1 comments/ 29755 views/ 3 favorites Bird Of A Feather By: Abraxis "You want me to show you what, in exchange for fifty bucks!" Emilia whispered, the words parting her lips like contemptuous gnawing bites. "What I meant to ask-", uttered Luela, suddenly embarrassed, afraid. "What I meant was; would you pose for me?" "Luela, that's not what you said! If that's what you meant to say, then that's what you should have said! God?" "I'm sorry Emilia. Let me try again. Would you pose naked for me in exchange for fifty bucks?" "Hell no!" Emilia answered. "Talk about- of all the- I just can't believe- you must be kidding- what makes you think... I gotta go." "Emilia, I didn't mean to make you afraid of me. Wait." The young woman reached for her friend. "Don't you touch me." Emilia demanded, wrenching her arm away. "I'm not afraid. I'm just... I gotta go. Where are my keys? Where did I leave my keys?" She scanned the room once, avoiding Luela's gaze. "Emilia." ,Luela breathed, tired, mournful. "No matter what happens, please don't hate me. Please." With her left hand Emilia clutched the chain of keys from atop the stereo. With her right, she brushed a length of pink highlighted fairness from her face. She met Luela's stare, and heaved a great breath. Wariness, perplexity, reticence, and even a little resignation, was expressed in the exhalation. Luela wasn't stopping her. She was free to go. There was the door. After that was the hallway, the kitchen, the living room and foyer, Emilia knew the way. She suddenly felt as if stark naked, and even looked down to assure herself that she wasn't. There was her car in the driveway, the gas tank was full. Then leave, you idiot, Emilia thought to herself. "I gotta go." ,she gurgled, so bewildered that she barely inhaled enough to speak. Emilia cleared her throat. "I'll see you around." "See you around." ,Luela repeated, turning her stare toward the space of floor before her bare feet. Emilia awkwardly pivoted her way around the open door, and walked quickly, quietly down the hall. "You're leaving so soon, Emilia?" ,said Mrs. Washburn, from her seat at the kitchen table, where she was reading that afternoon's paper. "Yes, Mrs. Washburn.: ,the young woman answered, changing her shocked expression to something a little less conspicuous." ,I just realized that it's my turn today to pick up my stepbrother from day-care. And once I get back home there's this heap of chemistry homework I gotta do, cause the lab is due tomorrow. Gotta go, bye." Emilia was proficient at deceit. She even surprised herself sometimes with her own speed and accuracy. Why were you out so late last night? Could you explain why there's a dent in the rear panel of your mother's car? Emilia, can you explain to me why this particular charge is on MY credit card? She could weasel out of it all, a few choice words, some carefully timed expressions, and she was out like Roman Polansky. So what o I tell Luela, she thought once inside her mother's Isuzu. What do I say if she calls this weekend? God, am I going to avoid her for the rest of the school year? Emilia fired up the kitten v-six, and carefully pulled out of the driveway. I don't know. Maybe she got the point. Sure, she's cool like that. thoughts swam in her head as she coasted up and down Village Street. I can't believe it. I can't believe she just came right out and said it. Just like that. Would you show it to me if I paid you fifty dollars; was the question Luela had asked. Exactly, Emilia wondered, was it? I should have known, she thought, turning onto Auger Road, I should have known when she took that book of paintings out. Perhaps Emilia should have known before even that. But when? When could it have started? How was she to know? After all, Luela herself was a teenager. For her, deceit was not only a tool, but also a shelter. Or an asylum, depending which side you were on. The book of paintings was Luela's favorite, Boris and Doris VALLEJO'S Mirage. They were a husband and wife team of artists. He, the painter, she, the writer of the poetry inspired by each piece. Luela hoped to paint as well as Boris one day, the same sort of photo-realistic fantasy surrealism, the same fluidity, but rendered in her very own style. Boris was indeed the best. Luela had her women idols, Katy Kolwitz, Rowena Morrille, O'Keefe, Artemisa, she respected them all. Yet none of them had the sensuality, the power, the brilliance, the freedom, she saw in everything Boris signed his name to. As Emilia drove farther and farther away, to wherever she thought it was safe, Luela fingered her stereo's remote. She then raised the volume slightly, because Jill Sobule did not create particularly loud music. The chains are locked across my chest, she sings, there's no heart breaking. I've done this show a thousand times, Luela sings along, this tricks so easy. As they lower me into your waters, there's no escaping. Luela had wanted to show her friend the book, she sketched from daily, to tell the truth, to share its secret. She thought it was about time. They had been friends since the fifth grade. They had observed how each other fit in and out of catty cliques, showed one another the best possible paths through the emotional wilderness of adolescence, watched each other grow into the bodies they'd hoped to grow into, took joy in experiencing one another's success, and encouraged each other's way past failure. And now, there, alone in her room, with her songs, and her books. She had failed. There was no one to tell, no objective role model, no gay and lesbian league in North Branford High, no best friends. Luela didn't even feel like drawing. If it had happened with someone else, if Emilia wasn't the crux, she would be the one to say; Okay Lue, tell me what's wrong. She had failed because she had crossed the line of love and friendship, which happened to bisect the thicker bolder line called sex. Luela reached for her pad of newsprint, and fished a charcoal pencil out of the box. She drew a plus sign on the top left corner of the next