Cemetery Street by John Zunski (ebook reader color screen .txt) đ
- Author: John Zunski
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In the next photo, the man reaches into his pocket. The woman appears in midst of a giant leap backward, like a coyote hop in reverse. Fear is noticeable beneath her anger.
âI thought for sure he was packing,â Genise said startling me. She looked over my shoulder. âShe thought so too.â
The next photo reveals the man staring at the backpedaling woman and drawing an object from his pant pocket. The stunned onlooker in the background is also caught in retreat.
In the next one he produces a handkerchief. âHe really pisses her off,â Genise said.
âLike sheâs not already,â I looked over my shoulder at Genise.
In the following photo he wipes the loogie away with a smile upon his face. He still rests against the back of the bench. âHe laughs at her. She rips into him, calling him a fucking this and a fucking that and he just sits there calm as can be, laughing at her. I wanted to smack both of them.â
âWhy?â
âCause she was way out of control and he was way in control, like too contrived or something.â
In the last photo, the womanâs face was flushed with anger, her forehead purple beneath tightly curled bangs. Her eyes glaring as she turned away.
âHistory doesnât remember well-behaved women,â Genise said matter-of-factly.
âWhere did you get that from?â I turned quickly, studying Geniseâs face. A half dozen or so freckles dotted each cheek. I never noticed them before.
Genise peered down, studying my eyes. A moment of silence settled between us. âShannie,â Genise uttered, breaking the spell.
âWhat about her?â I asked.
âI got the saying from her. She had the bumper sticker on her car.â
âOh,â I mumbled beneath my stare.
âShit! The stir-fry.â
My eyes followed Genise across the kitchen. I felt horrible betraying Shannie. Donât wimp out, I told myself. Iâm not walking out on Genise â a deal is a deal. I came here to get laid and Iâm going to get laid! Iâm going to hate myself. So I may as well get a little ass.
Throughout dinner, Genise and I were civil. We didnât bring up Shannie or our deal. Thank God for the photo albums or we wouldnât have anything to talk about.
âIâll wash, you dry,â Genise said when we finished eating.
âDeal,â I answered.
Tension seeped over us like globs of maple syrup as we stood at the kitchen sink. Geniseâs movements were tense, as if she was expecting my move any second. I focused drying each dish, wary sheâd have a change of heart and break a plate over my head. I enjoyed the uncertainty. My paranoia aided the tension. How would I explain a run in with Geniseâs flying Corningware? I hid my sweaty palms behind the dishtowel.
Then it happened. With the suddenness and intensity of igniting gasoline. The trigger, an innocent brush of arms. I hated that Genise could produce such a reaction. I hated not being able to control my reaction. I hated not being able to control Genise.
We broke a dish, but it wasnât over either of our heads. As I pulled Genise to me, she dropped the plate in her hand. Her lips sought mine. She was softer than she looked. Our lips locked, my hands ran under her arms, down her sides and over her hips. I squeezed her ass. A marshmallow in an athleteâs body, I thought.
She crushed her breasts against me. Our tongues crossed in a race for the other. I submitted to her probing tongue. I ran my hands upward, squeezing her shirt clad breasts.
She withdrew her tongue and threw her head back. I reached around her waist helping her maintain her balance. Genise thrust her hips into mine, rubbing her pelvis against mine. âFuck me,â she ordered.
Like an obedient boy-toy, I laid her back on the floor. âNot the floor,â she commanded. Scooping her up, I moved towards the bedroom. âNot the bedroom.â she added swallow breathed. I threw her down on the kitchen table. She winced as a pointed edge of a photo album poked the small of her back. She brushed the album to the floor as I raised her top over her head. I admired her perpetually tanned breasts. I couldnât help comparing them to Shannieâs â they were rounder, her nipples thicker, fuller; chocolate compared to hollow pink. Hershey Kisses compared to after dinner mints. Shannieâs were perky; Geniseâs exotic.
The small of Geniseâs back arched off the table as my lips found a nipple. Like a child on Christmas morning, my tongue raced back and forth over and between her gifts. I squeezed Geniseâs breasts together. After a parting peck, my tongue left her breasts to my hands will. Descending over the swell of a breast, I ran my tongue down her belly, pausing briefly at her navel before racing towards the button atop her shorts.
My hands departed Geniseâs breasts for a more exciting destination. I fumbled with her pant button before finally springing it open. I looked up, her eyes were closed, her head back. She fondled her breasts as she raised her hips allowing me to slide off her shorts.
Her shorts fell to the floor. I paused; imagining her womanhood hiding behind a leopard skinned thong. The thong which would be so out of place on Shannie was perfect for Genise. Smiling, reminding myself thereâs only one chance to view someone for the first time, I slowly pulled Geniseâs thong downward revealing her secrets. Placing a hand on the inside of each knee, I parted her legs before running my tongue along her thigh. I paused and savored her with my eyes.
âYes,â Genise cried. âYou want a little dessert.â She spread her legs further. Grabbing my hair she directed me. I closed my eyes, imagining Shannie. I ran a finger over her softness. Parting her lips I explored. I kissed her. The tip of my tongue wandered. She arched her back, I felt her tremble.
