Crossing

by Stacey Wallace Benefiel

  “I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you this, honey,” Mom starts.

  I toss my phone onto the bedside table. She’s got my full attention. “Tell me what?”

  She comes in and sits down next to me, giving me a wan smile. “I ran into Chase’s mom at the store a few weeks ago and she asked if you’d be home for break. I told her that you would, not really knowing why she was asking, since she was never very nice to you.”

  That was an understatement. Chase’s mom hated my guts and totally blamed me for what happened.

  “Anyway,” Mom continues. “She said if you had any time to stop by that she’d finally gotten around to packing up Chase’s room and she’s got a box for you. Photos and things of that nature, I’m assuming.”

  “Did you tell her I’d be by?” I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants legs.

  “I said it was up to you, but that I’d let you know.”

  I lean my head on her shoulder. “And then you waited until the day before I’m leaving to tell me?”

  My head moves up and down when she shrugs. “No sense in worrying you your entire visit.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her cheek.

  X

  I cut through the park between my house and Chase’s, thankful for the boots Mom loaned me. The ground is a wet, soupy mixture of mud, dead grass, and slushy snow. I tuck my chin into the collar of my coat, not even really looking where I’m going. My feet know the way.

  Taking the steps up the hill that lead to the front door two at a time, I hurry and ring the bell before I chicken out.

  Mrs. Hamilton opens the door, giving me a sliver of a smile. “Danielle. Please come in.” She backs up and I step into the foyer. All of Chase’s school pictures line the wall along the staircase.

  “He was a handsome young man, wasn’t he?” she says when she catches me looking.

  “Yeah, he was,” I say, pushing my lips together to keep the tears I’ve been holding back since I left my house from filling my eyes.

  She walks into the living room and picks up a cardboard file box that’s sitting on the coffee table. “Here you are. I thought you might appreciate some mementos.”

  “Thank you.” I take the box from her, sliding my fingers into the handles on the sides. “It was nice of you to think of me.” It really is, because no matter what stupid stuff is in this box, it’s more of Chase than she’s ever let me have before.

  “No problem, Danielle.” She walks to the front door and opens it. “Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year,” I say, knowing I’ll probably never speak to her again.

  Instead of heading home to open the box, I take a right down the street and walk four blocks to the cemetery. When I get to the spot where Chase is buried, I set the box down and swipe the snow from his headstone. “Hey, bitch,” I say, finally letting the tears flow. There’s not another soul around. “Long time, no see.”

  I squat down and take the lid off the box and let out a strangled, snotty, crying laugh at the framed photo on top. “We were so awesome.” I pick the photo up and turn it toward the headstone. “Check out these badasses.”

  Chase and I are leaning back against his car, our arms crossed, doing our best Blue Steel for the camera. My dad took the picture before the Junior Jam. There’s a sprig of holly strapped to my wrist – Chase thought it would make a fetching corsage. It repeatedly got stuck to his rental tux every time we slow danced.

  I stick the photo along the side of the box and dig down further. More photos, ticket stubs, a playbill from when we went to see Wicked at the Ford. A thick manila envelope sits at the bottom. I take it out, turning it over to see if there is a label (there’s not) and then unwind the red waxy string fastener.

  Looking inside I see folded pieces of different kinds of paper – notebook, receipts, plain white, Goldenrod, a torn brown paper bag. My breath catches in my throat as I pull a random one out.

  I unfold it.

  Physical Therapy

  I follow you up the stairs to your apartment

  sliding one hand absently along

  the paint-peeling wall

  the other casually hooked with yours

  your ugly dark brown shoes

  clunking on each creaky step

  Ignoring my feelings

  I shut the door behind me

  click off the light at the top of the bed

  burning my wrist on the uncovered bulb

  silently accepting the pain

  I am so tired tonight

  your self-pity hanging on my conscience

  frustration wrapping around my legs

  pulling me down

  I think about asking you

  if you want me to wear a mask of her face

  To speak her words

  But you have been kind enough

  to put clean sheets on the bed

  Besides

  I can’t feel her feelings

  Passion is lost

  when your hands don’t fumble over

  the familiar buttons and clasps

  Clothes slip off

  as if you have made an incision in my chest

  and are peeling my skin back

  Complete nakedness feels clothed

  My mind curses my body for reacting

  to your urgent touch

  trembling

  tensing

  lying back

  giving in

  I look out the window

  to the street light outside

  to anything

  I study every rainbow line

  in the halo around the light

  every shade

  every color

  until they blur together lavender

  The cool of the new sheets

  hides in the folds of cloth

  bunched up in the small of my back

  The smell of Tide and honeysuckle incense

  overcome

  by sweat and the vodka on your panting breath

  I grab the headboard above me

  curling my fingers around the edge

  Waiting for you to stop feeling lonely

  Wondering why I comfort you

  letting you steal from me

  to fill the missing part in your life

  I am there when you need her

  There must be a hundred in the envelope. Chase kept everything, every poem I’d ever written.