blank page. She smiled a small smirk of futility, then drew an x. Luela tossed the pad to the floor. The notion of failure reminded her that hindsight was 20/20. Emilia was always whining about how she missed John after he'd left her, until Rudy showed up. Then Rudy left her to whine, until Stephen offered his attention. There was another, but he had come and gone so fast that Luela couldn't remember his name. Luela reach for Mirage, and leafed through the pages until she was past the pencil studies. She cringed suddenly. Painful memories spewed from the back of her mind. Emilia had described the sex with them, yes all of them. It nagged at her that they, as clumsy and oafish as they were, could have entry into such splendor. Did any of them ever give you an orgasm; Luela had asked once. Emilia hesitated, then said she didn't know. Of course she didn't know. She's like a lot of girls our age, Luela thought, that only think of the clitoris as just another place to hang jewelry from. Come on, most of them won't have a genuine orgasm until the age of twenty-four. We need like a three-day workshop in health class, masturbation: plateaus and peaks. Luela had wondered -now and again- as to how inspiring might Emilia's more private terrain be. She never knew for sure because Emilia never disrobed beyond her under clothes. Never once during sleepovers, nor in the girl's locker room, before and after gym. Luela believed her friend was ashamed of her body, as it was with most boys in the sense that she didn't measure up to that socially reinforced ideal. As absurd as she knew it was, Luela couldn't trace Emilia's shyness to any other source. She would strip down to nothing [and she did often] yet Emilia usually changed in the bath. For a time Luela thought perhaps it was the usual homophobia, but Emilia never purposefully looked away, or seemed at all uncomfortable with Luela's brief nudity. Maybe that's why she's running home right now, she thought, because she has known all along. She turns the page, and touches her favorite painting in the book as if it was in relief. I guess that was nice of her, she thought, not bringing it up, not crucifying me. Emilia rummaged through the center console, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. Home was down the next right, 17 Rosecastle Lane. She initiated her turning signal, obeying the rules, despite the empty wake reflected in the rear view. Her mind raced, hurtling through facts, preconceptions, feelings, and sentiments. As Emilia drew nearer to the turn, an intention spoke itself out, a ring of clarity above the din. She passed Rosecastle, passed Jay View Road. At the light, where 22 met 80, Emilia turned her full attention toward the small compartment behind the stick shift. Two things were clear in her mind; which cassette it was she needed to find, and where she would drive to while listening to it. The light turned green. Someone had come out of Jay View, the same driver that was now waiting behind her. His horn blared suddenly, startling Emilia. She muttered a curse, threw an empty cassette at the rear window, and turned east on 80. Emilia pressed the gas more firmly, increasing the distance between herself and the scowling old goat in the 88 Monte Carlo. The case, she had found. The cassette that was supposed to be inside was still missing. Where could it be, she thought, cursing aloud. Emilia then checked the mouth of the car stereo's face, from which protruded a cassette, the cassette. Emilia rolled her eyes. She pushed the tape in, switched the stereo on, and raised the volume to eight. Smashing Pumpkins blared from the speakers, the base tones vibrating the dash. Emilia reduced the organized pandemonium to a mild storm, then pressed fast forward. As she searched, the part of her brain that specified the song, happened to be the same area that ran the image of Luela. Emilia blocked the image, concentrating her attention on the road, on the stereo search. Yet the focus was not, nor could it be, absolute. I should have known, Emilia thought, I should have realized much sooner. Presently, the fast-forward arrived at the desired song. Emilia raise the volume back to eight. Love is suicide, the singer screeched repeatedly. It was one of the songs Luela suffered through when Emilia cruised them around town on Friday nights. The book, thought Emilia, the book was full of naked women. The empty bodies stand erect, whined the Pumpkin, casualties of their own flesh, afflicted by their dispossession. No self-respecting...heterosexual female, she believed, would have that kind of book laying around. Then, looming invisibly in the sky ahead, was the image of a nude woman. But nobody's ever new, blared from the speakers. Nobody's felt like you, nobody. The red hued woman is seated on an infinite white floor. She has reached both hands between her legs. Her face is directed upward, toward the red, blue, and lavenders of her fantasy. Her eyes are closed. Her mouth, open. Love is suicide, he whines and screeches again and again. Sure she would, Emilia contributed to the chat room of her mind. Luela's an artist. If they don't have a book full of naked people to draw from, they have real ones. Red satyrs, and lavender skinned winged women, embracing, tasting one another in a nebulas quilt of tiny stars, and glowing orange moons. You're just uptight, she told herself, suddenly making a let turn. Emilia considered the sky ahead, the invisible galaxy of oranges, pinks, and reds. No, I'm not! Yes you are. It's that painting, her favorite painting. The tragedies reside in you, the singer uttered mournfully, the secret sides that hide in you, and the loneliness divides you in two. Who's your best friend, Em? Leave me alone. All my bliss does now reveal, in the darkness of my dreams, in the spaces in between us. Who is she, Em? Emilia's vision suddenly clouded with tears, the drab sky, the hot reds and pinks, the milky blue and purple, bled into the present. Nobody's ever new, nobody's felt like you, nobody. Slowly she pulled