Page 14 of Shake the Spirit

Ike feels too largefor the world around him. He overshadows everyone we pass at Walmart. The men all seem scrawny next to him.

Yet, in contrast to his hard, imposing body, Ike owns such a softly handsome face. His crystal blue eyes hold deep emotion. Whenever he looks at me, I feel like I’m seeing straight into his soul.

Overly fascinated by him, I struggle to focus on clothes. Ike realizes I’m distracted and moves our shopping adventure to the men’s area. He tosses a pack of boxers in the cart before moving to a T-shirt rack.

“The secret is that changing my jeans isn’t as important as my underwear and shirts. Those are the stinky pieces of clothing, according to my ma.”

Grinning, I look over the shirts on the rack.

“I love these old bands,” Ike explains, showing me a T-shirt with “Def Leppard” printed across the front. “My family’s broken into two groups of music. One half is all about Skynyrd and 1970s classic rock bands. The other half likes bands from the 2000s, like The Black Keys or The Killers. I don’t care about either of that shit. I like rock bands from the 1980s. They’re harder, more guttural.”

Though Ike is likely sharing something profound with me, I have no idea who any of the bands he mentioned are. My family doesn’t listen to anything that doesn’t feed our souls with the same things we hear in church. I’ve only heard twenty wild songs in my life, and I don’t know their titles except for “Cherry Bomb.”

When Anouk and I swiped our father’s phone and listened to the song, it was on a video site. The band was women with sexy hair and lots of eyeliner. They seemed so wild and strong. I always hoped to look like them.

I glance through the rack, stopping at a black T-shirt with red, orange, and white prints. The design feels alive, raw, and wild.

“Can I wear something like this?” I ask, showing him the shirt.

“Sure, but I don’t think they have girl versions.”

“Oh,” I mumble, disappointed.

Ike’s fingers startle me when they brush across my cheek. “I bet you’d fit fine in a small guy’s shirt.”

“Can women wear men’s clothes?”

“Sure. My sister’s favorite shirt is something she stole from our pa.”

“And he didn’t make her give it back?”

“Of course not. Pa-Donovan thought it was cool how she wanted a piece of him.”

I smile at how Ike makes his family seem. My sister would never steal from my father. If she did, he’d no doubt whip her good for giving in to temptation.

“My family thinks life should be miserable to make us worthy of heaven, where everything is fun and great.”

Ike goes real still like he thinks I’m crazy. After I watch him for too long, he shrugs.

“I believe in luck and fate and stuff like that, but heaven seems dumb. What if those preachers are wrong? I don’t want to be miserable for my entire life and then get no reward. And I’d never know I never got any reward since I’d just be gone. Better to enjoy shit now when I know it matters. This right here with you is real. I’m sorry if that offends you. I’ll try to be respectful and shit, but I’m not praying to something I don’t believe in.”

Ike’s words should bring down hellfire judgment. Of course, they don’t. We just continue standing in Walmart, looking at shirts while a baby screams nearby.

“Do you like kids?” I ask, wondering about making babies with this sexy man.

“Sure, they’re just little people. They can be funny, too. My baby cousins make me laugh a lot.”

Ike’s relaxed demeanor inspires me to very slowly reach up and touch his jaw. His skin is warmer than I expect. Ike watches me as my fingers brush across his stubble. I exhale unsteadily, swimming in the wonderful lust only he creates.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks as his soft eyes watch me.

“Don’t you remember kissing me in the woods?”

His pouty frown answers my question. “Was it any good?”

I think back to how his tongue licked my lips, leaving me stunned. I’d been shocked by the heat infecting my body. If I knew how to masturbate, I would have done it, just to calm the painful need between my legs.

Breathing faster now, I stare up at him and nod. “It made me wish I was a better kisser.”

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