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Tue, Aug 4 2009 | Published in Self(ish)

And I’m a little bit angry.

By: Maria Melee  

Maria Mommy MeleeHe called me early in the afternoon, told me about a girl he’d met at the beach.  She was an artist, he explained.  Blonde.  A college student.  “I think I’m in love,” he said.

That night, we sat on his parent’s pool deck, hidden around a corner.  We kissed, messy teenaged kisses, his tongue big and wet.  A mosquito buzzed at my ear.  Cicadas thrummed.

When he slipped his hand into my jeans, I squirmed.  Not there.

So I wiggled off the rickety plastic lounge chair and knelt between his knees.  I closed my eyes and opened my mouth and the next few minutes went by quickly.  Musky scent.  Smooth skin.  I don’t remember if I swallowed him.

When he was done I sat up and caught my breath and he mumbled, “Monkey.”

My stomach turned a little and laughed.  Nervously.

“Do you want uh… a drink of water or something?”

“Sure,” I said.

He went inside and I shifted to the pool, rolled up my jeans and put my feet in the water.  I watched ripples spread across the surface. The water looked milky in the dark.

I drove too fast on the way home.  I avoided my parents’ eyes and went to bed with my headphones on, the music too loud.

**

“You have a weird body,” he observed, gripping my thin hipbones and regarding the expanse of my naked torso.

My moles, I thought.  They’re big.  And those two tiny, shriveled pale extra nipples below my breasts.  And my bush, I thought, untamed and dark.  Unattractive.

I turned my cheek against his sheets.

I love the way you play piano.  I love your deep voice and the way it feels when you touch my hair.  I want you to like me.  Why don’t you like me, like that.

I laughed nervously.

He stopped putting his hands on my body and I rolled over and tried to make him happy again.  His brother walked in and we both froze.  I shivered, naked, and lowered my eyes.

His brother snickered and walked back out.

This time it took longer, and I didn’t like it.  I got dressed, hurriedly, recalling the rustle of paper gowns at the gynecologist.  Clinical, detached nudity.  He didn’t like me, like that.

**

I drove home, too fast.  The buildings beside the three-land road blurred by and then I saw a big fountain to the left.  The Catholic cemetery.

I pulled over, eyes hot, and drove along the familiar winding road with no lines until I reached a huge rectangular headstone.

“I’m sorry,” I sobbed, stumbling through the thick grass.  I knelt beside her and pulled my knees up and cried in the shade of a tall oak. “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.”

I had just turned eighteen.  He was my second kiss.  He was not my boyfriend.  He didn’t like me.  I could taste him still, and I could feel his indifferent gaze and the searing imprint of his touch.

I curled on my side in the grass.  A gnat tickled my cheek.  I breathed until my breath evened and then I never let him touch me again.


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About Maria Melee

After graduating from the University of Florida in 2002, Maria did what most English majors do. She disregarded everything she’d learned and jumped into the world of Internet marketing, web copywriting and digital media. She’s been blogging since 2001, back when the cool kids were all on Livejournal. (If by “cool kids” you mean “kids who dress up in anime costumes.”)
View all articles by Maria Melee
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