BooksBarbecue
Back Aesthetica
Chapters (30)
  1. Title
  2. Part One
  3. 1.
  4. 2.
  5. 3.
  6. 4.
  7. 5.
  8. 6.
  9. Part Two
  10. 7.
  11. 8.
  12. 9.
  13. 10.
  14. 11.
  15. 12.
  16. 13.
  17. Part Three
  18. 14.
  19. 15.
  20. 16.
  21. 17.
  22. 18.
  23. 19.
  24. 20.
  25. 21.
  26. 22.
  27. 23.
  28. 24.
  29. 25.
  30. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“We should join,” I said, taking in the bodies, comparing them to my own, which was image I was certain of it. There was a chair in the center of the room, and I led Jake to it. He sat, I knelt. He looked down at me. The angle made him smaller. I opened my clutch, offered the coke.

“Let’s stick to just each other,” he said again as we bumped.

I said, “Of course, baby,” and heard my voice, proud like I’d won something. He was soft and small in my hands. In my mouth, he hardened. Eyes turned to watch my work.

WHEN IT WAS over, when we turned to leave the room and all those bodies, I noticed a second space, an annex off the first, and stopped to peer in. More bodies, packed thick. Close where I could see, an older man fucked a woman who bent at the waist and mewled, hair over her face. A second woman embraced the man from behind. Still, he turned. From inside the heat and all that contact, he reached for me. His hand was wide and wanting. I felt myself smile the way people sometimes smile at tragic news, a sick, involuntary response, detached from how they really feel. My breath shortened, and I began to count. I left. But later, I wondered if I had wanted to stay. I wondered where my desire began, where Jake’s ended.

I ask these questions often now that I’m alone.

Part Two

image

7.

I wake in a frigid room. A muted TV beams unhappy light. I’ve been dreaming and inspect my body to remember what’s real, where I am. Pleats in my skin from stiff sheets tell me: the princess-themed hotel in Burbank, the pool I lingered at all afternoon, the mother and daughter I followed; I am thirty-five, not nineteen, a woman, not a girl. I touch my phone. It’s not yet late, though I have slept through dinner. I find the TV remote, press the volume, and voices rise up. Your favorite childhood food items only elevated! a host says. Chicken and Stars, a contestant answers, and background music brings the mood down. The TV flashes family photos as the contestant’s disembodied voice talks about his sister’s prolonged illness, her early death. Our happiest memories took place in the kitchen, he says.