She grabbed my hair and pulled me away. Genise dropped to her knees in front of me. When she was satisfied with my state, she slid back onto the table. Spreading her legs, she invited me forward.
We made love numerous times, doing it almost every conceivable way on every piece of furniture in sight, except for her bed. When she wanted to go a third time, I said: âJesus girl, youâre a Genise Penis Trap.â We laughed and laughed.
I was having too much fun to refuse. When we finished I watched the sun drop behind the bay, reflecting on how fun it was playing cowboy to Geniseâs Indian. âYou can stay the night if you want,â Genise said standing behind me.
âCanât, people are expecting me.â
âCall âem,â Genise quipped.
âAnd tell them Iâm in Atlantic City?â
âLie,â Genise slid her arms around me. âTell them youâre in Pittsburgh or something.â
âYeah right. Who do I know there?â
âYou worry too much. Tell them you just felt like getting out. You just drove and ended up there.â
It would be fun, I thought. âItâll be a lot easier to hit the road. My old man will be at Dianeâs. Shannie will be holed up at school.â I turned around. I imagined being with Genise. If it wasnât for Shannie, I would have stayed. Who knows how long? I lifted her chin with a finger. We kissed. We hugged. Genise buried her head in my chest; for a moment, I lost myself her hairâs aroma. Pulling away I said. âI have to go. Itâs easier to deal with the guilt this way.â
âYou know,â Genise whispered. âYouâre not in a relationship with her.â
âYeah, but I love her.â
Genise looked at me with poisoned eyes. âWe have that in common. What about us? We still have a deal?â
âI gotta go.â I turned away.
âDonât stiff me,â Genise repeated.
âI just did,â I smiled.
âA deal is a deal.â
âIt is.â
âYou and me, weâre strange bedfellows,â Genise quipped.
âYeah we are,â I ran a finger down Geniseâs cheek. âYou know, weâre both victims of Shannieâs charisma,â I whispered. I kissed her forehead and walked into the night. Without looking back, I climbed into my hooptie and went over my directions home before driving away.
As Atlantic Cityâs lights faded behind me, I thought of how acquainted I am with things bittersweet; how well my stomach twists to the strains of my heartâs beat and my smile glistens under showers of tears.
Memories of my latest adventure swarmed about as the hooptie coasted to a stop atop Beyfordâs exit ramp. With a sigh of relieve I turned down Main Street. I slowed as I passed Fernwood, glancing across the tombstones, past the line of trees to our houses. I thought of my mother, wondered where she could be. Would I recognize her? I missed her. I wished I could talk with her. Of the pain I suffered, her indifference hurt the worst.
My headlights bounced of Saphixâs reflectors as the hooptie turned onto Cemetery Street. The driveway stones crackled under the hooptieâs weight. I closed the driverâs side door and slunk across my front yard. As I slid my key into the door I heard the distinct chirp of Shannieâs whistle. I exhaled, trudged down the front steps and towards the elm between our houses.
âWhereâve you been?â Shannie asked from the limbs above.
âArenât you a little too old to be climbing trees,â I looked up into the limbs barely noticing her outline in the darkness.
âThe day Iâm too old is the day they plant me in the ground. Everyone should have a personal relationship with a tree.â
âIf you say so,â I said staring at my feet. I was too guilt ridden to look at Shannieâs shadow. Passing cars punctuated our silence.
âBeautiful night,â Shannie mumbled. Her hair dangled over a shoulder as she glanced across Fernwood.
âYeah.â I wished I could run my fingers through her hair. âIâm beat. Iâm going to turn in. See you later.â
âLater,â Shannie answered.
Walking away I felt Shannieâs eyes upon my back. âJames,â her voice slithered across the grass before wrapping itself around me. Its softness sent goosebumps up and down my spine.
I faced the tree. âYeah Bug?â I answered.
âNothing,â the tree answered.
âYou sure?â I asked the swaying limbs.
âGoodnight Just James.â
ââNight Bug.â
As I walked away I thought I heard the tree whisper: âPromise that youâll love me forever.â
Chapter 19 Scandals
1996 was an unremarkable year. Between my appointments with Krista and facilitatorâs visits, I had ample opportunity to ponder where my life had been and where it was going. I was twenty-four and understood a mid-life crisis â I didnât have a trophy girlfriend or a red sports car: I was in love with a lesbian and was burdened with an orange beater. âJoy to the world,â I toasted as 1996 faded and 1997 loomed on the horizon.
My father wasnât home, he was never home âhe found a new home. The house was his in name; itâs occupants Ellie and I, he all but moved in with Diane. They made a great couple. I sighed with the thought. Ellie answered with a tilt of her head, coaxing another treat from me.
âYouâre getting fat girlfriend,â I said scratching behind her ears. Ellie was great company and other than our conflicting schedules she never bitched. She whined when it was time to do her business which always coincided with my next nap.
My motherâs memory haunted me. She didnât attempt any contact. She was never mentioned in conversation unless I brought her up. âShe doesnât care about my accident,â I complained to Shannie.
âShe doesnât know about your accident,â
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