up to the curb that bordered her intended destination, turned the stereo off, and cut the engine. I can't believe it, she thought while drying the tears away with the hem of her sweater. Just comes right out, and asks me. What was it, anyway? What was the it she wanted to see? Emily prepared to leave the car. My breasts? No, those are thems. Suddenly, she smiled. Emilia giggled to herself, amused by her use of the English language. What's it, she asked herself, the smile retreating, yet taking the tears along with it. What? My butt? My God, she probably stares at my ass all the time at school, in the hallway! So? God, sometimes she'd fall back, like...like a horny little boy. So!?! What do I do? This can't be. This changes everything. "Hey!" , Stephen shouted, simultaneously rapping a knuckle against the driver's side window. Grinning, he watched Emilia's immediate surprise, and bellowed laughter as she screamed. She flung the door open, and rushed at him. With a barrage of formidable kicks and punches, she had taken the boy down. They wrestled, and for a moment Stephen thought she'd pin him. But he broke Emilia's hold. In scant seconds he rolled her on her back, straddled her pelvis, and held a firm grip on both her wrists. "You ass hole." ,she smiled briefly, her chest heaving between the boy's knees, "Are your parents home?" "Yep." ,said Stephen, slightly out of breath. "Well get off me dude! I don't want your mom to see us like this!" "What about my dad? ,he joked. "Him too, jerk. Come on Stephen. Get off? Please?" He rose to his feet, then extended his hands. Emilia took them, and was brought to her feet. "You okay?" ,Stephen asked, brushing bits of recently mowed lawn from his jeans. "Your eyes are all puffy." "Oh man." ,Emilia sighed. "Yeah, I was a little upset. Do I look bad? How bad do I look? Man. Can, can I come in?" "Yeah, sure." Stephen Emilia's second to last boyfriend, led the way to his parent's front door. He was not tremendously attractive, or intellectually engaging, nor was he the captain of the football team. However, he was the only one who said he would remain friends with her, and actually kept his word. Emilia followed him up the steps, and into the kitchen where she briefly exchanged pleasantries with Mrs. Dumbrousky. Emilia then asked if she could use the bathroom. She entered, closed the door, detached the tiny silver dove from its finely groomed nest where right eyebrow met temple, and placed it on the edge of the sink. Emilia washed her face, and stared at its reflection as she dried. The young woman thought she should go to the car, and get her make-up. But the second thought prevailed. Stephen never liked too much make-up on me anyway. Well, maybe just a little? Oh screw it, she told herself, returning the ornament to its roost. Emilia exited the bath, and looked down the hall to see that Stephen stood in his door way. He motioned for her to enter. She followed, then seated herself in the swivel chair before his computer. Stephen sat on his bed. "What happened?" ,he asked. "Nothing." ,she answered, turning to face the screen. "Steve honey, when can I come over and type up that paper for Henderson's class?" "Whenever." "Are you going to write it for me?" "Nope." ,smiled Stephen reaching for the beaten Spawlding glove, the bruised dull ball on the floor by his feet. "Loser." ,smiled Emilia, fingering the keyboard. "You're the loser, can't write her own paper." ,said Stephen, tossing, and catching, tossing, and catching. "Come on E. What's wrong?" She met his gaze, then turned away, scanning his desk for something to fiddle with. "Luela's...weird." ,Emilia muttered. "She pisses me off sometimes." "What happened?" Emilia found a Matchbox dye casting of a 78 Chevy Nova, and drove it across the terrain of Stephen's desk. She rolled it over pens, and pencils, up and across the open hills and valley of Chapter Two, Succession From Lincoln's Union. "We just had this long discussion. I didn't agree with her. Well, I never agree with her, not exactly, and usually she's okay about it. But this time, this time she was a real bitch about it, like I was supposed to feel exactly the same way. But I couldn't, so she started saying the most hateful shit, and that's when I left, crying and stuff." "Wow, and you guys are like the best of friends." "Yeah," ,Emilia paused. "I know." "Oh, please. That's the last thing I want to talk about right now. I just came to cool down. Can I just chill here...for a little while?" "Sure." They were still together six hours later. Emilia called home, informing her little brother that she was having dinner at the Dumbrousky table, and not to worry. Oh, and did Luela call? No? Good. Dinner was at a half past six, when Jake, Mrs. Dumbrousky's boyfriend, arrived home from work. Stephen only liked that the man tended to his own business, and never laid a violent hand on his mother. After dinner the two youths retired to the downstairs family room, where they watched the NBC Thursday night line-up. As the night wore on casual conversation between friends gradually became the whispered kindling of two smoldering coals. By nine o'clock Emilia was huddled close to him. By ten, Stephen's arm was around her. By eleven Emilia was breathing against his cheek, taking in the scent of soap, of cotton/polyester blend, of boy of young man. The kissing, moist and clumsy teeth clashing, began around ten after. It was she that had started, or at least made the first contact of nose to nose. By twenty after, they broke free from one another because Jake had come down stairs to look for that day's paper. Jake was still present by half past eleven, at which time Stephen switched to CBS because Leno was not funny at all. Emilia had a curfew of course, but no one brought it up, and any necessary explanation would be thought up later. Besides, it was Friday night. Jake ascended the stairs as Letterman's monologue came to a close. By a quarter to twelve Late Night no longer sustained their interest. The kissing continued. Emilia felt