That’s me. And so I didn’t push.

Scaring him off would be worse than

Not having him at all.

Because at least this way there was always the look.

And it was mine.

The party was healthy downstairs.

We moved up to refresh our whiskey,

Of which we’d already consumed too much.

But who’s counting?

It had been two years and this was a reunion.

I willed the sun to keep sleeping.

Glass cubes fell into icy tumblers.

Amber liquid melts them

Just a little.

He smiles at me over his glass. I return the favor.

The din of laugher and party music bubbles up from downstairs.

And the night is an alchemist’s brew,

The sound of ice and glass

And his eyes floating above it all.

He’s kissing me and I’m not even sure where it began.

Just one fluid motion and we’re close and close

And closer still.

Dreaming. I must be.

Because we’ve had the conversation

And it’s quite clear where his preferences lie.

But not tonight.

He’s drunk. We both are.

And he initiated but I’ll wave it away

Politely.

In the morning.

All that matters right now is that his lips are pressed against mine.

Later he’ll earn the name Tommy Puker.

But the nickname will always make me smile

Because between sobriety and sickness there was

A perfectly planted patch of bliss.

4

Deep tan. The desired look of the ’80s.

From his toes up to the secrets under his red shorts

up to the bridge of his nose,

Decorated with a finger-streak of white zinc ointment.

My swim coach.

I am four and he is beautiful.

All I want is to sit in his lap.

Which I do.

From time to time.

He seemed so old

Though I’m sure he was younger then than I am now.

Auntie Lolamae would take me to the lessons.

Sit on the beach and spit her seeds

While reading rags and soaking sun.

I’d play Simon Says and splash in the water.

Imagining I might glimpse a real fish

Or at least the comforting sight of his tan legs

When it was time to go facedown in the water.

A game of Pac Man or Rampage

And a jump on the orange trampoline and it was time to go back to the cabin.

Ice cream in hand.

Tiger Tiger for me. Butterscotch for Lolamae.

And a wave to him. See you tomorrow.

Bundled up on the couch with Lolamae.

She smokes a cigarette.

I snuggle closer and watch our favorite movies.

Cocktail. Top Gun. Dirty Dancing. Ghost.

She’s smart enough to know her little nephew likes Tom Cruise

and Patrick Swayze

and the deep tan of his swim coach’s shoulders.

And with her it will always be okay.

29

I’m not a violent person.

So why does Facebook make me want to hurt myself?