That Feeling That You Feel

That Feeling that You Feel

         There are those lies, sometimes born of half-truth, often blurted out in desperation, that echo for so long that the liar forgets what the truth ever was. Eleven days before his 21st birthday, Taylor Hall wondered what his lies were. It had been two years since he arrived in Los Angeles, and he was madly in love.

         The sun was out in force today, as it had been all week. Thank God it’s Friday had given way to thank God it’s Saturday; and Taylor wondered how he could possibly be awake. It had been a long week. But despite his very late night excursion with her the night before, he sat faithfully at the Barefoot Café on Third Street, waiting for Alex. He knew, but dared not admit, that he loved her. Alex was the kind of girl his mother would have loved; she came from a respectable family, had attended a prestigious school, and comported herself like a lady. At least in polite company. For him she didn’t bother to comb her hair or put on makeup.

         Taylor checked his watch: 10 minutes past 3. He presumed she would stroll in, punctually late as usual, clad in a pair of True Religion jeans she might’ve worn since her 16th birthday and some ripped Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt that showed enough of her cleavage to reveal a polka dot bra. Not that she was predictable or anything. She just loved that TMNT shirt. Taylor loved her for all the things she wasn’t to the casual observer, all the things his mother would’ve despised. It wasn't that he wanted to spite his mom, but it wasn’t exactly a coincidence either.

         Alex was a self-described comitophobe. She needed him like she needed new clothes, she’d always tell him. It was a harsh indictment, as he’d eye her pale legs, thinking of her abused True Religion jeans lying somewhere on the floor. He wondered if she considered it a moment of weakness whenever she admitted she cared about him. It killed him to think that she probably did. For Taylor it was never an issue of not being able to understanding women- Alex was the one he didn’t get. He snuck a glance at his watch again and laughed. She had been the one who suggested 3.

         At 4 he rang her cell phone, not in the least surprised to hear her sweet-but-groggy voice whisper “’morning” the same way she had 12 hours prior, when he kissed her as he prepared to go. He laughed again.

         “So I’m not up yet.” Alex said, sighing as she sat up in bed.
         “No shit.”
         “My little catholic school boy miss me much?”
Taylor hesitated. “You know the answer to that.”
         “Hm?” She teased him with the question. He let out a sigh.
         “I missed you since I left your arms.”
         “Ugh…stop it, you’re going to give me diabetes” was her unrepentant reply.

Taylor chuckled. It was the dynamic between them he loved most. They mocked each other unabashedly, something he fancied was a telltale mark of cynics in love.

         “I’m coming over, you want anything from the café?”
         “Mhm…” Alex purred, stretching in that sultry way he recognized by the sound.
         “Well?”
         “Ham.” She said, pointedly.
         “Uh, do they even sell ham by itself?”
         “Maybe.”
         “Just ham? You’re sure?”
         “I asked for ham, not the inquisition.”
         “Yes mistress, your wish is my command.”
         “Thanks, Cassanova.”

Taylor purchased the meatiest ham sandwich he saw, and then threw out the bread. 20 minutes later, she buzzed him up. Her wet hair reminded him of a frazzled mop, and the baby blue boxers she wore showed off legs that were neither long nor tan. But when she pulled him close and asked “where’s the ham?” he couldn’t magine anyone sexier. They made love to the riffs of an eclectic soundtrack composed of Arcade Fire, Hole, and Alice in Chains, his, her, and her choices respectively. Grunge metal suited her, and he didn’t mind.

         “Don’t call me tomorrow. My parents are going to be in town.” Alex told him as they cuddled in her queen sized bed.
         “Not going to introduce me?”
         “It’s not like you’re my boyfriend, thank you very much.”
It was a fact that Taylor never forgot, but he enjoyed pretending sometimes. She could tell.
         “’Sides, they’d probably like you too much. I’d never hear the end of it.” He kissed her.

Tomorrow would be a day she’d comb the matted tresses now nestled against his chest. She’d put on makeup, and she’d don one of the only two dresses she owned. Probably the green sundress, Taylor thought. She would be beautiful, in all the ways he’d never ask her to be. He thought he might be missing out.

         They cuddled and watched the goriest flick they could find on cable. They settled on American Psycho, over Alex’s first choice of Alligator II: The Mutation, because Taylor reminded her how much she enjoyed Christian Bale decapitating someone via falling chainsaw. It was the third time they’d watched it this month. But Taylor’s mind wasn’t on the movie. Like the pieces of a two piece puzzle, he felt they fit together simply and perfectly. Taylor wondered if she’d agree. Here he was, sleeping with his best friend rather than his girlfriend. Anyone else would have called that a small distinction, but for him the hours passed too quickly when they were together. His hopes were that she felt the same.

Alex nudged him awake. Taylor could see moonlight still trickling in the bedside window.
         “…Yes dearest?”
         “Dearest?” Alex giggled. “’Mornin’…sweetcheeks,” she whispered, resting her chin on his breast.
         “What time is it?” He said, knowing he’d be none too pleased by the answer.
         “Time for you to fuck me before you go home, duh.” She said, putting a deliberate emphasis on the word fuck. For a moment, Taylor was nonplussed.

