Schooled 4.0
Page 16
“Really, then why aren’t you fucking the shit out of Briggs and Leo?” Holy shit. How does she even know about them? She and Jasper must be BFFs; this is nuts. I always try to get him to talk to me, open up to me, share with me, but it never happens. Sarah has been back in town for six months, and she knows everything about all of us. It’s just nuts.
“I’m not going to—” I really don’t know what to say or how to defend myself.
“Supposedly, the sexual tension and body language when they’re around you is intense.” I can’t believe Jasper of all people picked up on that and talked about it with Sarah, no less. My world really is out of whack. “Hey, I went to school with both of them. Briggs is a hot piece of ass. Leo was a geek, can’t believe you want ride that.” She says, scrunching up her nose.
“Leo isn’t like that at all; he’s smart, funny, and extremely good-looking.” I feel overly compelled to defend him, to make sure she doesn’t think poorly of him.
“Running to his rescue, are you?” Standing up to leave when she sees my mother approach, she whispers, “Get on them—both. You owe it to yourself.” Walking around the table to hug my mother, she announces, “I’m going circulate the room. You two catch up.”
My mom and I decide that we’ll cut out early and spend some quality time together. I explain to Sarah that I’ll just meet her in the lobby the next morning for a quick breakfast, before flying home. I’m nowhere near ready to go back home and face reality again. I like playing pretend in New York City. Maybe I’ll just quit my job and get a waitressing job at Nobu to afford my new Wicked-crack addiction. I like the sound of that.
My mom and I walk around Times Square and end up sitting on a bench in Rockefeller Center, people-watching, one of our favorite pastimes together. Or used to be.
“I just don’t enjoy judging people anymore,” she isn’t looking at me, but looking at all the people walking by, as if she’s finally seeing them as humans, not as punch lines. “There are so many more important things in life. Never realized it before,” she confesses, shaking her head. “I wish I could go back in time and re-raise you kids; I failed you in so many ways.” My mom’s so pensive and remorseful, looking forlorn. I hate seeing her with regret, beating herself up.
“Mom, you’re kidding, right? You guys were great parents… are great parents.” I hate that she thinks otherwise. Granted, she did leave me nine years ago. However, I’m beginning to come to terms with it. Beginning.
“You kids had a nice, privileged life. But, I should’ve been introducing you to more, other cultures, other lifestyles, teaching you acceptance, showing you the world.” She brushes the pieces of my hair that fell from my side pony-tail away from my face. “If I’d shown you more, you wouldn’t have married the first idiot who proposed.” She shakes her head and grabs my hand.
“Janelle, look at me,” she lifts my chin. “You deserve someone perfect. You deserve someone who finishes your puzzle and without him, you’re just another misplaced game, lost and worthless.” I’ve never seen her so serious, never heard her speak with such wisdom before. “Joz has that with Rick. I have it with your dad. You never had that with Marcus.” She’s staring at me, waiting.
“I know. I think I always knew.” I admit, crying. “It just hurts. It hurts to be so wrong about someone.”
“It hurts, hurts badly, but it won’t kill you.” My mom takes a deep breath, searching for courage, searching for the words. After a long pause and a courageous sigh, she says, “Your dad cheated on me when we were first married.”
Holy bomb-dropper!
What? No way. That can’t be true. I stare at her in disbelief. I’ve never heard anything about this before.
“Mom, are you kidding—”
“Just let me get this out. It hurt, hurt worse than having a baby, having three babies, because emotional hurt is more excruciatingly painful than physical pain.” She stops, gets up, and stands. She faces me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “I thought my world ended. But your dad, he was, Hell, he is my world, the love of my life. What he did broke my heart, but it didn’t break us.”
I don’t remember a time when my mom was so forthcoming, so filled with raw honesty. “But mom, didn’t you feel like a failure forgiving a man who cheated on you?” My father does not seem like an adulterer. His world revolves around my mom. Maybe it hasn’t always been that way. They obviously have a story, a story that maybe I don’t know all the parts to.
She smiles and shakes her head, “Forgiving him didn’t make me weak. My pain and anger were making me weak,” she admits, smiling faintly, her eyes becoming distant. “But I knew I had to forgive him. I loved him,” she says, her face lighting up.
She looks like a teenager, talking about her new boyfriend. Then, her face falls again, shaking her head, “But with you and Marcus, it’s different,” she says softly. “You don’t have to, don’t need to.” She puts both of her hands on my face, forcing me to look at her again, “The main difference is, I knew I’d grow old with your dad, you’ve never felt that for Marcus. Your dad was worthy of forgiveness, Marcus isn’t—never will be.” She seems so sure of herself, of her words.
We both know she’s right. I’m not toying with the idea of forgiving him; that’s absurd. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He didn’t even ask for my forgiveness. Marcus certainly isn’t the missing piece to the puzzle of my life. Truthfully, we hardly fit together at all. I clung to him when my parents left, and let’s face it, he really wasn’t all that supportive then either. Funny how my mom called it “missing a puzzle piece.” I love doing puzzles. I always begged Marcus to join me and help me finish one. He never did. Literally and metaphorically, he never finishes my puzzles.