Stephen's fingers fumbling beneath her shirt. Presently she helped him undo the tricky clasps of her bra. Illuminated by the flashing images of the television, Emilia scrutinized Stephen's expression as she raised her shirt to expose her breasts. He closed his eyes, and nearly lunged at them, both of them. "Steve?" ,she whispered. "Steve?" He answered, despite his full mouth. "What do you like best about a girl, I mean physically? He raised his head, face flushed, eyes alert, mouth open, his lips moist yet drying quickly due to his quick breaths. "Everything, I guess." ,the boy answered , moving to continue. "No really. You don't have one special...part you like more than the rest. Come on, I know all you guys like either-" "Your ti- I mean breasts. Your...breast are my favorite." "Why?" "I don't know." ,answered Stephen, as he fingered the circumference of one, then the other. "Maybe, because no pairs are alike. You know, large, medium, small." "Luela once told me that guys like to see breast cleavage because it reminds them of the female buttocks." "You're kidding, right?" "Nope. She says it's because of how we used to be primitive, and stuff. Like, we would see how the animals did it, you know -from behind- so we did it the same way. And being human, we went from his sense of smell to his sight to get the mate he wanted." "I don't get it." ,Stephen said urgently. I mean, asses are nice to look at and all, nice to touch, but they don't hold my attention like breasts." Emilia stared thoughtfully at the top of his head. Slowly, she closed her eyes, and concentrated on the meager sensations in her center, so that she might escalate, and become something more inspiring. Bird Of A Feather "Do," ,she hesitated. "Do you have any rubbers? Their eyes met. Stephen looked away, thinking. He then lowered his head, and nodded in the negative. What followed was an exchange that had taken place only once before, with Paul. It was the name Luela could not remember because it was a name Emilia wouldn’t mention more than twice. It began then, as it did now, with the look on the boy's face. Emilia told him how bad she felt that he had risen to a peak. Yet he said that it was fine, no problem. I feel bad, though. Really it's no problem. Come on , he said, kiss me some more. Kiss to kiss, touch to touch, a heat finally rising in her as well, fueled by an ecstasy that earlier, was not a problem. It was then she felt slightly more aroused, and more guilty for having led him there so much sooner. Finally, his penis exposed, their hands fondling together. She whispers the command, go and get me a couple tissues, or a hand towel, a clean one. Stephen left to find it. Paul scurried, Stephen took his time. I might get to like doing this one of these days, Emilia thought, when I get the hang of it. A little practice won't hurt, she then thought, not believing that it was indeed she who thought it. Emilia scraped her teeth once, then twice, against it. She apologized. Stephen reminded her that it wasn't a problem. As Late Night's second guest came and went, she remembered to keep her lips between his flesh, and her teeth. Then she grew tired of her position, the taste of him. Then before she knew it, Stephen had ejaculated. During the last minute before hand Emilia had become more adept at the task, only because that was what it had become. She spit the stuff into a Kleenex, and went immediately to the bath adjacent to the family room. There, she disposed of the evidence, desperately drank two squigs of Listerine, and washed her face for the second time that night. She called Stephen once or twice after that, spoke to him between classes once or twice, maybe even three times. Luela woke early the next morning. Dawn's vestigial light had just begun its idle creep dayward when she put on her clothes, packed pencils and a sketchpad, slipped into her loafers, and stepped silently out of the house. Perched among the highest branches of the swamp maple in the dooryard was the mocking bird, which sang its songs from that very tree since mid-March. Luela delighted in the fact that it spent most of its time in her yard. Often times she'd sketch the creature, creating the effect of sun light and maple shadow across its gray and white plumage. At the street end of the drive she stood and listened for a moment before moving on. The bird's song began with the eer chic o ree of gold finch, then the sweet coo of ground dove, into the creature's own type of chip, which was followed by its interpretation of crow, the robin's cherly cherly, after which came the distinct scream and crockery knock of blue jay. As Luela walked the winding roads of North Branford, her intention was to reason through what had happened the day before. But deliberation would come soon enough. There were still things like the wind blowing cool and feeble, from the south, caressing the young woman's face as it passed. Luela took in the feeling of the breeze, the scent of moist earth and freshly bailed hay, the chattering among finches, experiencing each as if starved. As the mocking bird's song faded with distance, Luela began musing over the thought that the event of the preceding day was like a bomb, its explosive force devouring good intentions, pleasant memories, and singeing the delicate fabric of hope. If anything, yesterday was...what, she asked herself. Pivotal? A glimmer of sun peeked over the crest of Trap Rock, the quarry just beyond the Northford/North Branford town line. To pivot, to remain at a fixed point out from which one can reach only a certain distance on all sides; trapped in the middle of back and forth, and side to side; fettered by an inextinguishable desire to a chain of sixty-nine links, spanning the distance between rock, and hard place. Luela approached Carter Road, a paved valley flanked by tall grass, the color of lusterless gold. What could possibly come out of that experience, Luela posed, as she lighted her firs Marlboro Light of the day. From best to worst, or worst to best? The latter. Emilia