Cemetery Street, John Zunski [read any book TXT] 📗

His eyes shut, a hand rushed upwards in attempt at intercepting the loogie. In the background an onlooker stared mouth agape.
In the next photo, the man reaches into his pocket. The woman appears in midst of a giant leap backward, like a coyote hop in reverse. Fear is noticeable beneath her anger.
“I thought for sure he was packing,” Genise said startling me. She looked over my shoulder. “She thought so too.”
The next photo reveals the man staring at the backpedaling woman and drawing an object from his pant pocket. The stunned onlooker in the background is also caught in retreat.
In the next one he produces a handkerchief. “He really pisses her off,” Genise said.
“Like she’s not already,” I looked over my shoulder at Genise.
In the following photo he wipes the loogie away with a smile upon his face. He still rests against the back of the bench. “He laughs at her. She rips into him, calling him a fucking this and a fucking that and he just sits there calm as can be, laughing at her. I wanted to smack both of them.”
“Why?”
“Cause she was way out of control and he was way in control, like too contrived or something.”
In the last photo, the woman’s face was flushed with anger, her forehead purple beneath tightly curled bangs. Her eyes glaring as she turned away.
“History doesn’t remember well-behaved women,” Genise said matter-of-factly.
“Where did you get that from?” I turned quickly, studying Genise’s face. A half dozen or so freckles dotted each cheek. I never noticed them before.
Genise peered down, studying my eyes. A moment of silence settled between us. “Shannie,” Genise uttered, breaking the spell.
“What about her?” I asked.
“I got the saying from her. She had the bumper sticker on her car.”
“Oh,” I mumbled beneath my stare.
“Shit! The stir-fry.”
My eyes followed Genise across the kitchen. I felt horrible betraying Shannie. Don’t wimp out, I told myself. I’m not walking out on Genise – a deal is a deal. I came here to get laid and I’m going to get laid! I’m going to hate myself. So I may as well get a little ass.
Throughout dinner, Genise and I were civil. We didn’t bring up Shannie or our deal. Thank God for the photo albums or we wouldn’t have anything to talk about.
“I’ll wash, you dry,” Genise said when we finished eating.
“Deal,” I answered.
Tension seeped over us like globs of maple syrup as we stood at the kitchen sink. Genise’s movements were tense, as if she was expecting my move any second. I focused drying each dish, wary she’d have a change of heart and break a plate over my head. I enjoyed the uncertainty. My paranoia aided the tension. How would I explain a run in with Genise’s flying Corningware? I hid my sweaty palms behind the dishtowel.
Then it happened. With the suddenness and intensity of igniting gasoline. The trigger, an innocent brush of arms. I hated that Genise could produce such a reaction. I hated not being able to control my reaction. I hated not being able to control Genise.
We broke a dish, but it wasn’t over either of our heads. As I pulled Genise to me, she dropped the plate in her hand. Her lips sought mine. She was softer than she looked. Our lips locked, my hands ran under her arms, down her sides and over her hips. I squeezed her ass. A marshmallow in an athlete’s body, I thought.
She crushed her breasts against me. Our tongues crossed in a race for the other. I submitted to her probing tongue. I ran my hands upward, squeezing her shirt clad breasts.
She withdrew her tongue and threw her head back. I reached around her waist helping her maintain her balance. Genise thrust her hips into mine, rubbing her pelvis against mine. “Fuck me,” she ordered.
Like an obedient boy-toy, I laid her back on the floor. “Not the floor,” she commanded. Scooping her up, I moved towards the bedroom. “Not the bedroom.” she added swallow breathed. I threw her down on the kitchen table. She winced as a pointed edge of a photo album poked the small of her back. She brushed the album to the floor as I raised her top over her head. I admired her perpetually tanned breasts. I couldn’t help comparing them to Shannie’s – they were rounder, her nipples thicker, fuller; chocolate compared to hollow pink. Hershey Kisses compared to after dinner mints. Shannie’s were perky; Genise’s exotic.
The small of Genise’s back arched off the table as my lips found a nipple. Like a child on Christmas morning, my tongue raced back and forth over and between her gifts. I squeezed Genise’s breasts together. After a parting peck, my tongue left her breasts to my hands will. Descending over the swell of a breast, I ran my tongue down her belly, pausing briefly at her navel before racing towards the button atop her shorts.
My hands departed Genise’s breasts for a more exciting destination. I fumbled with her pant button before finally springing it open. I looked up, her eyes were closed, her head back. She fondled her breasts as she raised her hips allowing me to slide off her shorts.
Her shorts fell to the floor. I paused; imagining her womanhood hiding behind a leopard skinned thong. The thong which would be so out of place on Shannie was perfect for Genise. Smiling, reminding myself there’s only one chance to view someone for the first time, I slowly pulled Genise’s thong downward revealing her secrets. Placing a hand on the inside of each knee, I parted her legs before running my tongue along her thigh. I paused and savored her with my eyes.