My mother and I take a cab back to our hotel, sit in the lobby on a comfy couch, and talk into the wee hours of the night. I never felt closer to her, and yet, she lives thousands of miles away now. It’s strange how much maturation and experience change a person, creating growth and strength. My mom is stronger and more enlightened than I’ve ever known her to be. I always wanted to be like her (up until she left), because all little girls basically want to be like their mom.
When she packed up and left, I dropped that notion, but now? Now, I know exactly why I want to be like her. She’s smart, forgiving (when deserving), tolerant, giving, courageous, helpful, and there for me when I need her the most. Although I hate that she’ll fly back to my father in New Guinea the next day, I’m no longer bitter or angry for her decision or desire to do so.
WHEN I CRAWL into my bed, I can’t believe how peaceful I feel. Sometimes, a mother’s support and wisdom is all anyone ever needs. Just as I’m getting comfortable, I realize that I hadn’t gotten my phone out of my purse all day or night, hadn’t looked at it once. That has got to be some sort of record for me. I lie in bed trying to decide if I really need to get up, get it out, check it, and plug it in to the charger. The bed is so cozy and relaxing, getting up seems inane. But, I haven’t checked Facebook all day or my calls or messages. I roll over and decide to just forget it, something to look forward to in the morning. I lie there, thinking about last night, thinking about my mom, but mainly thinking about how I need to get up and get my phone. Damn. I am so technology’s bitch.
Char and Jocelyn both sent me messages. Jocelyn left a worried message, saying that since she hadn’t heard from me she was forced to call the airline and check on my flight. Then, she left another message more pissed off, because Sarah had sent a text to Jasper saying that they landed safely and things were going well. Did Jocelyn know Sarah too? What was going on? Was I really that wrapped up in my life with Marcus that my family had been existing without me? I needed to make a point to spend more time with them, being more present in their lives. My family was too important, too integral to avoid creating memories with them.
Briggs texted me four times. I like that he was thinking about me, enough to text me four times in a row. I feel my ego boost, if that’s even possible.
&
nbsp; I open his texts:
BRIGGS: Crazy how ice can be so hot.
BRIGGS: What? You dont think that oxymoron is ironic?
BRIGGS: Really? Im throwing ur words at ya and no response?
BRIGGS: Janelle, call me. Whats going on?
It’s 4:40 a.m. I can’t possibly call him. So, I send him a quick text:
JANELLE: Easy Briggs, someone might think you’re worrying about her. It was a busy day. Crazy, but this is the first time I’ve even looked at my phone in over 24 hours. New personal record.
I decide to text Char and Joz too; I don’t want them any more pissed off at me. I send a group text, telling them that I’m fine and looking forward to seeing them soon. I also send Char another private text saying that I one-upped her and would tell her all about it later. I rather like that I did something Char’s never done, like hooking up with a girl, even though it was quite minimal. It’s something to brag about and rub in her face.
My cell dings.
BRIGGS: I was buggin’ baby, thinking you ditched me for some New Yorker.
Normally, I hate generic terms of endearment, but with Briggs, they work, which in turn make them work for me. He can call me “baby” anytime.
JANELLE: I tried, but nobody was interested. What’re you doing up?
He doesn’t strike me as the type of person who wakes up every time a text comes in.
I’ve slept next to him. He sleeps like a rock.
BRIGGS: Been tryin but I was worried about you. Ur on my mind.
Well huh, I didn’t see that coming. He’s losing sleep, because he hasn’t heard from me?
I know that shouldn’t make me happy, crazy happy, but it does. I like that he’s been thinking about me. I want him to think about me.
JANELLE: What were you thinking about, Briggs?
I know what I’m doing, but I want to egg him on. I want to hear his thoughts, this fantasies, especially if they’re about me.
BRIGGS: Are we really going to go there?
I like his caution, but I’m not looking for careful treading right now.
JANELLE: Yes Briggs, we’re really going to go there, only if you think you can find the words and handle it: the heat, the phone, and whatever else you may need to “handle.”
It certainly pays off being an English teacher, having such a grasp of the English language, using words and wordplay to my advantage.
BRIGGS: Janelle, I can handle it, just like I’m going to handle you tomorrow night. And yes, tomorrow night. This waitin shits over. You want me to be slow, whack slow, Im going to take it so long; youre gonna wish you never taught me such restraint. I wont stop til youve reached three orgasms. At least. Then, Im going fuck you harder and hotter than any man has ever done before.
It amazes me how much I still want him even without the use of that damn apostrophe that I normally feel so strongly about. If I have to choose between punctuation and Briggs, then I am choosing Briggs and the apostrophe can fuck right off. Incidentally, this must be what my students call “sexting,” because it feels as hot as the real thing.
JANELLE: Well Mr. Alexander, I’m going to hold you to those promises, but I’m going to need a little more description and details in your texts. I’d like to know exactly what you have planned for me tomorrow night. Don’t just tell me, show me, use specific language, please.
He piques my curiosity, among with many other things. I’ll never fall asleep now without a little help, without some sort of release. He can get me going from zero to 100 in just a few sentences, well fragments.
