Inner Secrets

by Suzie Carr

  “My cousin met her husband online.”

  She smirked. “There’s got to be a better way. A rulebook would help. How to Attract the Girl of your Dreams in Ten Easy Steps.”

  “That sounds like a great blog title,” I said, hinging on her recovery from my provoking questions.

  “Maybe I should start a blog. I could certainly learn a thing or two.”

  “Oh, I like that idea.” I jumped to life, imagining the opportunity to read her words without snooping. I’d encourage her to dig deep, to be forthright, and to commentate on all aspects of her inner secrets. “You really should!”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I was joking.”

  “I wasn’t. I’ll be your number one reader.”

  “But, you’re not my target.” She mocked me with a quick tilt to her head. “Or am I speaking out of line?”

  I nudged her. “Silly, girl.” I giggled like a schoolgirl with a crush. “I really think this is a good idea.”

  She still didn’t release me from her teasing look. “Maybe I should.”

  “Yes, you should,” I reiterated.

  She rose, shiny and glittery like a pretty present. “I just might do that.”

  ~

  The next day started out magically with a healthy romp through the streets with my soon-to-be favorite blogger by my side. Hope talked about all sorts of ideas like interviewing lesbians, listing favorite eateries, posting entries about dating dos and don’ts, and verbal and nonverbal cues that showed interest. I was in love with this brilliant idea, and Hope seemed to be just as enamored with it.

  She even arrived at a name for it: L-Dating.

  ~

  I felt invincible that morning. I sang in the shower, curled my hair, and even wore blush and a pair of heels. I also wore my red fitted sweater in place of my typical conservative black or gray button downs. Oh, and I most definitely wore my red undies.

  On my way out the front door, I ran into Hope as she bounced down the staircase high on her new idea. She hugged me and thanked me for being so excited about her project. I melted into her light vanilla musk body scent, electrified by her vibrant spirit.

  When I drove away, I swore that nothing would’ve been able to ruin this good mood. For thirty minutes, I basked in the afterglow of my budding friendship with Hope. Cars cut me off and I ignored the usual urge to chuck them the bird, albeit from under my dashboard, but still. Red lights didn’t annoy me. The school bus that cut in front of me on Charles and Grant Street didn’t cause an uprising. Nope. I was feeling mighty free from the daily grind residuals.

  Of course, a few hours later, as I stared out at a sea of empty seats that wouldn’t be filled until at least ten minutes after the lecture was to start, distaste landed on my tongue. These students carried zero respect for me and my time. That’s probably why the professor didn’t mind handing the baton over to me every Tuesday morning lately.

  I definitely wouldn’t be making a living as a professor. No way. Corporate America appealed to me more and more with each lazy student I laid my eyes on.

  I stood at the podium and played with my fingers, filing the nails against each other, waiting for time to move along so I could get this over with and get back to my good mood.

  Most of the students I came across this first semester were clueless, wasting their days stuck to the cellphones, playing games like Angry Birds and Words with Friends. They failed to find beauty in the world around them. They escaped through small screens and instantaneous technology.

  Was it so bad that I wanted students to veer towards me when I started my presentation? I wanted to astonish them with my well-researched, provocative thoughts on current affairs in American business. I wanted them scratching their heads and searching for understanding in the words I spoke.

  I wanted to make a difference with what I was doing in the here and now, not three years in the future.

  Nothing. Most of these freshmen sat, eyes glazed in a haze of murky, technologically driven chaos, wondering who retweeted one of their jokes, who mentioned them in a shout out, and who liked their fan pages. They didn’t care that I just uncovered the key to a successful e-learning environment. They didn’t care that I just simplified their lives by extracting everything it took me hours to learn. They didn’t appreciate that I stayed up all night long devouring long texts on the Internet to find answers that would help them succeed as pioneers in their fields.

