Birdie (12 page)

Birdie

He really isn’t going
anywhere. This is my thought as I park my newly fixed truck in its spot at school.  He and Tim worked on it for over an hour yesterday before they called Ol’ Henry who rumbled in, tinkered with some wires for ten minutes, then rumbled out to the sound of my truck engine purring like a fat kitten. After washing up in the kitchen sink, Wesley walked over to me, kissed me right on the lips in front of Tim, and then told me he’d see me tomorrow at school.

Tim merely raised an eyebrow at me before taking a swig of his beer and pretending to be interested in Sportscenter while I settled down next to him on the couch with a book and wearing a big
Not Talking
expression on my face.

Now I sit in my truck, my eyes trained on Wesley who is casually talking to Bryce and Clay at the back gate of the school. They never stand and talk at the back gate of the school. The social studies hall where their lockers are is where they hold court every single day. His lingering by the parking lot is a change in pattern that I fear is caused by me.

I don’t want change in patterns. I don’t want attention.

I want him but not too much. I want to be able to walk away from Shenoah come graduation and start my real life. I don’t want to talk to anyone by the back gate of the parking lot.

Like a trooper, I climb out of my truck and walk slowly towards the gate. I’ll humor him today then tell him later when we’re alone exactly all my thoughts on the matter. As I draw near, he pauses briefly in his conversation to give me a slight wave, then turns his attention back to Bryce and Clay. My eyebrows shoot up in confusion.

Is that all?

I’m equally relieved and distressed. Now that we’re back at school, is everything that happened this weekend over? Was it just a suspension in time, a parallel universe to try out things we wouldn’t do otherwise? It’s ludicrous now that I think about it. Wes is revered by the student population. He is the cool guy from all the movies, books, and TV shows, built piece by piece by the American ideal. Wes and I as a couple do not exist in real life.

I get to my locker and lean my head against the cool metal. Settling back into the norm makes it easier to breathe, but my chest constricts with loss. The pinch hurts.

And then his voice is in my ear.

“Because kissing you or holding your hand in front of everybody would make you uncomfortable, I won’t do it. But I also won’t let you get through the day without telling you that I can’t stop thinking about you. You can come kiss me or hold my hand wherever and whenever you want. Whenever you’re ready.”

And then he’s gone and cold air rushes in where his warmth was. And my heartbeat is palpable. And before I can stop myself, I’m smiling.

Birdie

The quietness of Wesley’s
house settles on me like a thick layer of fog.  In the daylight, when we got here after school, I thought it seemed airy and weightless with the rays of light stampeding through the walls of windows.  Now as we watch a movie in the den, the slats of streetlight mixing with the blue-gray light of the television make the silence a presence in the room. 

I shift under the weight of Wesley’s shoulder which is bearing down on mine as he leans on me, eyes fixed to the TV.  He glances at me and adjusts to give me room.  Then he leans over and his lips peck the side of my neck.

I grimace. “Not here.”

Welsey responds with a grin.  “You haven’t let me touch you since we got here. We actually did homework.  What couple actually does homework when they say they’re meeting to do homework?”

I smile and shove him back with my forearm.  “The secret kind. And we half-heartedly did homework. You keep watching TV.” It’s been two weeks since we slept together and I still haven’t been able to let Wes go public with our relationship. The night of his birthday party still lurks in my mind. Though he’s anxious to redeem himself and prove to me that he doesn’t care what people think, he’s kept to his word. He hasn’t given anything away and for now is content with quick notes slipped in each other’s locker or stolen kisses behind a stairwell.

He kisses me again, longer this time.  I break away.  “Not
here
.”

His eyebrows dance mischievously.  I like his lopsided grin.  I like the way his blue eyes drink me in.  I like the feel of his lips. 
Clink, clink, clink
.  The chain links are adding up the longer I hang around him.

“My parents are gone for the weekend. Grant has a big speech on Saturday. They won’t be back until Sunday afternoon.”

