Page 34 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
when she was happy. I collected all these moments of her,
filled in my thought sketches with color and texture, painted her portrait
in my mind.I don’t ever want to forget,I thought,
the fullness of this woman.
I was from a family of women who were always
coming home complaining about how men
thought any little swish of the hip or lick of the lips
was an invitation for their attention. And so, I tried
not to take anything as a sign. But as we were finishing up
our third study date, Melody leaned over
and her forearm touched my thigh on the way to fiddle
with the transponder. It made me wonder if maybe, just maybe,
she was feeling me how I’m feeling her? No one just tutors
an underclassman for no reason, right?
“Melody,” I said. And took a deep breath.
She shook her head. “Go through the inspection.”
I checked the fuel, the oil. “Okay. How would you get it out?”
she asked, and I described the motions I would go through to taxi.
Despite us sitting in bucket seats, Melody seemed to be getting
closer and closer. Until her breath warmed my neck.
Her soft, short hair rubbed against my jawline. Then her lips,
soft and plush, were kissing the skin above my collar.
“Melody.” I groaned her name. And again, she shushed me,
only this time it was with her lips on mine.
Lips on lips, and tongues that tugged,
teeth skin scraped light as a whisper.
Hands on waists, hands under shirts,
nails imprinted half-moons. And the engine hummed,
and so did we, rocking the plane on its locked wheels.
And she was in my lap, and I wanted to be inside.
