So I’m finally making out with that girl I was obsessed with when I was seventeen. We are in my parents spare bedroom, on the floor between the bed and the wall. All the color is washed out in sun blown white with warm yellow hues, lines of baby blue, and hints of red. We are excitedly kissing. I move down her neck and she throws her head back. I lift up her shirt and bra, kissing my way to her breasts before taking them into my hands and mouth. She writhes and coo’s just like I imagined she would, then she stiffens and stops.
“What about your friend, Jesse?” she says.
“What about him?” I murmur, filling my nostrils and fingers with lush electricity.
“He’s in the hall, he could walk in on us.” she says, beginning to sigh and swim again.
“He aint coming in here,” I reassure her.
I sense Jesse in the hall, looking at a painting on the wall, reading its title tag like at a museum, and chuckling. He’s been dead a year and three months. I roll over, pulling her on top of me. We’re naked and I’m happily exploring her. Jesse walks in.
“Hey, you seen that Ruscha in the hallway?”
“Dude, I’m kinda busy here.” I say.
“Oh,” he says, oblivious. “Then how about this?”
He disappears and the girls head changes into his and he excitedly continues to tell me about Ed Ruscha.
“Dude, thats really frightening,” I say, my hands recoiling.
“What? he says.
“Your head and her body.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says and her head returns, only now she has Jesse’s voice as he keeps talking about Ed Ruscha.
“Naw buddy,” I shake my head, “still not working.”
“Suit yourself,” he says. The girl moans leaning forward and whispers in my ear. “Fuck me.”
I’d like to tell you dear reader that our hero pulled that beautiful girl onto him and rode off into the sunset. But she disappeared somewhere and me and Jess just sat around the kitchen table slurping cabbage stew and talking art. All while the babies floated by on their backs in the dirty flood waters, bubbling.
