spiel. It only began to click around the age of sixteen when girls suddenly became interested in me.
Out of all the bad things I could do, Mom warned me that getting a girl pregnant shouldn’t be one of them.
When I turned twenty-one and officially became a man of legal age able to go to clubs and drink, Mom gave me another talk. The one about how easily I could fall into the wrong crowd, how life can sometimes be overwhelming, and how, when that happens, we occasionally try our best to forget our worries by doing something stupid. Something illegal.
“Noah, I raised you well. Promise me, and I mean double promise me that I’ll never see your face in a mugshot.”
“C’mon.” I brushed it off. “I would never do that to you, Mom. I promise.”
Here I am at twenty-eight years old, staring into a camera and holding up a board with my name on it. My mom is going to have a coronary. Her only son, her flesh and blood, sitting in a jail cell arrested for indecent exposure. It wasn’t like we were doing anything harmful, but according to the cops, we had broken the law.
An elderly couple on their nightly walk saw us and were disturbed by our behavior, quickly calling the police and reporting us.
Sitting in this cold, bleak cell while police fill out paperwork only makes the whole scenario even more depressing. Kate doesn’t see the big deal, trying to flirt with one of the younger cops to help get us out of here. It fails, and she curses in her British slang—something about him being a wanker with a small John Thomas. I have no idea what that means, nor do I care to right now.
“My mom’s going to kill me,” I blurt out, resting my head in my hands to block out my surroundings.
“Your mom?” Kate laughs. “I didn’t peg you for a momma’s boy. Blimey, just when you were starting to earn co
ol points.”
“That term is so overrated.”
“Says the momma’s boy,” she points out. “I’m more worried about Charlie.”
I run my hands through my hair, frustrated at the whole situation. “You didn’t have to call her,” I say, annoyed.