  At one point, I asked a question and no one answered. So, I called on this lazy guy wearing a hood and playing with his cellphone. When he didn’t look up after the second attempt, I felt the eyes of all students on me, waiting to see how I would embarrass him. A girl with curly hair and thick glasses tapped him and he finally looked up at me, dumbfounded, red-faced.

  “See me after class, please,” I said, rising back to grace and showing my class that picking on someone, regardless of age and stature, just wasn’t right. I could impact him much more after class by respecting his right to privacy and the freedom to argue his reasons for being a lazy son-of-a-bitch without a hundred set of eyes detailing his every excuse. Well, after class, he didn’t care to practice this and just hung his head low waiting for me to rag on him like he’d probably been ragged on his whole life. I chose the higher road and asked him to kindly look up at me every once in a while in class. He nodded without looking up and left when I excused him.

  How would these students rise above in the real world? This question plagued me after every lecture.

  After class, I went to the campus café and surfed the Internet for blogs that incorporated dating themes. I bookmarked a ton of them and emailed them to Hope.

  My mood brightened instantly.

  ~

  Later that night, while Adam and I sat on a bench at the Columbia Mall people-watching, I presented my joy to him about how excited I was that Hope decided to take my advice and start her blog. He completely ignored me when a group of teens walked by sporting pink, spiked hairdos and black boots up to their knees. “I wonder if they’d wear that crap if their parents didn’t fight them on it. I’m sure their parents fight them on it, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I just went back to sipping my caramel latte. I sat with my lips contorted tight, holding back a spray of tears. For years, all I did was lavish him in praise for the words he wrote. I semi read his passages, regardless of how trite and frivolous, and I ogled over him until his handsome face could light up no further. My accolades tickled him down to his toes, and yet, he couldn’t seem to find the words to express any feeling on my fun news.

  He’d stop and talk at length with Ralph on how to get more clients, Hana on how to improve her teaching techniques, and Reina on how to advance in the culinary world and not disappoint her parents, yet he couldn’t dole out two words for me lately.

  I didn’t know how to connect to him. So, I did what I always did and shut up. I brooded for a few minutes, dabbling in wiping the cream from the lid of my latte while he continued to laugh at funny styles and comment on gaits and vocal varieties.

  I argued in silence, bickering internally over how I could best tell him how he was hurting us, without hurting him in the process. I had nothing.

  So, I decided to just neglect him that night. I rose and left him alone on the bench telling him I wanted to go shop at Ann Taylor.

  An hour later, we arrived home hungry. Adam retreated up to the bedroom and I went to the kitchen. I removed only two slices of wheat bread from the freezer and toasted only them, leaving the rest of the loaf to suffer the possibility of freezer burn if he chose not to eat them with me. The only way that would not happen was if he physically removed himself from his laptop and placed his own wheat bread in the toaster. I was making my own dinner for myself. If he couldn’t give me the time of day when I needed it most from him, then, screw him.

  I’d wait for Hope to get home from her workout with Ralph and talk more about the fun of it all with her instead.

  ~

  When Hope
returned home with Ralph, they raided the kitchen for protein. They whipped up green smoothies and offered one to me. I declined and swallowed another mouthful of sangria. Hana soon joined in citing she was just checking in to see what all the commotion was about. She was wearing a paisley pajama set and her hair looked stringier than ever. She caught me staring at the mix-matched layers. She told me she just had it cut by a different woman who didn’t understand what cropped layers meant. She shrugged and said goodnight to us. Just as Ralph was carrying on about his ex holding back the kids from him on Thanksgiving dinner, Reina appeared.

  Hope asked her to step up her matchmaking game. Reina scoffed and said she was on it already and didn’t need to be told by anyone how to conduct what she set out to do. She scolded the three of us as if we were all guilty of accusing her of wrong doing, ranting about how she doesn’t need to be told twice to get something done. You ask her to complete a task, it would be done when the universe said it should be done.

