The Boots My Mother Gave Me (11 page)

Later that evening, after graduation, we retired to my apartment. We skipped the after parties, neither of us in a particularly social frame of mind. Entering my place only reminded us of my departure. I had boxes and bags piled in the corner, packed and ready to go.

Jeremiah looked around, anxiously running his fingers through his hair. “You’re really doing this. You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” I said, dropping my keys on the kitchen counter. Opening the fridge, I pulled out a carton of milk, placing it beside Mom’s chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting on the kitchen table.

“Do you know how many bets there are that you won’t make it? Two or three months, tops. ‘She’ll come home,’ they say.” He took a seat on the sofa, staring off into the corner of boxes.

“Which way did you bet?” I asked, carefully placing one candle at each end of the cake.

“I’m the one taking all the bets.” His face lit up. “They don’t know you like I do. In three months, I’m going to be cashing in.” He joined me at the kitchen table. “I kind of wish they were right. Least that way I know I’d see you again.”

“I’ll come back to visit. Besides, if we’re meant to see each other again...”

“We’ll see each other,” he finished my sentence, mockingly. “Ya know, everything’s not up to the universe, Harley. Sometimes shit happens.”

“I didn’t mean you weren’t meant to see him again,” I spoke apologetically.

“I know that’s not what you meant. Just hit me wrong.” He cleared his throat. “Ironic, isn’t it? My dad would have loved to be there tonight, at graduation. And your dad, he slipped in and out the back so fast, you never would’ve known he was there.”

“I didn’t know, not until Mom told me afterward.” I poured each of us a glass of milk. “I would have loved to see your dad sitting out in the audience. He would’ve been so proud of you.”

“Proud of us,” Jeremiah corrected. “He thought you were the coolest little girl. Remember that time we were out in the side field playing football? It rained so hard the day before...”

“The ground was so muddy, we were smothered in it, up to our eyeballs,” I said, the memory flickering back to me. “He was in the garage, changing the oil in his car.”

“Yep, he was about to jack it up, so he could fit under it to drain the oil pan, and you took off for the garage to help. ‘You don’t have to jack it up, Mr. Johnson, I can fit,’ you said.
“
He chuckled.

“I loved doing that stuff with your dad. He was so cool, Miah.”

“He used to tell me all the time how I shouldn’t let you get away. He’d say, ‘Jeremiah, I don’t know why you’re wasting your time with all those other girls, when Harley’s right up the road.’ He was unrelenting. I had to tell him you were trouble.” He grinned.

“Trouble?” I defended, lighting the candles on the cake.

“T-r-o-u-b-l-e,” he teased, spelling it out. “A girl like you, a man-eater, heart-breaker.”

“Oh, blow out your candle.” I held my hand in front of his pursed lips, mouth full of air. “Don’t forget to make a wish.” We exhaled in unison, quenching the dancing sparks atop the candles.

“What did you wish for?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

“Want to know what I wished for?” He offered me a piece of cake from his fork.

“Sure, I’ll bite. What did you wish for?” I offered my mouth up for the cake.

Jeremiah pulled it away, closing the gap between his mouth and mine. He stopped, his lips millimeters from my own, and whispered, “I wished I would see you again.” He kissed me softly, lingering. He tasted sweet, the combination of icing and cake, intoxicating.

He pulled his mouth from mine, returning blood flow to my brain. “Hmm, you are one smooth operator. Yet, I remind you, I’m the ‘man-eater, heart-breaker’ extraordinaire,” I said, accompanied with air quotes.

“What!”

“‘I wished I would see you again,’” I mocked. “Go for it...lean in...and the kiss. You’ve watched way too many movies, Miah.”

“I knew that was coming. You’re so jaded,” he jovially fought back. “Maybe I was trying to be sincere.”

“Maybe you were
sincerely
trying to make it past first base,” I said, causing both of us to laugh between bites of cake.

“I would have stopped after second.” He grinned.

“See!” I swatted him. “I have too many guy friends to get duped into second base. You guys talk way too much.”

“You’re not going to write a book or something are ya, exposing our methods?”

“I don’t think it’s a big secret. Your
methods
have been around since the caveman,” I said. Jeremiah laughed. He had a great laugh. I watched, momentarily caught up in his smile. I loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when his mouth curled. He was just beautiful. God, I would miss him.

