The D Spot

Do you remember that night, back in August? We were at the park, near the river where you always told me the rats were as big as chichuahuas. You told me that so I’d be scared, and find solace in your arms. I believed it for the same reason.
We lay on the old beach towel under the willow in what I had come to believe as ‘our spot.’ The river had that dank, late-summer smell to it and it was too sultry for even the crickets to do more than give half-hearted chirps every now and again. We had a six pack of Budweiser that some older guy had bought for us when you threw in the extra $20–money I’d made babysitting. It was too hot to do more than lay side by side. Even our teenage hormones were dazed by the heat.
That was the night that you first told me about Beth. Even now, the name makes my gut clench.
I remember that you’d been distracted, drinking your beer fast and crunching the cans before pitching them into the heavy water. I felt a similar clench in my stomach. Something was bothering you and I was scared you were going to end things. I had always known you would break up with me, because I’d always known you were too good to be true. But it had only been a year that we’d been together, and I was hoping for more time.
Of course, you didn’t break up with me. Not really.
It would be a good arrangement, you explained. You and Beth would be together at your school, and I could have a boyfriend at my school. Nights, summers, weekends…it would be just you and I.
I remember panic rising in my throat like vomit. I was confused and felt like I would suffocate in the humid air. Wasn’t I enough? I wondered. I had given you absolutely everything. I did everything, anything, you asked of me and you told me that you loved me. I had nothing left to give and yet you wanted more.
I didn’t speak at first. It was like when we’d first started dating, and I couldn’t speak to you in front of other people. I was so awed by your presence and the effect you had on me back then. This time, I was simply speechless. I sipped my beer and pulled a cigarette out of the pack next to me. When I fumbled with my lighter and you took the cigarette from my lips, put it in your own mouth and lit it and then put it back in mine. Wordlessly.
I dragged deep and finally looked into your eyes.
Dangerous territory, those eyes of yours. Dark brown with flecks of yellow near the irises, they acted like a magnet to my soul. It was no lie when I told you that sometimes, looking deep into your eyes, I heard music. You told me you heard the same when you looked at me.
I sighed. Of course I’d do it. Anything for you, up to and including giving you away for five days a week.
I didn’t say it like that though. I didn’t utter a word.
Instead, with the same magic that pulled us together the second we met just over a year ago, I drew you to me–or you drew me to you—who knows how to define that magnetic pull we shared.
Our kiss was slow and hesitant, more like the first kiss than the thousandth. Your question, my answer. Was there much difference between a hello and goodbye? Did it matter?
We made love under the willow that night, and I raked my nails down your back as I came. I wanted to leave my mark on you. This girl–this Beth–she might have you at school, but I had you here. Now.
You shuddered when I broke your skin and I felt you release inside me.
We lay there for quite some time, our breathing slowing, our legs entwined. Eventually you leaned up on your elbows and put your nose to mine. “I love you” you whispered.
That would have been the perfect time for me to give you all the reasons why you shouldn’t play this game. You should choose, me or her. You shouldn’t ask me to give you so much freedom. What boy in my school even compared to you? No one had those eyes, that magnetism that sensuality that called out my own desire.
But of course I stayed silent on all this.
“I love you too” I replied.
Of course I did.

Fragile days, these
springtime mornings.
The long drive with
nervous laughter.
We spiral up the parking garage, looking for a spot
closest to the elevator
in anticipation of when it’s over
and you are blasted from the drugs.
I always get lost trying to navigate
the hospital corridors and you laugh,
reminding me that I work there, I should know better.
The wait in the room, the magic push of fentanyl
and the procedure,
as it is.
How you manage this with such grace is beyond me.
Then another long walk
back to the car.
This time I drive.