I glance to the far right wall where Mr. Lott glares over me in full portrait.

“Oh, they’re still here. I can feel their disapproving stares from halfway across Texas.”

Wesley ignores me and pushes his tongue into my mouth.  I let him, feeling the effect wash down my body and into my groin.  He positions himself on top of me, butterfly kissing my ears.  He’s been preoccupied with my ears. 

“Don’t look at that hideous painting,” he says between kisses.  “Just look at me.”

I do.  His head hangs over me, his eyes raking over my face with that doe-glazed look that’s becoming more and more frequent since we slept together.
Clink, clink, clink
.  I don’t want to fight it anymore. I know it’s useless. It was useless before he put what we had into words that night of the party. I was already taken. Me deciding to put the kibosh on voicing it didn’t change what it was.

“I love you, Wes.”

There.  It broke out of me.  The words leave my mouth and wipe that doe-glaze look off his face.  His eyes cloud with intensity.

“What?”

That’s his response? What? I prop myself up on my elbows and narrow my eyebrows. What does he mean
what
? “I said I love you.”

His fingers lightly brush my waist above my jeans.  “Hey, Birds.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to go down on you.”  His eyes look at mine expectantly. “Can I?”

“You choose this moment to proposition me?”

His laugh is full-bodied and infectious. I find myself smiling.  “Yes. I choose this moment. I really want to try. I’ve never gone down on anyone before.”

“Rachel didn’t give you full access?”

Wesley makes a face.  “Can we
please
not bring up my ex right now?” My heart flutters at the word
ex
. The way he says it like they’ve been over for several months instead of several days.  “No, she thought it was gross and I didn’t care enough to push it.  I’m glad I didn’t. I want to try with you.”

“It actually does sound gross,” I muse. “So you want to make me your experiment?”

“No, I want to kiss you everywhere, including there.”

The teasing leaves my voice.  What do I say to that? There’s nothing to say to that. Except, “Okay.”

The disrobing of my jeans and underwear are hurried like I’ll change my mind and he doesn’t bother with my shirt.  I instinctively move my hand over my crotch, covering the carpet of curly bristles I never had to think about shaving or styling before hooking up with Wesley. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. Wesley flicks my hand out of the way.

“Quit with the obstacles, Woman,” he commands, a smile in his voice.

And then he starts to lick me.  Not kiss me like I was expecting.  He’s licking the spot above the hairless nub that tingles when our making out becomes deep and our bodies press together like leaving air between us is unthinkable.

At first, it is gross.  I squirm a little and I feel him pause to grin before continuing. And then…it’s not so gross.  It’s heat spreading and I’m anxious for him to move south a centimeter and direct his efforts right on it.  I squirm again to get him there since I can’t find my voice and even if I could I’m too shy to say it.

“Patience, Birds,” I hear him murmur as he leaves the area completely, planting kisses on my inner thighs. 
No!
The heat resides and my body misses what was coming. But then, his kisses bring on a new heat, slow roiling and compounded, building on the waves of the original. I moan and I feel him shift in between my legs, surged with renewed encouragement. He moves from my thigh through carpet of hair and back to the sweet spot.

And then he does something that drives me completely wild.  He inhales deeply.  I feel myself leaking wet.  He’s faster now, licking and sucking and nibbling the most wonderful piece of my body sending trembles cascading down my groin, one on top of the other, until my hands are fisted in his hair and one of my legs is shaking up and down on the floor while the other leg is slung over the back of the couch.  And my hips are moving, bringing the cascades home, harder and harder until I scream and arch my back, pushing me into his mouth.

“Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?” I punctuate each word with a punch to the couch pillow as I come down from the most incredible high of my life.  Wesley sits up between my legs and wipes his mouth on his shirt at the shoulder.  His grin is stretched from ear to ear.

“I got you there,” he states proudly.

“Soooo there,” I agree, breathless.  I curl my legs up to my chest and hug them.  He slides off the couch and sits next to me so our heads are almost even – mine still laying against the arm of the couch and his resting on his palm inches away.