BRIGGS: Baby, that aint happening. Sorry to disappoint. I want you so hot, so wet, and ready when I see you. You better not touch one inch of that sexy body tonight. I want you ready to explode, dying to fuck me, begging to have me.
What? He isn’t going to talk dirty to me, so I can finger myself silly? That sucks.
JANELLE: Hey Buddy, who’s calling the shots here? Maybe tomorrow night is just going to be a pipe dream for you.
I can type whatever the Hell I want, but he and I both know the truth. There isn’t going to be any more foreplay, no more fooling around. It’s time for some hot, heavy deep-dicking.
BRIGGS: Im calling the shots now. You had your turn. Youre gonna be beggin for my pipe.
I already am, Briggs. I already am.
JANELLE: Ha! That was funny. When did you get to be such a good, detailed writer and when did you get witty? I don’t remember that in class.
He really is full of surprises, really and truly is.
BRIGGS: There are many secrets you don’t know about me. Cant wait to show you though. I do like when youre callin the shots. So hot. I got a little fantasy involving you, a ruler, and me being a very bad boy. Another time though. Think of me. See you tomorrow sexy.
It’s so unlike me, but I can really get used to being referred to as “sexy” and “baby.” I guess when nobody refers to you with any sort of endearment, you start to really want it, miss it, need it. I really need and want much of what Briggs is offering up. Phew… it’s going to be a long time until tomorrow night. I make a mental note to keep my hands away from myself. I’m saving it all up for him, just like he instructed
JANELLE: Goodnight Briggs. Think of me. I’m lonely in this big bed all by myself wearing just a teeny-tiny hot pink thong. All alone.
Take that! Truthfully, I have on mismatched pajamas. The shirt’s an old concert t-shirt of some band that Char used to dig. The bottoms are Brutus Buckeye flannels. But, I can always pretend…
BRIGGS: Fuck
Fuck is right, and I can’t wait. For real this time.
AFTER SAYING “GOODBYE,” to my mom, Sarah and I grabbed a quick breakfast before heading to the airport. Sarah had funny stories to relay about the night before. A few men started chatting her up, getting her drinks all night long. After being pretty tipsy, she broke the news to them that they weren’t getting anywhere with her for obvious reasons. Sarah was shocked that they didn’t just pack up and look elsewhere. Instead, they laughed, talked, and drank more, ending up at a Gentlemen’s club, aka strip club, where they paid dollar after dollar, watching Sarah get lap dances from various women. The men, from Austin, Texas, told her to look them up if she’s ever in the Lonestar state. They all exchanged numbers, and parted ways.
Sarah can make friends anywhere, quickly. I admire that about her, but more importantly cherish it about her. I’m glad to have her as a friend. At least it isn’t wrong or frowned upon to befriend former students.
On the flight home, nearing our destination, Sarah asks, “What’s going on? You’ve had a shit-eating grin all morning. Spill.” I tell her all about my texts with Briggs and our plan for the night.
“Yes! You’ve got to call me tomorrow. Details, lots of them.” I laugh and tell her that I can’t understand why she’d want details of straight sex. “Sex is sex. The stories are always hot. Don’t you ever read or watch girl-on-girl porn?”
“Uh no! I don’t watch porn. Women don’t do that. Do they?,” I ask, innocently.
“Man Janelle, MISS GARRITY,” she says with sarcastic emphasis. “You have so much to learn.”
JUST AS I’M about to pour myself a glass of wine and maybe gather up a few hors d’oeuvres in case Briggs needs some energy for the night, there’s a knock at the door. I yell, “It’s open,” and Briggs waltzes in. I turn to wave at him, as I open the refrigerator, getting the cheese cubes I sliced earlier.
“Baby, it’s been too long since I’ve seen that face and touched that body.” He walks straight over to me, wraps his arms around me, and pulls me hard against him. His body’s solid, warm, and I can’t wait to explore every inch of it.
“Briggs, my hands are full.” I warn, as he pushes me against the open fridge, a cheese-tray in one hand and my other hand on the door. His body’s strong and firm against my back. His breath’s warm on the back of my neck. Brushing my hair away from my neck, he kisses my lower neck and shoulder, working his way toward my ears.
“I can’t wait another second,” his gravely whisper sounds in my ear, licking along my ear’s edge. His breath’s hot; the air in the fridge is chilly and crisp. Still reaching around me, he slips his hands into my jeans, without even unbuttoning them, finding the center of my desire.
“You’re so fucking sexy… so wet… so hot,” he growls into my ear. Briggs’ fingers circle my clit in soft featherlike motions. I push back against him, needing him to hold me for support. He slips one finger in to me, then another. I mewl and wiggle at his touch.
“Oh God… Briggs… yes,” I whimper as he returns to my clit again, circulating around the hardened nub. He moves his fingers, manipulating me faster. Slipping another finger back inside of me, I whine in protest, not wanting him to prolong this any further. I want release, need it. Briggs chuckles, removing his finger, dipping it in to my mouth. I lick and suck his finger, emulating the motions of sucking his penis. Tasting myself on his fingers turns me on even more. I need this man. Sensing my desire, he dips his tongue into my ear.