  She pointed to Ralph’s green drink and told him he was a fool and that he should fast for ten days instead of messing with Mother Nature with expensive, silly powders that claimed outrageous benefits if ingested in quantities large enough for an entire village to consume. She was still rattling off health claims as she passed through the archway into the foyer and back up the stairs.

  Ralph gulped the last of his green drink and left the two of us huddling around the counter.

  “You want to finish that and move onto something a bit tastier?” I asked her. “We could go hang out on the deck for a bit. It’s a beautiful night.”

  “It’s frosty outside.” Hope closed her lips around the glass, peeking up at me from above the rim. “I’ll need a taller glass than this one to keep me warm.”

  I sauntered over to the cabinet and retrieved two tall glasses.

  A few minutes later, two tall sangrias in hand, Hope and I ventured out to the deck. We sat on the swing chair. Our arms touched. So, I drank with my left hand, not wanting to separate from her. We sipped our Sangria under a sky brimming with bright stars, and a few shooting ones. The moon hung three quarters full and looked just like a photograph. I breathed in the fresh, cool November air and reasoned that I deserved to get drunk with a pretty girl whom I found incredibly attractive while Adam continued to type frantically in our room. I sipped and pondered the electrical pulses passing from her arm to mine.

  “You are so pensive tonight,” Hope said, moving slightly so now our arms disconnected. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  The sip of sangria tasted sweeter and smoother than the one previous to it. I loved how she got me without having to even murmur a single word. No poking. No prodding. No pleading for attention. “I had a rough day teaching.” I sipped again, reflecting on her peripheral beauty – her gentle sloping nose, angled jawline, and long eyelashes that curled up around her big green eyes.

  She sat up taller and her arm touched mine again. “What happened?”

  “No one paid any attention to my lesson. Not even the geek in the front. He was too busy like the rest of them checking his emails.”

  “Maybe they were bored?”

  I pulled my arm away this time. “I spent a lot of time preparing it.”

  A tease rested on her lips. “It’s nice to see you get feisty.”

  I punched her arm. “Drink your sangria and stop making fun of me.”

  She swigged some back, and then with a serious tone said, “I’d be happy to listen to it and see if I can critique it if you want?”

  I swung our chair, pushing it with my feet. “I’m not sure.”

  “Everyone needs critiquing,” she said. “I know I don’t know anything about organizational development, but wouldn’t that make me a great reviewer? Maybe the lesson’s too advanced.”

  I chugged a bitter mouthful and some dribbled down the side of my mouth and landed in my lap. “Shit.” I jumped up.

  Hope thought this was the funniest thing in the world until I snapped and started to cry.

  She remained seated, hands covering her mouth, in obvious torment as she stymied the laughter midrise. “I’m sorry,” she managed to blurt out as she stared at my drenched crotch.

  I looked down and a bull’s eye of sangria splattered my inner thighs. “I look like I’ve been shot.”

  She convulsed in a fit of laughter again.

  She couldn’t stop. Every time she opened her mouth, the laughter roared that much louder until finally I couldn’t stand to be the onlooker to the hysterics another second. I landed on a heap by her side in equally synced hysterics, too. We giggled and clung to each other, tugging at each other’s shirts, swinging our heads back, bringing them in close, until finally we rolled gently to a stop, breathless.

  The silence broke our panting, and suddenly our playful mood morphed into a moment of longing. Our eyes locked, and she looked so deeply into mine that I felt her penetrating into me. And then, it happened again. She placed her fingers on my cheek, and pulled me in closer, and her lips landed on mine. We were one, breathing like an entity unto itself. She breathed into me. I breathed into her. Her sweet breath washed over me, intoxicated me, bathed me in warmth and comfort. I curled up into her arms and ran my fingers through her thick hair, pulling her in closer, wanting every morsel she was willing to give me. She caressed my neck and my arm. Her leg crossed over mine. We sat entwined under the beauty of the night, wrapped up in each other’s breaths, souls.

