Special Non-Fiction Section presents:
And Now, Now They Are Making Out Again
I pour myself some tea and start to walk back to my computer at the other end of the house, but out of the window two people in the street catch my eye. It’s raining out and these two are doing this weird dance in the street. No, not dancing, kissing except that the girl is trying to pull away from the boy.
Is he the oldest of the three brothers from just down the street, the ones I used to baby-sit for? Could be. Frankly it’s been so long, it could be the middle brother. Maybe it isn’t any of them, I’m too far away to tell.
He looks maybe seventeen, wearing baggy jeans and a backwards baseball cap. She’s smaller than him, tiny really, and wearing a white sweatshirt and tight fitting khakis that are a little too flared at the bottom, because she is bending over to roll them up out of the water. And he, he takes her head between his legs and picks her up; both her legs are in the air, in the middle of the street, here in the suburbs, and it is raining.
They are standing just around a bend in the road, where they are visible to me but not to the house of the three brothers. I am more convinced this must be one of them. When did I baby-sit for them? 1995? God, it's probably the littlest one. Would he really be about seventeen now? The last time I saw him he looked like Dewey on Malcolm In The Middle.
And now, now he's making out with a girl at the end of my driveway. She accepts his kisses at first, but then arches herself back farther and farther away from him. Now, they are having a conversation. She is gesturing, “not in the street” and he is gesturing, “please?”
And he goes back for more, and she puts up a little resistance, and they wrestle gently, and spin. And they stagger over near my trashcans, laughing. And now they are making out again, and he cups her ass with his hands.
Her phone rings; she is answering her cell phone, and he is trying to make out with her while she talks on the phone. And she is saying “stop it!” but she is laughing.
It is really pouring now, like in movies, with big windblown gusts of visible water, like waves in the air. They move over into the far side of the cul de sac by my house, under the branches of a tall pine and out of most of the rain.
And now the call is over and they are making out again, next to a construction crew's port-a-potty, but they hear something and stop. Just a passing car.
And the car is gone, but she pulls away. He could do this all day. She is gesturing, “people could see us!” but he waves his arm at the trees and dark houses, he is saying “nobody’s around!” and then he gestures right at me, right where I am standing, watching them from my unlit living room's bay window, perched upon a hill that overlooks the street. They pause, I am found out? No, she is reassured they are alone, and now they are making out again.
She drags him by the hand back towards the street, but he anchors her and they stop, and now, now they are making out again. I imagine coming up with a pretense to go outside. Maybe to put a letter in my mailbox, or to take the secretly empty yard waste trashcan out for tomorrow’s pick up? And I will say something clever like “Get a car, you two!” or “Get the hell away from my trashcans!”
But no. They start walking down the street. Back to his house? No, they are making out again. She breaks away, and he trots back to her. They kiss some more, and he tickles her stomach, and she is gesturing “stop it!” but they hug, and he kisses her.
Then they break apart, and he sprints down the street toward his house and she turns around and slowly walks up the street, up the hill. Apparently she is my neighbor too.
And I need another cup of tea.