may never speak to you again. She may find new friends, and tell them what happened. Or she might come by one day, just out of the blue, like nothing ever happened. She wouldn't be the first one to block any memory of a friend's sexual orientation. Or maybe she'll decide to apologize for any confusion, to which I would also apologize, then she would talk about how much she likes boys, and hopes we can remain friends. Or just maybe Emmy might be open enough to give us a chance. The likeliest consequences flowed freely, having been imagined, and played out all most nightly over the past nine weeks. It began, or Luela's interest was peaked, one Friday night back in July. It was Emilia's ambition to purchase alcohol at a certain liquor store in Fair Haven that actually catered to minors. The two forty ounce bottles of Crazy Horse, and the pint of peppermint schnapps, were to be indulged in at Luela's since Mr. and Mrs. Washburn would be on their first cruise to the Bahamas. That evening took its inevitable course. Luela and Emilia became drunk before they were aware of it, the laughter was riotous, and the silliness was shameless. It was Emilia who had vomited the most, who had not recovered as quickly as the other. The laughter continued even as Luela returned to the bath with the pillow and blanket Emilia had requested, sprawled on her belly beside the toilet. Would you mind taking my shoes off, Emilia had asked, but try not to move me too much. It's not funny Lue. Yeah, just tuck it under my feet, easy, easy. Lue, don't make me laugh, stupid. Where's that pillow? Easy. Okay. Luela, my buddy, would you just rub my back a little, if you don't mind? Lower, lower. Yeah, right there, that warm spot. Oh thank you. I'm really sorry about the mess. Man, I'll never drink again. No, stop laughing. Don't make me laugh too. I love you, Luela. Really. She had said it hadn't she, thought Luela, turning left where Cater emptied onto Borelli. She'd never forget how Emilia had said the words, although there wasn't any corresponding behavior. She thought fondly of the warmth of her friend's lower back, remembered how she didn't flinch, or ask to stop caressing the hair away from her face. Perhaps she would have if Emilia had not fallen asleep by then. Luela had touched her that way for over half an hour. Into her eighth week of nightly deliberation, Luela wondered if obsession was what she was on the verge of drowning in. She still didn't have an answer, and thought that maybe it would be the best thing if Emilia never spoke to her again. Luela knew her companion well enough, and believed that it was the most viable outcome, and she also believed that Emilia would not betray their unspoken confidence, not divulge the truth. Then again, maybe... To pivot, Luela thought, caught up in the past, rummaging through the present, making room for... Emilia may not, but perhaps she should. As a cow lowed from somewhere on Borelli's land, Luela crossed Totuket, and made her way up Mills Hill. It was the road Emilia lived on, about fourteen houses from Luela's destination. Beyond those homes, beyond their back yards, Mills Hill rose gradually over the course of three hundred acres. The Mills family farm encompassed a total of two thousand acres, from the east end of Mills Hill Road to Totucket. It was a rolling sea of corn, undulating upward to a tree line that bordered its crest. Three or so houses from Emilia's was and island of trees and shrubs, that Luela had vowed to one day render perfectly. She would detail every stalk in the foreground, create the illusion of space, and impress even the most critical eye. Luela turned onto the tractor path that divided the expanse of corn in two. Fifteen yards up was a heap of stones and boulders, a monument to the first time the stretch of land was tilled. Luela climbed the heap, set down her knapsack, spread her denim jacket across the topmost boulder, and sat. From the knapsack she pulled out the pad, one b pencil, and a kneaded eraser. Luela went about the task, establishing the perspective, blocking in the darker areas. Before long, once she had switched the b for a two b, Luela was drifting along a silent stream of consciousness, the artist's passage through the universe. No deliberation, no mental dialogue, but pure will. The eyes take in the image; the spirit's ear, tuned to the silent song of serenity; the hands record the event. Luela will loose track of time, will ignore the heat escalating toward noon, and will not smell the drying September grass. Nor would she hear the droning legions of diurnal insects on all flanks, so loud that they hid the approaching foot falls upon the pebbles and dry clumps of soil of the path. "What's up?" ,asked Emilia, then clearing her throat. Luela was not startled. The other's voice came as if in dream. "Okay," ,Emilia continued. "I guess I deserve to be ignored." Luela, tempted onto the shore; paused, then turned. "I wasn't ignoring you." ,she answered coolly. "I just didn't realize you were there. Where's your car?" "I lost my driving privileges for two weeks. Lucky I live a couple blocks from school. I'd be mortified to take a bus, all those...losers on board." "What happened?" ,asked Luela, turning to smudge a distant patch of corn into in distinction. "Nothing. Just got home past my curfew." "Where were you?" Emilia hesitated, heaving a great breath. "Nowhere. I just cruised around, met up with some people." "Which people?" "What are you, my mother!?!" "Sorry." Luela turned her attention toward the focal point of the rendering, the island, and its century old oaks. Emilia folded her arms across her chest, leaned on her right leg, and surveyed Mills Hill. A fly floated past, then suddenly turned its trajectory toward Luela. She brushed it away, sending in Emilia's direction. She shrank back, and swatted violently at it, until the filthy little creature moved on. "How's it coming?" ,asked Emilia. Luela lifted the pad from her lap, then held it toward her. Emilia took it, scrutinized it, and then gave