“Say it again,” he says.

I squint at him. “Say what again?”

“Say you love me again.”

I consider cracking a joke.  I consider saying “After
that
? How can I not?” But I don’t. I have never been so exposed to anyone before as I just was, legs spread out, bare, and in his hands. And I want to be just as exposed to him now, curled up, hugging my legs, and staring into his eyes. Exposed in a different way.

“I love you, Wesley.”

He strokes my temple with his thumb. “You make me happy.”

He pushes himself up, grabs the throw and drapes it over me. “I’m tired of homework. Movie? I’ve got the Sandlot. We need popcorn.”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“So say yes.”

I smile. “Yes.”

“Caramel or movie butter?”  He pauses a beat before answering simultaneously with me, “Movie butter.”

Birdie

I want to get
Tim a birthday present. I learned from Esther that it’s at the end of May and I think it’s fitting to celebrate after all he’s done for me. Wesley offered to drive me into Holcumb, the nearest larger town where the stores have more options. Which I need since Tim is private and a slave to routine. I take my entire paycheck from this week and everything I saved up in April and stuff it in my purse. I have four hundred dollars saved. And every penny is going to go to Tim.

The mall feels like a reprieve from Shenoah. School hasn’t been the most serene of environments to expose our relationship. After my declaration, I swallowed my nerves and rode with Wes to school the next Monday. As we walked through the parking lot, I took his hand. His eyes flew to mine in surprise and I gulped but held on. The reaction from the student body wasn’t the onslaught I prepared for but it wasn’t all roses and daisies either.

Rachel was of course pissed. It materialized in the form of cold glares but that was mostly for Wes since cold glares were the foundation of our relationship all along. Garret wasn’t too happy either. Wes informed me of this as he worked his shoulder out after a light football scrimmage in PE. Apparently, Garret decided to work on his tackling skills and Wes was the lucky recipient of his focus.

And I did feel like a spectacle at the zoo while Wes and I sat in the courtyard to eat lunch. Students couldn’t keep from flicking their eyes towards us and some openly stared. Lacey was unchanged. She still found me halfway through lunch time after hanging with Ben in the library and plopped down next to me. The only difference was she broke my candy bar in half and offered it to Wes.

That’s the extent of the changes we experienced. Wes’s friends steer clear when we’re hanging out and still flock around him when we’re apart. I still go about the hallways keeping to myself. I don’t like the additional whispers and the feeling of eyes on my back but it’s a small price to pay for Wesley Lott, I suppose.

That’s why I’m excited as we peruse the huge color coded mall map that’s hocking expensive eyewear on the other side. We can be among people again who don’t know us and I don’t have to move under the weight of covert stares.

“What are we getting him?” Wes asks me.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you stuff a couple twenties in your wallet that I didn't see? Are you contributing to this gift?”

“Yes, I am. My contributions aren’t monetary. They’re much, much better.”

“Oh?”

“Every minute of Wesley Time is actually stronger than the U.S. Dollar. Calculate that with gas money, the advice of a man, and my sought-after attention…”

“Your inflated head is blocking my view of the map,” I quip, miming trying to look around him at the list of stores.

Wes laughs. “The drawback to my services.” He strokes my cheek. “But even so, I’m making out like a bandit. This view is worth every penny. Or Wes Time. Depending on what currency you carry.”

I flush under his gaze. “Let’s start with that luggage store. Tim is practical. He likes practical things.”

We don’t spend long in the luggage store. I blanch at the prices. Fourteen hundred dollars to lug around the wardrobe he owns that doesn’t even cost a fourth of that seems ludicrous to me. Wes offers some of his diner earnings to round me out.

“That’s a thousand dollars of roundness,” I argue, walking out of the store.

“Or six hundred Wes Time minutes,” he jokes.

