Dreamland City. Larina Lavergne
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here, honey,” he murmurs.
He pulls me down on the couch with him. I wriggle up against him, and Beau draws me into his arms, pushing his face into my hair and inhaling deeply. I hold him tight as he shudders against my thin body. Beau’s long, callused fingers reach up and gently stroke my cheeks, and then he pulls away and cups my cheeks. We’re just looking at each other, because there’s nothing else worth looking at.
3
I thought I was in love with Beau was when I was thirteen. That must sound disgusting to some folks, but it doesn’t make it go away. Beau taught me how to ride a bike, he played with me, and he took care of me. Mama was hardly ever around, or when she was, she’d be passed out stone cold from whatever she’d smoked, or the booze. I’d throw a blanket on her while she slept it off, and before Beau came back home, I would cook dinner with whatever we had in the house. He always said ‘thank you’ so nice and polite even when the food was burnt and gross, and after dinner, he would try to help me with my homework as best he could.
It was a ploy, really. I didn’t need help with homework, and certainly not from Beau with his eighth grade education, but I liked how I felt when he leaned over me to squint at my books, and how he smelled of clean sweat and honest work and…man.
So many nights, I would lie awake and listen to them having sex, my mother’s loud moans and screams reverberating in our trailer. At first, I tried to cover my ears, but I couldn’t block out the sounds even when I buried my head under a pillow. It was hard looking them in the eye every day knowing what they were doing, and how much they enjoyed it. I couldn’t help wanting to feel the same way.
One day, Mama was out doing an all-night gig at one of the clubs, and I made Beau dinner as usual. That night it was pork chops—an unusual treat. We sat across from each other at the small dining table and I tried to memorize his face; the etched traces of lines on his forehead that made him look so grave and soulful, his jowls moving up and down as he chewed disconsolately on the meat. We didn’t say much while eating, and after dinner, he came into my bedroom. I had my homework spread out on the bed and was lying on my stomach on the covers.
“Ready to get started, Lil?” he got on the bed next to me. I nodded and sat up, pulling my history book in close.
“What we gotta do this time, honey?” he asked.
He was so close, and I could smell the whisky he always had after dinner on his breath. He’d had a few more than his usual that night, and his voice was a little unsteady as he looked at me.
“History?” I suggested.
“Right, history,” he said. He reached over me to grab a book and saw that I was staring at him.
“Hmmm?” he said, freezing. “Something wrong, hon?”
“Nothing,” I replied, swallowing hard.
His eyes were darker than I had ever seen, and there was a look in there I hadn’t seen before my boobs grew out.
“When’d you get all pretty?” he asked suddenly, tracing my jaw with a long finger. He was so close, looking at me almost the same way he looked at my mother.
I blushed and looked away, but his finger didn’t go away.
“You’re gonna be prettier than your mama,” he said solemnly to me.
“No one’s prettier than mama,” I protested. It was true. My mother might’ve been a whore, a drug addict and possibly the worst mother in world, but she was also undoubtedly beautiful.
“Nah, you’re wrong, I swear to God,” he insisted. He pushed back a curl of my hair, and I stared wordlessly at him, not sure what was going to happen and praying whatever it was, that it would happen immediately, and that my mother wouldn’t hate me more than she already did.
“You know I love you so much, honey,” he said, his voice thick. “You’ll always be my girl.”
An uncomfortable, nagging, yet incredible heat built up in my stomach from the look in his eyes.
“OK,” I said.
And he kissed me. I was breathless. He tasted of salt and whisky, and I had never tasted anything so sweet.
4
I got an email last week reminding me to write to my scholarship sponsors, because the donors like to hear from us lucky recipients from time to time. “Just an update on how you’re starting out. It’ll help them picture your upcoming years,” wrote Jessica Tyrell, Scholarship Administrator. I don’t think she meant to make it sound like a threat, but there’s always the chance they won’t renew my scholarship for next year. And then what would I do?
Well, I guess Tommy said they were looking for a cashier at one of his jobs.
Crap formal letters like these always feel like they need pen to paper, so I get out a writing pad that I found jammed under the cushion in the couch. I chew on the pen and notice a coffee ring on the paper. It takes me several page turns to get to a semi clean page.
Dear Scholarship Board,
This is Lily Anderson. You awarded me a Merit Scholarship for socially disadvantaged youths. I am very grateful for the opportunity. I am enjoying my first semester at Duke, and am happy to be with such intelligent and similarly minded people. I love all my classes and although it is too early yet, I hope one day to become a doctor or a lawyer. Thank you.
Sincerely, Lily Anderson.
I tear up the “letter.” Even the dumbest privileged old fuck would be able to feel the insincerity dripping from my words. I could do a lot better, but honestly, all I can think about now is sex, and I don’t care with whom.
I squeeze my thighs tight.
On cue, Tommy texts me, asking if I want to hang out tonight, and if Beau will let me. Not that I need permission, but I don’t even know where Beau is. I woke up as he was putting on his pants this morning, and he left my room without saying a word or looking at me.
5
I convinced Tommy to take off work for a few days and stay with me on campus so I could show him around. Tommy’s one of the smartest guys I know—he just doesn’t know it himself. He never got the chance to finish high school, and he’s always had an awe for stuff he doesn’t understand, which is why he can’t help going through all my homework and textbooks, tracing his rough fingers down the lines of symbols and math.
It’s nice walking around the usually threatening campus grounds with him holding on protectively. The other kids don’t know that he doesn’t go here, so we blend in as just another campus couple, and obligingly, I glare at the other girls checking him out.
I’ve known Tommy forever, and I remember the first time we kissed. It was maybe a year after I’d started fooling around with Beau. We were sitting out at the table behind his trailer. Tommy had this wide-eyed look on his face, and then his eyes closed, he leaned in, and his mouth swallowed me. God, that kiss was awful. But I taught him what I had learned from Beau, and he got a lot better. We had sex for the first time soon after, and he asked me how I knew so much, and I didn’t see any reason not to tell him the truth. He went all quiet, and sad.
Sometimes I like it, when he’s quiet and sad.
Not this time though. We go to lectures together, watch old movies, break into random professor offices late in the night for the heck of it, fill shampoo bottles with nail varnish and fuck every day with free condoms from the health center. He fixes my rickety bed and my chair doesn’t squeak anymore. But mostly, we just lie together and he makes me tell him more about my classes and explain what was going on in lecture that day.
Too soon, though, he has to go back. I stand forlorn at the window in my room on the third floor, watching his lonely red truck pull away in the distance. That truck could be my heart.
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Tommy