  The ache of missing him is so strong that I fall on my knees and push the heel of my palm to my chest, trying to force the pain away.

  “Dani Walker?” a guy says behind me.

  I whip my head around. Jamie Morrison is standing next to his stupid blue pickup parked on the gravel road ten feet away. It’s got a plow on the front. I didn’t even realize he’d driven up. “I heard you got the groundskeeper job here,” I mutter.

  He pulls a joint out from its hiding place tucked under his seed corn company hat and lights it. “And I can still recognize you by the back of your head.” He smirks and takes a deep drag before offering it to me. I shake my head no.

  Jamie Morrison is the last boy on earth I want catching me down on my knees. He’s been taking advantage of my mouth and my infatuation with him since the eighth grade. And when we were sixteen, he stole my virginity in the cab of that stupid blue truck. I can still feel the hard tap of the window glass against my forehead while he rammed into me from behind.

  I get to my feet, set the manila envelope full of poems back in the box, and put the lid on.

  “You need a hand with that?” he asks, reaching for the box with the joint nestled between his fingers before I can answer.

  I yank it out of his reach. “No, I got it.”

  “Damn, Dani. Easy girl!” He chuckles and swats me on the ass.

  Something breaks in me.

  Chase loved me and thought I was worthy. Liam trusts me and thinks I’m worthy. Devon and Sean. Mom and Dad. Elizabeth, Kristin, Cam, Ursula. I have people in my corner and I’ve tried my hardest not to
hear their kind words and encouragement. I’ve tried my hardest not to let them lift me up. Instead, I’ve valued the opinions of strangers and assholes who hate themselves so much the only thing that makes them feel better is to use me.

  What the hell am I punishing myself for?

  I drop the box and slap Jamie as hard as I can across the face. “Keep your goddamned hands to yourself, you son of a bitch.”

  His mouth drops open, stunned. He brings his fingers up to his face, rubbing his jaw. “You’re lucky I don’t clean your clock. Cunt.”

  I brace myself for his retaliation, but he just tucks his burnt out joint back underneath his cap and walks to his truck.

  After he drives off in the direction of the maintenance building, I take my phone out and bring up Liam’s number. This time I hit send.

  Liam answers on the first ring. “Dani, it’s so good to hear from—”

  “I love you,” I blurt. “I’m in love with you and I don’t care if you dress like a woman or if you share my shoes or that you’re prettier than I am. I just want you. I need you and accept you and will take you however you are.” I can hear him suck in a deep breath and sniffle. “Are you making that face where I can’t tell if you’re disgusted with me or about to cry?”

  “I love you, too.”

  Glancing over at Chase’s headstone I mouth, “He loves me too!”

  Liam chuckles. “Who’s there with you?”

  Apparently, I said that out loud. “I’m in the cemetery visiting Chase.”

  “Oh?” he asks, sounding amused.

  “I just slapped Jamie Morrison across the face. He called me a cunt.”

  “Oh?” Liam says again, his voice tense. “Honey, are you sober?”

  “Yes, I’m sober.” I bend and hoist the box up onto my hip with one arm. “In fact, I’m crystal clear. Everything is crystal clear.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “How many items?” The dressing room attendant at Uptown Clothing Emporium doesn’t even bother looking up from his e-reader.

  Liam counts the hangers in his hand. “Seven.”

  The guy points to the rack next to him. “Limit is six, leave one item. You can switch it out.” He hands us a plastic card with a six printed on it. “Use the last room.”

  We head down the aisle.

  “Oh, and if you mess something up, don’t be assholes and hide it, just bring it back to me.”

  Liam looks at me sidelong, his eyes wide. “Sure thing, man.”

  “The name is Chris.”

  “Sure thing, Chris.”

  Instead of spending all of the remainder of Winter break in Eugene, we decided to come up to Portland and do some shopping where no one knows us. Portland sure does its damndest to keep itself weird, and Liam and I are loving it. After catching a drag show at Darcelle’s last night, we got to talking with a couple of queens who recommended this place.

  Liam drops the tag on the little gold metal hook outside the last dressing room and we go inside. It’s not like we’re at the GAP or anything, so we’re sharing our space with a water heater, a puffy brown ottoman, and an actual full-length mirror in a stand.

  I take the clothes from Liam and bend over, laying them out across the ottoman. Liam grabs me by my hips and pulls me back against him. I straighten up and crane my neck, bringing my mouth toward his. He kisses me slowly, taking his time.

  “Hi,” he says, his lips lingering over mine. We’ve been staying in a hostel to save money and haven’t had a chance to be together in two days. I both want to rip his clothes off quickly and spend hours doing everything to him that I’ve been thinking about while stuck in a room with snoring backpackers.

  “Hi.”

  His mouth lowers to my neck as his right hand slips under my shirt and up to my breasts. “I could take you right now,” he whispers into my ear. “Even without dresses, if you want.”

  I’m tempted to let that happen, but I want the real him more than I want normal.