  “So,” she whispered into my mouth. “Is this you trying to give me material for my blog?”

  I giggled into her mouth and she responded with more sultry, earnest sweeps of her tongue.

  A few moments later, the kitchen light flickered and we both shot up in the air and landed feet from each other. Ralph stuck his head against the glass and waved. He opened the slider, “What are you girls doing out here? It’s kind of chilly, isn’t it?”

  Hope was first to pounce towards the door. “Yeah, it sure is.”

  I followed behind, catching my balance with legs still too numb to maneuver properly. I headed straight for the sink and poured the rest of my sangria down the drain.

  Ralph handed me a bowl with cereal crumbs. “Do you mind washing this?”

  “Not at all,” I said, placing it in the sink.

  “Thanks and good night girls.”

  “Night,” Hope called after him. She rolled up beside me. “I’m so sorry. I know that was a close call, and I shouldn’t have.”

  I grabbed her hand with my soapy one. “Don’t apologize.”

  She stared into my eyes, blinked heavily and kissed my cheek. With her breath hot against my skin, she said, “Alright. Goodnight, then.”

  I couldn’t feel my toes or take a deep breath until I crawled into bed half an hour later.

  ~

  In the days that followed, Hope and I met platonically every night folding up desires and packaging them aside as we discussed ways to generate blog ideas. She didn’t mention our kiss, and neither did I.

  Her most brilliant idea was to create a Twitter account and simply ask willing volunteers to subject themselves to an interview about their dating, sex, and love lives.

  So, she got to work following a bunch of people she thought were in her target, everyone who liked Logo to Ellen to NOH8. Within a week, her follower list grew from a few to several hundred. She started tweeting articles about recipes and inspiring messages and funny videos, and then I suggested she toss in a few interactive tweets asking followers to fill in the blank. What resulted was a host of interested people mentioning the heck out of her on Twitter. She ended up becoming listed by forty people within two weeks, and a few of her tweets even made the favorite queue.

  With each new success, her eyes grew brighter, her spirit expanded and I could think of nothing more than wrapping my arms back around her and kissing her.

  When we worked, we did so in the open expanse of the main living room where everyone could spy on us. So, we didn’t kiss, didn’t s
it too close, and didn’t mention a word about the magic we produced that night on the deck. It was our secret, and I for one kept it very sacred in my memory.

  We busied ourselves with informal meetings and before long, I had helped her design a beautiful blog. Now, all she needed was some entries and she could tweet the heck out of it.

  I left her one night to get dinner with Adam. He invited Hana and Reina. They both declined. Then, he asked Hope if she cared to join us. I hinted it would be a nice idea. She declined and told Adam she was writing her first blog. He chuckled and wished her luck, and offered to be her first blog follower, citing he knew how lonely it felt to have zero followers. I chimed in and offered to follow too, and followed this off with a wink and a teasing smile.

  We left Hope alone in the living room to ramble on about the trials and tribulations of being a single lesbian. When we returned two hours later, she had written ten entries. “I’m on a roll. The words are just pouring out of me. I feel inclined to just keep writing.” She beamed.

  Adam snuck a look over her shoulders. “Nice design. Catchy title, too.”

  “This was all Lucy’s idea.”

  Adam shot me a look. “L-Dating was your idea?”

  “The blog, honey. The blog itself was my idea.” I tried to tell him all of this, but he was too wrapped up in people-watching.

  He stole my hand and led us towards the foyer. “Well, good luck with it.”

  He whisked us up the steps and when we got to our bedroom he broke out into a fit of hysterics. “Man, everyone thinks they can write.”

  “Well, maybe she can.”

  “Maybe so,” he said, caressing my hair and staring longingly into my eyes.

  I tucked away, citing I needed to use the bathroom. By the time I got out, he was fast asleep.

  ~

  All of us gathered around the living room to eat popcorn and catch up on life.

  At one point Adam turned to Hope and asked how the blog was coming along.