“Thanks, Harley-girl. For this, staying with me, everything.”

“You’re welcome.” I reached my hand out, putting it on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Oh crap!
I shouldn’t have touched him. Why is it, refraining from crying is do-able until someone touches you or hugs you? He tried to recover, pulling his hand back with the realization of the emotions welling in his eyes. He quickly got up from the table, pacing the floor of the living room.

“When does it stop?” He ran his fingers hastily through his hair as he paced. “I’m tired of crying. Damn it! I think I’m over it and then it just starts up again.” He sank onto the couch, sitting on the edge, his elbows resting on his knees, hands fidgeting, his jaw tense, twitching in an attempt to halt the tears flowing freely down his face. He looked to me, his somber brown eyes flooded, unnecessary shame exposed in his expression. “I’m sorry,” he said, hiding his head in the crook of his arms.

I moved to him, only a short distance separating us, my own hands fidgeting. I wanted to touch him, comfort him, unsure of how to do that. I felt his arms around my waist, pulling me to him, down onto his lap.

The danger of the situation flooded my senses. I shouldn’t be this close to him. Did he have any idea what he did to me, how he effected me? I felt warm all over, melting into his frame. Cupping his face in my hands, I kissed everywhere I found the slightest trace of wetness, until my lips were filled with the taste of his tears. I leaned back onto the couch, meeting the softness of the pillow behind me. Jeremiah followed, resting his head on my chest. I covered us with a blanket, stroking his hair, his neck, and his back, until he fell asleep in my arms.

I awoke in the night, forgetting the position in which I fell asleep. My attempt to roll over was stifled by the weight on top of me. My senses came alive, silent, dim and warm, with a mixture of men’s cologne and evasive pheromones. Hmm, he smelled divine. How can a man, devoid of nutritional value, fill me up?

Jeremiah stirred slowly, rolling onto his side, his arm around my middle turning me with him.

“Got enough room?” his voice raspy, his eyes sleepy and provocative.

“Too much.” I couldn’t get close enough to him. I lay right next to him, but it wasn’t close enough.

He drew me tighter still. “Better? You cold?” He pulled the blanket up around us.

I looked at the clock hanging on the living room wall, three in the morning. I would leave in a few hours, to go far away from here. Would I ever see him again?

“Still not close enough,” I said, nervously covering his mouth with my own.

Urgently, I unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his bare skin, tracing his chest with my hands. His muscles so well-developed, two of my fingers fit tightly into the sculpted divot between his pecs. His skin felt soft and hot, as my fingers found their way to his navel. His abdomen tightened as I neared its lower recesses. He pressed hard against me with his body and his mouth before pulling away. I could see the questions in his eyes, as unsure as I was.

Nervously, I stood up from the sofa in front of him, squelching the judgmental thoughts ringing in my head.
You’re not that girl, Harley. You don’t just give it up to some guy.
I could feel my face blush as I watched him watch me. He lay there pleasantly dazed, completely silent and still, as I timidly removed every article of clothing from my body. He wasn’t just
some guy
and apparently I was
that girl,
because I wanted to surrender to him, completely. My first at everything, I wanted him to continue that tradition.

I returned to the couch, climbed in, and pressed my naked self against the full length of him. He slipped his arm around the small of my back, his hand gently coercive, pulling me closer still. My lips wet, the flesh on his neck hot as fire. I tasted him, he moaned, his hand moving up my back, now entwined in my hair. He pulled my head back, removing my lips from his neck, shifting my body underneath him. His mouth hovered over mine, his breath quick and labored as I breathed him in.

“You’re beautiful, Harley-girl,” he whispered, his hand lightly tracing my face. He kissed me softly, feather-light, tickling my mouth with his lips and his tongue, as my hands danced over his skin, enjoying the warm, muscular terrain. I stopped at the button on his jeans, breaking the clasp loose. I had to have him, feel him flesh to flesh. I released the zipper and he pressed his hips into me, momentarily stifling my hands. Reluctantly, he pulled his mouth from mine, his eyes half-open and salacious. I licked my lips, coveting his taste. I could feel him hard against me through his jeans. I wanted him, nothing between us.