  I step away and look at him over my shoulder, grinning. “Strip.”

  He unbuttons his shirt. “I love you, you know that?”

  My heart stops. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. It skips a beat. It sticks in my throat. It pounds in my chest. All the clichés happen, up in there. I’m still not used to hearing him say it and knowing that he means it. I stoop down and retrieve the lipstick from my backpack. Liam’s already got eyeliner on.

  “I love you too,” I say, facing him. My half-naked boyfriend. Who loves me.

  Liam steps on the backs of his shoes and kicks them into the corner by the water heater. Then he takes off his socks and sends them the same way. He unbuttons his jeans and pulls them down, folding them and placing them next to his shirt on the floor.

  I go to the mirror and put Perfect Red on in a thick layer, a little flare of heat erupting low in my belly. When I turn around, Liam is completely undressed and ready to play.

  I choose a red satin dress with spaghetti straps and unzip it before handing it to him. “I like this one.”

  His eyes are hooded and focused on my mouth as he takes the dress from me and steps into it. He turns so I can zip it up. I lead him by the arms over to the mirror. “Do you like it?”

  He clears his throat. “It’s pretty.” He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed. “I can’t believe you’re here with me, doing this. Every other time I’ve been shopping, I’ve had to hurry. I couldn’t get the stupid zippers done up by myself. I could barely stand to look at my reflection in the mirror. This is just surreal.”

  I turn him toward me and go up on tiptoe, kissing him thoroughly, smearing his mouth with lipstick. “And memorable too, I hope.”

  Sliding my hands down his body, I kneel in front of him.

  He looks at me and brushes my hair out of my face. “Dani, you don’t have to. You’re already doing—”

  I push the hem of the dress up his thighs. “Do I or do I not get to do with you what I want? I thought we had a deal, Liam Garrett.”

  He gasps.

  With the dress at his waist, I take his hands, one by one, and make him grab hold of it.

  “Watch us in the mirror,” I say, taking him in my grasp and leaning in.

  I move my mouth down slowly, the pressure measured, and then pull back, leaving lipstick in my wake. His hips buck forward, which is my desired reaction. Liam rests one of his hands on my head and I glance up with him still in my mouth. He’s enthralled with our reflection. I continue on, confident in this particular aspect of my sex skill set above all others. I’ve had the most practice at it.

  When I can tell he’s getting close, I look up at him again and this time our eyes meet. He puts his hand on mine and pulls away. Grabbing me under the arms, he lifts me to standing, his breathing erratic. “You’re too good at that. My turn.”

  Liam fishes a condom from my pocket and then unbuttons my jeans, peeling them, along with my underwear, off in a hurry. Thank God for ballet flats is all I’m saying.

  “I need you out of that shirt,” he says, his voice breathy and on the edge.

  Unbuttoning it slowly, I tease him, until I can’t stand it myself and practically rip it off. Liam’s mouth is on me, yanking the cup of my bra down with his teeth, marking my nipple red with lipstick the way I’d marked him.

  I grab his head and rake his mouth up to mine, hungry and demanding. He faces me toward the mirror and then takes my hands and puts my palms against the wall on either side of it. Placing the flat of his hand against my lower belly, he pulls me to him and enters me with a swift thrust.

  I’m amazed how much better this position is when I feel wanted. Liam snakes his other hand up to my breasts. My eyes travel to the reflection above my shoulder and meet his. He’s watching me with such an intense gaze I can’t look away. He sees me. Completely. And I see him.

  Liam’s fingertips dig into my flesh, while the world crumbles around us, leaving only him and me, right here, right now.

  After a moment, h
e flips me around, hugging me to him and we collapse onto the ottoman.

  I kiss him gently on the lips. “Your make-up is a wreck, Mister.”

  “So is yours.” He smiles.

  There’s a quick rap on the door. “Remember, don’t be assholes!” Chris says from the other side.

  Liam squeezes his eyes closed and sticks out his tongue. “Don’t worry. We’re going to buy everything we brought in here.”

  “Plus the one that’s out here too?” Chris asks.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess.”

  “You should man, the color will really bring out your eyes.”

  X

  “The wind feels weird on my legs,” Liam says, as he switches his purse to the other hand and takes my arm.

  “Just wait until you climb in bed.” I wag my eyebrows at him. “Cool sheets on freshly shaven legs is heaven.”

  We’re back in Eugene walking to the best restaurant in town, for dinner and an experiment, on the last night of break.

  He flips his hair back off his shoulders, his new wig, my belated Christmas present to him, a more realistic chocolate brown than the platinum magenta jobby the drag queens had kitted him out with.

  “How do my tits look?” he asks, laughing.

  “High and perky, baby, every girl’s dream.” I kiss his shoulder.

  We round the corner and approach the entrance to La Trattoria. I reach for the door and hold it open for him. “After you, Lee.”

  “Thanks.” He throws his shoulders back, his chest forward and steps into the restaurant.