This is not autobiographical, but a piece I have been working on for awhile, I will add to it in pieces. Please let me know what you think..Thanks!
His face is beautiful, light and full of joy. It shows no pain, no shame. Bright like a baby, who sees his mother after a nap, innocent and childlike. Love and peace radiate through his smile. None of the bent up rage and anger that punishes, hurts and chokes. His light shining up the whole alley, even with the dog shit clinging to his well thought out trendy, thrifty outfit and spider skinny legs. The nervous in my belly turns to embarrassment and shame, which are my only friends. Life is supposed to look like him, yet mine is missing that chapter. The gleam in his eye distracts me to a time when my face shone like the brightness of a sunny spring day, I was 10. The day he touched me; the light broke inside of me like a bulldozer crashing through a plate glass window at a bank.
It was a muggy May night, warmer than normal this time of year in Chicago. My belly full of hot dogs and pork n’ beans loaded with butter and brown sugar, the way I like it. On my girly pink Huffy bike, I ride the block looking to see who else has finished dinner. Dawn’s older brother eyeing me from the side yard as I hit the corner. The cute one all the neighborhood girls worshipped.
“Hey” he says. I look ahead trying not to smile too big. He’s talking to me, I think. “Slow down” he commands, knowing what us girls say about him and what we’d do if we had his attention. I stop a few feet from him. His green eyes penetrate me.
“What are you doing out so late” he says slowly like he’s thinking about something other than me.
“I came out for a ride and to see who else is done with dinner and it’s not that late. I have to be home before the lights come on.”
Full of excitement he is talking to me. I then realize the sun has set yet looking at him smile at me, time and space disappear. All I’m thinking about at this moment is he’s looking at me, talking to me and then places his hand on mine, while I grip the handles,
“I’ve been watching you,” he declares. “Can I show you my records downstairs?” I nod. “You can leave your bike in the garage and no one’s home, so we can blast the tunes.”
My belly flips over full of dinner, he wants to hang with me! He’s a teenager, on the high school football team and a total babe; I must be the luckiest girl on the block now. I take my time getting off my bike, careful not to let my shorts creep to up too high or lose my balance. He takes my arm as I dismount, grabs my bike leading the way. I’m tickled pink from the inside out. He leans my bike against the wall, next to his football stuff. “Come on,” as he leads the way into his basement/bedroom. All I keep thinking is how mad the other girls are going to be. “Watch your head,” he says as he ducks down in front of me and takes my hand. His soft, pink fingers glow next to my 10 –year- old, tomboy, always in the sun skin; moisture ripples between us, my hands moist from the handle bars.
