I leaned closer to her, and she reached toward me and took my hand in both of hers. We kissed. She brushed my upper lip with her tongue and then she brushed my lower lip. She kissed both sides of my mouth just a taste and my mouth opened just slightly and she licked the insides. I took her tongue and sucked and sucked and we kissed and kissed…but my mind was on Rohn. God, she must have done something powerful to me. If Emily had been like Rohn, there is no way I would live nine hundred miles from her.

There’s a certain kind of woman I can never resist, no matter what she does. A certain hair color that makes me want to touch it, a certain slow swagger that I’ll turn around on the street to look at, a certain accent; that, combined with a tone of voice I remember, can make the hairs stand up on my neck.

Rohn was on my mind and I let Emily touch me where she wanted to. But it was Rohn making me feel so weak, nearly thirty years later, sucking all my breath away.

PATRICE SUNCIRCLE

on “Tennessee,” first published in 1994

I was born in west Tennessee—Tennessee Delta country. I grew up on my grandparents’ farm. I still am pretty much a country girl. One of the few things that can entice me away from a good book is a walk in the woods.

I’m a pagan, which is how I see the two characters in “Tennessee.”

Pagan—meaning love of wild nature and all that that entails. I didn’t know I was a pagan when I was growing up down south—lucky for me—nor when I first wrote “Tennessee.”

Now I do.

Up for a Nickel

Thomas S. Roche