Spring Break

I thought about my one phone call

and the stupidity of Greyhounding

23 hours—all stops—

Virginia to Florida

for spring break

like you’d asked me to

and not bothering to commit to memory

the name or address of your dorm

or the hallway phone number

or your roommate’s last name

and not knowing you’d mixed up the dates

and thought my college was on break

a week later

and that your other girlfriend

was arriving

later that same day—wait, your what?!—

and you would have to explain

me

somehow

and that I actually had agreed

to go along with whatever

you came up with

to make it easier on you

because

I thought

I loved you

--

I thought about how

she kissed you

eyes closed

by the baggage claim carousel

and noticed me

standing off to the right

with your friend Jason

holding my hand

and expecting some

a little later

for being such a pal

and she was

taking it for granted

that I was there with him

and not you

and your eyes

told me what you felt

for me

was real

but what you had

with her

was lasting

--

I thought about her

long lean runner’s legs

stemming out of that

yellow string bikini

and her flat stomach

and mounds-o-butter breasts

wrapping around you

melting

inside the intoxicating ocean

while I sat

sinking

shots of tequila

making small talk with the bartender

about Jason

and lacrosse

and rock ’n roll

and drag car racing

pretending not to see

that she

was

touching you

in ways

I would

never

touch you

again

--

I thought about the night

we met the previous summer

working road construction

at night

laying asphalt,

your hard hat

lending an air of power

and purpose,

your juicy lips

mouthing words

I never heard

over the jackhammer

but agreed to

anyway

and suddenly

found myself

discovering parts

of you

and

myself

and how

until the precise moment

she arrived

and I

departed

in some

inescapable way,

I never

once

regretted

giving

you

everything

simply for the asking

--

I thought about

my one phone call

as I stood staring down

at my bare feet

and empty hands

recalling leaving

my wallet

on your bed

in the haste of getting

me

elsewhere

so the two of you

could have some alone time

and your oversexed bud

could get back to his dope

and waterskiing

so it was

off to the mall with me

so I could do a little shopping

—buy something sexy for Jason—

I thought I heard you saying

but instead

picked up a sports bra

for the workout

I’d be giving

the old bag

back at your dorm’s

weight room

and meandered

out of the department store

and into the mall,

a policewoman waiting

and none too understanding,

having seen me coming from a mile away

***

Copyright © 08/01/2001 by Christy Munson. All rights reserved.