Nara Malone

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Just joining me? Catch up on the Greyhound Summer story here.

À la Clay Pigeons, I found a woman with three kids to sit beside. Why? Because I wanted a cloaking device. Everyone keeps their distance from women traveling with little kids, but this one came with the added bonus of a nursing baby. No one wants to look her direction lest they see a bare breast, or worse — see a need they’ll feel guilty about not filling. People might glance her way, but their gaze will skitter to safer territory. Sitting next to her imparts a measure of invisibility to me. Should the other kids start acting up, those glances turn to daggers aimed at her and I’ll fade out of existence completely.

A toddler gripped the edge of an orange plastic seat in chubby fists and swayed on wobbly legs. He eyed me like I was a fire breathing dragon that had plopped down between him and the woman I assumed was his mother. I say assumed because the child was a golden haired, golden skinned, blue-eyed cherub. The mother, the baby at her breast, and the little girl tucked against her side were ebony-skinned and brown-eyed. Still, there was no mistaking the worried frown of a mother whose baby has wandered just a little too far away and the toddler’s anxious fixation on her. He shoved a fist in his mouth and sucked while he considered his options. She winced and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was – germs.

The little one apparently decided to make a run for it. He hurled his body toward mom, arms outstretched with that fast, tilted-forward style of a baby just learning to walk. The key was choosing a landing spot close enough to reach before he toppled over.. The little guy miscalculated and went down at my feet. He arched his back taking the force of the fall on his belly and avoiding hitting his head. At first his mouth worked soundlessly as he grew more agitated by his inability to get a breath. His feet kicked and his hands slapped at the floor. I bent to scoop him up just as he managed to fill his lungs with air and the bus terminal with  a howl that turned every head in our direction.

So much for invisibility.

Just joining me? Catch up on the Greyhound Summer story here.

Magic has a way of sneaking up on you whether you believe in it or not.

I watched Sam’s face in the glow of the iPod screen, the expression soften when he came to a tender part and I forgot the itch. The rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his arms around me, felt less confining, more necessary. His voice caressed each word with the reverence of a sorcerer over a spell and I wanted to believe. Believing comes easy in the dark part of the morning, the old day is behind you and the new one hasn’t started. I was at that place in my life, the limbo between what was finished and what I hadn’t started.

I pressed my lips to the edge of his jaw, felt his breath catch, but he kept reading. I ran my tongue up to his ear. I might not have been paying serious attention, but I was following along well enough to know when he lost his place. Funny thing about those touch screens, your thumb strokes a corner and the book will jump ahead twenty pages.

“Sam,” I said, trying for one of those sexy, breathy whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I want to make love to you in that Chevy van.”

He stopped pretending to read the story.

We had to unload some equipment. Sam threw an old sleeping bag in the back and then we drove to a lake.

I felt shy an awkward when we crawled into the back of the van. Sam’s hands were shaking when he unbuttoned the shirt he loaned me. When he touched my face cupped it between both hands before that first long slow kiss, I felt cherished. There was reverence in the way he lifted my breasts, kissed each one.

I mirrored him, treasuring his body with my tongue, and lips, taking my time to savor the taste of salt and desire, to feel him tremble. We loved the last bit of the night away.

It was magic. Or a drug. Or some altered state. It was love so sweet it made me cry. It made him cry. When we were spent, I snuggled in his arms, my head resting on his shoulder. Through the window we watched the sunrise turn mist on the lake to silver and then gold. A lone fisherman cast his line. Sam followed his example.

“Stay,” Sam whispered. “Live with me.”

“Okay,” I said.

Filling up a big balloon on Flickr – Photo Sharing!
Just joining me? Catch up on the Greyhound Summer story here.

I’m beginning to understand why love makes people so crazy. Being in love is like having a big helium balloon in your stomach. You feel wobbly as a helium voice. I think I would have floated away if Sam hadn’t been sleeping on top of me.

Ok, so I’ve admitted that maybe it can happen to me. That doesn’t mean I can’t be sensible about it.

My mouth was desert dry and I needed to pee, so I pushed at Sam until he opened an eye, flipped over on his back, and dropped back into his dream world.

My foot sank into a heap of clothes at the side of the bed. I grabbed the first item on top — Sam’s boxers, Daffy Duck stamped all over. Some things it’s best not to analyze..

His T-shirt was next in line and that was good enough. I turned the bedroom light out when I stepped into the hall. Sam shifted and murmured in his sleep. I took care of business and showered in a bathroom smaller than most closets. The shirt smelled of Sam and I didn’t mind. It was like having his arms around me.

The kitchen was illuminated by the light in the range hood. The microwave timer read 5 AM. It didn’t take long to find a glass in the kitchen and there was orange juice in the fridge. I considered opening the front door and letting Sam’s air conditioner put an end to global warming, but the electric bill was probably already the size of a mortgage payment. So I turned the beast off and grabbed an afghan off the back of the couch. I thought I’d sit and thaw out for a bit before crawling back in bed with Sam.

I curled up in his recliner, tucking my feet under me to keep my toes warm. There was a photograph on the lamp table. Who was important enough in Sam’s life to earn a spot beside his favorite chair?