it back. "It's beautiful." ,she remarked. "It's not finished." "So. It's still beautiful." "I guess." Luela continued with her effort. Emilia sighed quietly, then proceed to find the mound. She selected a smooth slab of granite, a meter or so below Luela, and sat. "So...when did you first realize, you know that you…dig chicks" "Are you ready for these answers, Emmy!?! ,Luela growled, stuffing the pad, and pencils into her knapsack. "I don't know! ,Emilia whined. "Christ, Luela! Hel p me out here. I don't know what to say, what to do! I'm, I'm sorry." Luela slowly sipped the pack closed. She scanned the scantly clouded sky, Mills Hill's crest, the endless rows of sun hungry corn. "You know how I used to live in Fair Haven," ,said Luela, the words measured, slow, as if she had not spoken for years. "how I used to go to that catholic school, Saint Francis. Well, I made some friends there, like all little girls make friends...with little girls. I loved to see their smiles, because it made me smile to see them smile. There was this one girl, Susanna. We were together a lot, walked to school together, played in each other's yards, we even hated the same neighborhood boys, only the boys were alien to her in a different way then they were to me. Sue slept over sometimes, and I slept over her house. I guess we were seven or eight, when I started snuggling really close to her because...that's what you do when you...love somebody." Luela paused, cleared her throat. A crow cawed from its perch somewhere on the island of old oaks, and adolescent pines. "We would fall asleep like that." ,she continued. "She never seemed to mind. She'd even hug me good-bye every morning after, and tell me to meet her on the corner. Well, she stopped showing up one Monday. I'd ask her about it in school, but she'd ignore me. I couldn't understand it. I felt bad for a long time. I never really had another friend after that, at least not the kind I cared to have sleep over. "So that's when you first realized-" "No, actually. I realized it later, when we were playing spin the bottle that day-" "With Joey DeCarlo?" "Yeah." "And me, and...that kid Ricky?" "Yep. When he planted those gooey lips on mine, sent this feeling of...emptiness right through me. The feeling passed, and the first thing I thought of was Zue." "Your parent's don't know?" "Nope." "No one in school knows?" "Oh, I don't know. Maybe some of those catty chicks might have tossed the idea around. There's no one in school I can possibly reveal myself to. I mean, second to serial killers, teenagers are the most heartless creatures on the planet." "I think maybe...cruel might be a better word for us." ,Emilia remarked. And if Emilia was able to say what she realized much later in life, she would have also said that a teenagers heart is usually in this constant flux or breaking, and mending, then re-breaking, and mending again, and that a serial killer’s heart breaks just once, and only once. Both Emilia and Luela weakly smiled, one gazing toward a different direction than the other. Then, gradually, simultaneously, their smiles faded. A dog barked from across the street. A truck rumbled by, followed by a car, another car, then another truck. "Luela,” Emilia said, “I'm not gay." "I know you believe that, and that's okay.” Luella answered quickly, noticing a tremor starting in the pit of her stomach, “I just want you to understand that I am. Some of us are born this way, others become." "And you think maybe I'll become?" "I don't think we should talk about this anymore right no-" "Answer me, Luela." ,Emilia muttered feebly. "Do you expect me to become...for you?" "Not for me, Em. For you. It's guys who look for someone in their girlfriends that the girl friends aren't. I see you, I look at you, and..." Luela struggled to her feet, blinded by the tears welling in her eyes. With more effort then it took to climb the heap, she descended. "Ever since...that night." ,she choked, "Everything about you is perfect to me." Luela felt the firmly packed earth beneath her feet. "I gotta' go." , she heaved, before sprinting away, leaving Emilia to piece through a puzzle of myriad thoughts, to wonder which night was that night. Saturday night had come and gone. Luela passed the time alone in her room with HBO, Cinemax, and illegal pay-Per-View. By three in the morning Cinemax was airing a film called The Incredibly, which Luela watched, and genuinely enjoyed. Girl meets girl, girl falls for girl, girls chased by extremely distressed heterosexual mom, girls learn love conquers all. By a half past four, Luela crept under the covers and fell asleep. She awoke by noon, Sunday. Mr. and Mrs. Washburn she believed around ten, to inform their daughter that they were off to spend the day at the club, and would be back around seven that night. Luela felt better. The movie had cheered her somewhat. But still? But still, she had reservations about yielding to the self-lust that reared her provocative head when she had gone to pee. It doesn't feel right, she thought, it just...I don't know. Come on, you know more now than you did before. Yeah. She wants to be a friend. Well, maybe she does. No matter what happens, it'll be okay. Desire always had that way of propping, of dealing, pushing oneself to yield. Luela thought of the Green Day song, Basket Case. When masturbation lost its fun, you're fucking breaking. Something from her id crept forward. As the clock struck two Luela was shaving the last few patches of stubble on her vulva. The young woman had been on a steady plateau of tingling since she'd let the bath to do the finishing touches before the standing mirror between her collection of cds, and the stereo. From its speakers, came an allegro by Mozart. Luela had locked her door, but in the event of an emergency, she would be able to half dress in a sweat shirt, and a pair of checkered boxers that she’d folded neatly on the bed. She sighed, wiped the area of newly shaved skin with a cool moist hand towel, then squeezed some Lubriderm onto her palm, and rubbed it onto the baby pink skin. Then, as Luela rubbed the remaining lotion into the back of her hands, someone proceeded to knock on her door. The rapping had startled her out of her seat. Quickly, she tossed the evidence under her bed, cursing her parents for entering the house in such an uncharacteristically silent manner. Luela wondered if what she felt was how a boy might have felt after the process of waking from a wet dream in the middle of a library's packed to capacity reading room. "Hold on!" ,shouted Luela, as she flew into the sweat shirt, then pulled the shorts to her waist. "Emmy?" "Hi. What's up? Hey, where's mom and dad?" "Uh, at the club. I guess they're coming back around seven. How'd you get in?" "You didn't know front door was wide open? Oh. Well, now you do, I guess. Are you okay?" "Huh? Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine. Come in, have a seat, take a load off, make yourself...at home." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to barge in. Force of habit I guess. You know, being friends, and all. Wow, I really surprised you, didn't I?" "Yeah, pretty much." ,Luela laughed ironically, then rubbed her temples. "So...what were your plans today, sleep all day, watch TV, draw maybe?" "Yeah, I thought maybe I'd do some sketches in the back yard." ,answered Luela, taking her seat by the mirror. "You want to draw me?" "You?" "Yeah, me. Not...naked or anything. Just plain, old...me." Luela smiled, happy that Emilia could rise above her fear, apprehension. "Make yourself comfortable." ,Luela suggested, as she reached for her pad, and a pencil. Emilia shrugged, then posed herself in her usual position when a conversation was expected to run long. Luela studied her for a moment, propped her feet against the edge of her bed, rested the pad upon her thighs, and began. "Lue, you don't have to answer this," ,Emilia prefaced, after half an hour had passed. "but...why offer money to see me naked?" "That was stupid, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Or maybe I did, I don't know. It was supposed to be an incentive." "Tell me honestly" ,asked Emilia turning to face the other. "Did you ever...fantasize about me?" Luela stopped mid-shade, and met Emilia's gaze. "Uh, no actually. You see, it's hard for me to fantasize about people I've never made love to." "Like who?" Luela paused. "Emmy, I haven't really made love to anyone yet." "Oh. Well, what about those pictures?" Luela guffawed. "Boys toss off to pictures, Emmy. Me? I-" Luela cleared her throat, then returned her attention to the rendering. "Fifty bucks, huh?" ,said Emilia, ten minutes later. "I'll tell you though," ,Luela said, eyes fixed on her task. "Its way more then professional models make an hour." Emilia quietly rises to her feet, disengages her button fly, and drops the pants to her ankles. Luela raises her eyes slightly to see Emilia's bare legs. "Emmy?" ,she said, swallowing a sudden rush of saliva. "What are you doing?" "Where's that cash?" ,asks Emilia, as she raises her sweatshirt to expose her panties, her vaguely round belly. "You don't have to do this. This is crazy. Come on Emmy, pull your pants up, and sit down." "Shut up Lue! You offered. Now let's go!" "Why are you doing this?" ,she asks, dropping the pad and pencil, rising to her feet, thinking that this was too damn good to be true. Bird Of A Feather "Maybe," ,answered Emilia, absolute sincerity shining in her hazel eyes. "Because I want to. Now come here." "Uh, uh, all I have on me right now is like ten dollars." "Whatever. Now pull my panties down." "What?" "You heard me. Pull them down. Just...lock your door first. Go ahead." Luela hesitated, stared. Briskly, she moved to the door, then returned to face Emilia. "How should I-" ,Luela stuttered. "What's the matter, Luela?" ,her friend smiled playfully. "Don't wear underwear, so you don't know how to take it off?" Luela breathed deeply, her face becoming flushed, her vulva engorged. She lowered herself before Emilia. Once on her knees, Luela began to stare at the light blue panties. Slowly, she reached toward Emilia's hips, then proceeded to gently tug the garment down. Luela did not look at her model's sex at first, but instead watched her hands pull the panties to Emilia's knees. Only when they arrived, stretched like a hammock, did she look. For a long moment Luela was mesmerized, entranced with the young woman's fastidiously groomed brown hair. She uttered, how beautiful you are, how perfect. Feeling embarrassed, foolish, Luela rose to face Emilia. She did not see that her friend's legs were shaking, her belly quivering. "You know, it's funny." ,Emilia whispered nervously, her breath increasing the warmth of Luela's face. "I used to think that it would be okay to be naked in front of another girl because you couldn't really tell if I was excited, because excitement, on the outside, looks exactly like embarrassment. But I guess I'm too embarrassed to show my excitement, or my tendency to be embarrassed, too socially manipulated- Am I making any kind of sense?" Luela smiled softly, and nodded. "But I realize now," ,Emilia continued. "That its okay. You know? I mean, its not like we get these erections like-" "We get erections." ,Luela interrupted. "We do? Oh my God, just look at me standing here, all half naked, and stuff. Luela, am I beautiful, tell me the truth?" "Yes, Emmy you are beautiful." "Oh man, I must be like bright red. Anyway, Lue, I realize that I'm...okay. I can get excited. I am excited, and I think I'm afraid, and I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do, Luela. Tell me about...it. What is it about...down there?" "I like women, Em." ,smiled Luela, fighting the tremendous force that demanded that she throw her arms around the splendence before her. "Down there is the beginning and the end of woman. Hell, of everything." "Why mine, specifically?" "Because...I like the woman in you." Emilia pressed her lips, like a child, to Luela's. By her feet she saw what her companion had rendered so far. "The