“Don’t stop.”

“You sure?”
Yes I was sure!
I felt wet and warm all over. My body ached. I couldn’t turn back now. I needed release, something, whatever it is sex does. I didn’t know what, exactly, but I knew I needed it. My hands busily continued, pulling the waistband of his jeans down around his backside, releasing the fullness of him between my thighs. He moaned at the contact with my flesh, his neck bowing until his forehead rested against mine.

He spoke, painstakingly controlled, “I don’t want you to have any regrets.”

My only regret would be not having him. He was so handsome, lying there above me. If the rumors were true, a girl’s first time isn’t really all that enjoyable. Supposedly it hurts and it’s over before you know it. The stats aren’t all that impressive. If anyone could make it enjoyable and meaningful, Jeremiah could. If it’s true what they say, you never forget your first. I never wanted to forget him.

“Please, Miah,” I said, my response to his eyes desperately searching mine for an answer.

He pushed at the waistband of his jeans until they lay at the foot of the couch. Fully unclothed, his flesh molded into mine. I accepted him, my arms wide open, my hands exploring the broadness of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the round, firmness of his backside. He simultaneously slid one hand beneath my back, supporting his weight, while the other gently caressed my thighs as he found his way to my core. Nervous with anticipation, I held my breath.

“Oh, God,” I murmured, sucking in air, pressing my head back into the pillow, arching my hips, reflexively moving against his hand. He continued rhythmically, his mouth paying particular attention to my upper body. I thought I would burst from all the stimulation. My head light, my breath fast, my body ached. “Miah,” I whispered, pleadingly.

He stopped kissing me, studying my face. He held me in his gaze, never wavering as he slowly entered my body. Pleasure mixing with pain, I moaned sharply, biting down on my lip, my fingernails clenched the skin on his back. He stilled himself. “You wanna stop?”

“No, don’t stop.” I pulled him deeper into me, convinced my middle was literally ablaze. It burned taking in the full length of him. I did not want to stop. It hurt so good. Our bodies hot and damp with sweat. I wanted him and I wanted him to have me. I was committed.

He rubbed my thighs momentarily, easing my tensed muscles. “Relax,” he whispered. “Close your eyes. Just breathe.”

I obliged, closing my eyes, breathing in and out, until my respirations matched his. He moved inside me casually, allowing me time to fall into his rhythm. The pleasure now outweighed the pain. The sounds escaping my throat were no longer acute and strained, but deep, guttural, and indulgent. I opened my eyes to find him watching me, intently, his dark browns fully inebriated, his cadence smooth and unwavering. I never felt so beautiful as I did in that moment. He couldn’t take his eyes off me.

The short-lived awkwardness passed, replaced by wonderment and euphoria. I was his and he mine, as we had always been. We lay there in the aftermath, our bodies glistening from head to toe. Hearts pounding, chests heaving, hungry for air. His hands caressed my face as he searched my eyes. I could see his questions.
Was I okay? What was I thinking?

My lips curved into a reassuring smile, my hands still busily exploring his body. “When can we do that again?” I asked.

He laughed light-heartedly. “God, I’m gonna miss you.” His lips firmly seized mine.

E
ight o’clock in the morning found me at Mom’s, bidding farewell. I had Charlene loaded to the gills. Her rear end nearly sat on the fender wells with so much stuff shoved in the trunk. I looked forward to this moment all my life. I thought I would be ecstatic, but I was nervous as a turkey on Thanksgiving. I knew no one, wherever I was going, and I had very few resources to support myself for long.

But staying or coming back to this place was not an option. All the naysayers could tell me exactly how crow tasted, because I would make it. Bound to be somebody, anybody. I couldn’t wait to find myself, to live, to experience, and see the world through new eyes, the idea exhilarating. I had traveled outside my hometown only a few times in my life. It was all I knew and I knew there had to be more.

Gram and Mom fixed a cooler full of food for me to carry on the road, always concerned with whether I ate enough. Mom wanted to keep me in
good rig,
as she referred to my health. Sounds kind of like livestock,
good rig.
To my mother and grandmother, a skinny kid equated to an unloved kid. “Mothers who love their children feed them,” they would say.