         “You know I don’t like that word.”
         “Wait, but you use it all the time!” She replied, surprised by his words.
         “But not referring to sex.”
         “But there are different kinds of sex...right now, I want you to fuck me.”
         “You want me to what?”
         “I want you to fu–“ Alex’s words were cut off as Taylor rolled her over, taking her arms and pinning her wrists above her head.

         “Something like this?” Taylor said triumphantly.
         “It’s a start,” she purred. He loved to play rough with her as much as she enjoyed being played with. At dawn, he began to get dressed.
         “What time do your parents get in?”
         “9:30–Remember you can’t call me then. ‘Sides, you should be sleeping in, you’ve got work tomorrow.” He laughed. Work was by and large the last thing on Taylor’s mind.

         “What’re you going to wear?”
         “You know, my green dress.” Taylor permitted himself a little smile. Hearing this, he figured he might well know her better than he knew himself. Then, looking at her wrists, he laughed again.
         “What about…the rope marks?”
         “Ooh, perfect–I always wanted to make my parents feel awkward about my sex life.”
         “I wouldn’t put it past you.”
         “I’m serious!” Alex declared, getting out of bed. She pulled his high school sweater out her bedside dresser, and put it over her naked form.
         “Compensating for something, Mary Magdalene?”
         “Are you telling me there’s nothing you like about your alma mater?”

She whispered in his ear, pressing her bosom against his chest. He wished he wasn’t already dressed; the denim between them was too thick for him to feel her smooth thighs against his. Looking at the words ‘St. Ignatius College Prep,’ he couldn’t recall a single fond memory. “Just that you’re the sexiest thing to ever grace a St. Ignatius sweater.” He said, pulling her in closer. She kissed him.

         Hours later, exasperatedly in his own bed again, Taylor couldn’t sleep. He thought about her scent and the taste of her lips. Alex was a smoker and wore cherry lip-gloss to mask the taste of cloves on her lips. She would always say it was just to moisturize. It was the one vice he’d ever complained about, and certainly the only one she refrained form whilst in his company. Taylor wondered if it meant anything that she’d do that for him. It wasn’t until noon that he finally nodded off.

         He woke up a little after 6 pm; so much for making productive use of his day. Already he thought of work and of Alex, of not seeing her for five days because of his 9-to-5 and her nightshift, and of how he’d be the first to call. Taylor stayed in bed, and wondered how long this could go on. Television offered him no respite, too many shows that Alex might watch. Yet for Taylor the hours passed quickly, in that way they do when the first tendrils of desperation creep over and every minute feels like your happiness is slowly dragging itself out of reach. Not that Taylor felt depressed. Instead he did his best not to dwell on his thoughts.

         It was an exercise in futility. By 7:30 the impertinent impetuous thoughts of her had consumed him, as even his physical actions became secondary to his wondering what he would have to do for her to love him. Not a single thing came to mind. If she didn’t already, he wasn’t sure she would.

         Taylor washed his clothes, set them in the drier, and sat alone in the laundry room to collect himself. He wondered what was wrong with the dynamic he had with her, but at least for Taylor, that answer was all too clear. For now, she was an ambrosial nectar that he could always smell but never taste. It broke his heart to think of it, though he quite enjoyed the concept of drinking her sickly-sweet essence down whole.

Work would be a pleasant distraction. At midnight, with nothing left to do, Taylor climbed into bed. It had hardly been a minute when his phone rang. It was Alex.
         “Hey.”
         “Hey!” Taylor replied, not doing the best job of containing either his surprise or his contentment. On the other line, there was silence. Concerned, Taylor spoke up.
         “Is everything alright?”
         “Uh…not really…”
         “What’s eating you?”
         “Well, right after my parents flight landed in San Fran, my mom had a stroke.”
         “Oh god, is she––“
         “She’s stable. They want to keep her at the hospital for a few days for observation. It’s just…I feel so guilty...”

In the air hung hesitant silence. Taylor wasn't sure what to make of that word, guilty. Another too-long second passed.

         “What, did you take her to McDonalds for dinner?”

Alex didn’t respond. Taylor’s own feeling of guilt was immediate. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make you laugh. I’m sure it’s been a rough couple of hours.”

“I know” She said, over what sounded like a choked back sob. Taylor imagined her tears, on and off since she heard the news, and he clearly imagined her kind face, perverted by sadness and worry.

         “Well, is there anything I can do?”
         “You can come over to my place and hold me.” There was a pause; Alex continued:
         “That and bringing over some peanut butter and jelly. I’m hungry.”

Alex's words brought a smile to Taylor's face. “As ever, straight to the point.” He hesitated. More than anything he was afraid, but he doubted he could go another week without knowing, let alone another night sharing her bed.

         “...Alex?”
         “Yes?"
         “Do you love me?”

         “I thought you’d never ask.”

© 2008 Eugene Aarons-Cooke

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