woman in me huh?" ,Emilia, noticing that the artist was also looking toward the work in progress. ""You make me prettier than I really am." "Take my word for it, Emmy. You are beautiful." "Beautiful, yeah. So what was that...you were saying, about how we get erections too?" "You want me to show you? ,breathed Luela against the other's cheek. "Okay." ,Emilia whispered, reaching her arms around the other. From a quarter after three to six that evening, Luela had explained -and demonstrated- everything. They began by exchanging kiss for kiss, caress for caress, then graduated to specific exploration. For the next hour after that Luela discussed auto-manipulation, demonstrating on both herself and her partner. She had preface the explanation on ownership of one's body upon revealing her shaved vulva, leaving both to wonder if the lesson was somehow foretold through some subconscious level of fantasy. Emilia learned quickly, and spent a half hour to herself. From there the couple moved into unfamiliar territory. Neither Luela, nor Emilia ever performed, let alone received cunnelingus. Boldly, Luela made the first attempt at it. That act alone occupied nearly over an hour, both spirits afloat, above and beyond. When it came time for Emilia to try, she flatly refused to even make the attempt. Although Luela understood her companion's reluctance, tiny moths of disappointment and betrayal fluttered in the pit of her stomach. A quiet grew between them as they lay naked and moist. Emilia realized how unfair it was to not even try. Before Luela was aware of it, Emilia had reached a finger into her friend's vagina. She watched as Emilia brought it to her open mouth, then watched as she sucked the moisture from her fingers. A moment later Emilia found herself orally gratifying Luela. She giggled joyfully, amazed at the actual succulence. Ten minutes later she had eased her body around so that she could allow Luela to indulge her simultaneously. Emilia's giggling sputtered into silence. Gradually from that it silenced passed anxious harmonious breaths, multiplying with each minute. It was a quarter after six when they hurriedly, happily, washed their faces together at the bathroom sink. Luela checked the time. Her parents would be home soon. The two young women stood before the threshold to Luela's room, nervous smiles and clasped hands with fitful fingers. Luela wanted Emilia to stay, but wouldn't say so. Nor would she assume that her sensually inspired companion was ready to face them in this new light. Rosy cheeked and charged ecstatic, Emilia hadn't the slightest clue what to do or say next. With every line of neural communication firing from id to ego, the only message to get through was that her body was still tingling in some places. Luela moved toward the front door. Emilia followed. A moment passed without a single word exchanged. They stood together at the door, faces cast downward, and their feet toe to toe. Presently, Luela leaned in slowly to kiss Emilia's cheek. From outside came the twilight medley of the mocking bird perched atop the swamp maple in the dooryard. Emilia returned the kiss, then reached her arms around Luela. The mocking bird sang its rendition of the knighting gale's night song, bridging each measure with its own dulcet trill. After the fourth measure, the lovers relinquished their embrace. Luela shrugged, then leaned against the door. Emilia also shrugged, and leaned against the door. "So." ,said Emilia. "So?" ,answered Luela. The mocking bird, its own captive audience, improvised with a gold finch inspired eer chic o ree. "Wow, I can't believe I'm a lesbian! This is so cool. God, I can't wait to tell Janey, and all them. Man! Stephen is goin to freak! Luela? Why are you looking at me like that?" "Emmy. Maybe, maybe we should talk about this some more." "Sure. Whatever. Wait. So then, I can't tell anyone at school?" "Uh...no, not yet." Luela stepped back from the door, and opened it. "That's cool. Hey, I have to tell you something. I thought that us...doing it, would change everything. But you know what? I feel like everything is going to be just like it was, except a little different. Does that make sense? Do you know what I mean?" "Yeah. I think so." "Cool." ,smiled Emilia, standing between Luela and the open door. "Okay, so I'll see you in school tomorrow?" "Yep." "Mums the word on our little secret?" "Our little secret is safe with me." Still smiling, Emilia stepped onto the front walk. After three steps she turned immediately around. Drawing close to Luela, Emilia scanned the windows next door, across the street, then gave her companion a great wet open kiss on the mouth. With that she scurried to her car and left. Had she really said that, Luela wondered. It was just as well. Luela herself had no social immersion experience. So far, she's only been homosexual in the privacy of her own...room. Then again, she wouldn't consider herself a fish out of water either. Three words, Luela thought, worst-case scenario? A little name-calling, a lot of name-calling, excommunication? Or perhaps it would be all right, particularly if there were more people like Emilia, who believed it was hip to be gay. Or maybe, in the whole damn school, its just Emilia who thinks like that. Well...I suppose I could humor her for a while. Luela listened a while longer to the mimicked knighting gale lullaby before finally closing the door. As she shuffled back toward the kitchen end of the hall, Luela returned her attention inward, to their conversation the day before.. Second to serial killers, teenagers are the most heartless creatures on the planet. Luela smiled as she turned into the kitchen. The thought now striking her as funny, more amusing than ironic. Maybe cruel is the better word. Luela peered into the refrigerator, retreved an apple, then closed the door. While taking her first mouthful of the fruit's flesh, Luela thought an image of the goddess Diana conjuring Acteon the hunter into the hunted, and felt suddenly inspired to start work on a self-portrait.