I throw him a look and his sobers a bit. “I’ve worked there a long time. Lots of bussing and waiting and making small talk to earn tips. I have it.”

“And you will use it for the things you need.”

In the end, I find a silver watch that I can immediately picture on Tim’s wrist that only puts me out of half the money I brought. The more expensive watch next to it would have been closer to what I intended to spend, but I couldn't see Tim liking it when he opened it.

I clutch the bag, pleased with my find. And starving, to which Wes replies that he will spend some of his hard-earned tips (the hard-earned details now exaggerated at this point to vomit scrubbing, plate balancing, and shameless old woman flirting) on a junk-filled food court lunch.

It’s while we’re standing at the edge of the food court, the various stands circled around us in a horseshoe fashion, with our fingers interlaced that I notice him. An older gentleman in a blue button down and gray slacks. A tweed hat rests on his head. And a frown pulls down on his features. He’s finished eating. Empty wrappers are balled around him and a half-filled soda sits before him. Shopping bags litter the table and a green purse is slung over the back of an empty chair so it appears he’s waiting for someone – his wife? – to return from wherever she ran to. He can’t keep his attention off us.

The man’s eyes cut to our held hands and I wriggle my fingers out of Wes’s. Wes looks down at our disconnection and narrows his eyes at me. My face gives me away. The nervous, closed off look when I get when I feel people studying me or judging me plagues my expression.

“There’s no one here. We’re two towns away. Why won’t you hold my hand?”

“People are looking,” I hiss.

Wes looks around us and the man who had been eyeing us quickly diverts his gaze. “Who? Him?” Wes demands.

I sigh and look away. Wes clutches my shoulders and lowers his mouth to mine in a quick, angry kiss. I push away, glaring.

“Shall we give the bastard a show?” he asks. I grab Wes’s hand and pull him out of the food court into a less populated area of the mall and then turn and face him, my skin hot.

“That was not okay!” I tell him furiously.

“Who cares what he thinks? Who cares what anyone thinks? It’s not about that man or the kids at school or my parents or anyone besides you and me. What do I have to do to make you realize that?”

I don’t answer. He doesn’t get it and if I say so he’ll just get angrier. Instead I cross my arms and keep my face stony and impassive.

“I don’t want to be your dirty little secret,” Wes says testily. “It’s been a month. I thought you’d eventually shake off the nerves.”

“I’ve been the dirty little secret my whole life!” I retort. “I’m always the outsider. I’m always the different one. I always get the looks. Always. Not you. You can’t play at this for a month and decide you know what’s best.”

“I’m not fucking playing at anything! Jesus Christ, if I’d known it’d be this hard to be your boyfriend…”

My heart snaps in shock at the words on the tip of his tongue and my eyes blur with water. Wesley’s brain catches up to his mouth and he shakes his head slowly.

“No, Birdie. That’s not what I meant to say. Oh, God, you know I don’t mean that.” He rakes a tired hand over his face and I let go of some of my anger so I can see his frustration more clearly. I don’t know how to make him understand.

It feels like when Darla and I used to order food from China Star down the street on hot days in the summer when the heat was too brutal and we were a little too old to play outside but the boredom of the house would be pushing down on us. We would raid the coffee can of loose dollar bills and change and walk to China Star with the money fisted in our sweaty hands. The man behind the counter always nodded and smiled as I asked for the number one with no peas or the number twelve with extra egg. Nodded and smiled like he understood. But when I opened the greasy take out box once we got home, I’d find the offensive green vegetables or a complete absence of egg.

Wesley keeps nodding and smiling at me and it makes me want to scream because he thinks he knows, but he doesn’t. He can’t. At the same time, even though I know I’m going to get a mouthful of peas, I can’t just walk away. The rest of him is too delicious.

I reach up and kiss him.  This surprises him because last time he checked, we were still mid-fight, but I feel the protest die in his mouth and his arms wrap around me and squeeze as he deepens it until there’s no one in the mall but the two of us – the way he always sees us and the way I wish I could.