“Yes,” Genise cried. “You want a little dessert.” She spread her legs further. Grabbing my hair she directed me. I closed my eyes, imagining Shannie. I ran a finger over her softness. Parting her lips I explored. I kissed her. The tip of my tongue wandered. She arched her back, I felt her tremble.
She grabbed my hair and pulled me away. Genise dropped to her knees in front of me. When she was satisfied with my state, she slid back onto the table. Spreading her legs, she invited me forward.
We made love numerous times, doing it almost every conceivable way on every piece of furniture in sight, except for her bed. When she wanted to go a third time, I said: “Jesus girl, you’re a Genise Penis Trap.” We laughed and laughed.
I was having too much fun to refuse. When we finished I watched the sun drop behind the bay, reflecting on how fun it was playing cowboy to Genise’s Indian. “You can stay the night if you want,” Genise said standing behind me.
“Can’t, people are expecting me.”
“Call ‘em,” Genise quipped.
“And tell them I’m in Atlantic City?”
“Lie,” Genise slid her arms around me. “Tell them you’re in Pittsburgh or something.”
“Yeah right. Who do I know there?”
“You worry too much. Tell them you just felt like getting out. You just drove and ended up there.”
It would be fun, I thought. “It’ll be a lot easier to hit the road. My old man will be at Diane’s. Shannie will be holed up at school.” I turned around. I imagined being with Genise. If it wasn’t for Shannie, I would have stayed. Who knows how long? I lifted her chin with a finger. We kissed. We hugged. Genise buried her head in my chest; for a moment, I lost myself her hair’s aroma. Pulling away I said. “I have to go. It’s easier to deal with the guilt this way.”
“You know,” Genise whispered. “You’re not in a relationship with her.”
“Yeah, but I love her.”
Genise looked at me with poisoned eyes. “We have that in common. What about us? We still have a deal?”
“I gotta go.” I turned away.
“Don’t stiff me,” Genise repeated.
“I just did,” I smiled.
“A deal is a deal.”
“It is.”
“You and me, we’re strange bedfellows,” Genise quipped.
“Yeah we are,” I ran a finger down Genise’s cheek. “You know, we’re both victims of Shannie’s charisma,” I whispered. I kissed her forehead and walked into the night. Without looking back, I climbed into my hooptie and went over my directions home before driving away.
As Atlantic City’s lights faded behind me, I thought of how acquainted I am with things bittersweet; how well my stomach twists to the strains of my heart’s beat and my smile glistens under showers of tears.
Memories of my latest adventure swarmed about as the hooptie coasted to a stop atop Beyford’s exit ramp. With a sigh of relieve I turned down Main Street. I slowed as I passed Fernwood, glancing across the tombstones, past the line of trees to our houses. I thought of my mother, wondered where she could be. Would I recognize her? I missed her. I wished I could talk with her. Of the pain I suffered, her indifference hurt the worst.
My headlights bounced of Saphix’s reflectors as the hooptie turned onto Cemetery Street. The driveway stones crackled under the hooptie’s weight. I closed the driver’s side door and slunk across my front yard. As I slid my key into the door I heard the distinct chirp of Shannie’s whistle. I exhaled, trudged down the front steps and towards the elm between our houses.
“Where’ve you been?” Shannie asked from the limbs above.
“Aren’t you a little too old to be climbing trees,” I looked up into the limbs barely noticing her outline in the darkness.
“The day I’m too old is the day they plant me in the ground. Everyone should have a personal relationship with a tree.”
“If you say so,” I said staring at my feet. I was too guilt ridden to look at Shannie’s shadow. Passing cars punctuated our silence.
“Beautiful night,” Shannie mumbled. Her hair dangled over a shoulder as she glanced across Fernwood.
“Yeah.” I wished I could run my fingers through her hair. “I’m beat. I’m going to turn in. See you later.”
“Later,” Shannie answered.
Walking away I felt Shannie’s eyes upon my back. “James,” her voice slithered across the grass before wrapping itself around me. Its softness sent goosebumps up and down my spine.
I faced the tree. “Yeah Bug?” I answered.
“Nothing,” the tree answered.
“You sure?” I asked the swaying limbs.
“Goodnight Just James.”
“’Night Bug.”
As I walked away I thought I heard the tree whisper: “Promise that you’ll love me forever.”


Chapter 19 Scandals

1996 was an unremarkable year. Between my appointments with Krista and facilitator’s visits, I had ample opportunity to ponder where my life had been and where it was going. I was twenty-four and understood a mid-life crisis – I didn’t have a trophy girlfriend or a red sports car: I was in love with a lesbian and was burdened with an orange beater. “Joy to the world,” I toasted as 1996 faded and 1997 loomed on the horizon.
My father wasn’t home, he was never home –he found a new home. The house was his in name; it’s occupants Ellie and I, he all but moved in with Diane. They made a great couple. I sighed with the thought. Ellie answered with a tilt of her head, coaxing another treat from me.
“You’re getting fat girlfriend,” I said scratching behind her ears. Ellie was great company and other than our conflicting schedules she never bitched. She whined when it was time to do her business which always coincided with my next nap.
My mother’s memory haunted me. She didn’t attempt any contact. She was never mentioned in conversation unless I brought her up. “She doesn’t care about my accident,” I complained to Shannie.
“She doesn’t know about your accident,”