Poet

by A. M. Johnson

  Your mouth is a mystery with its dips and curves, licked sweet by your tongue.

  My own ponders the taste.

  Soft or rough?

  Languid or greedy?

  Deny me or give me the world in gentle kisses, and heated bites.

  Your teasing lines shake my foundation, press against me, giving the truth I crave.

  In your scent, where home could be a holiday, and your touch, could give me the sun.

  I stared at the paper and read the words again out loud. It was always an out-of-body experience reading your own words, hearing them aloud. It was as if those words had never belonged to me, and the handwriting was a lie. Who was the man inside of me with the pencil, and where was he now?

  I flipped the book shut and pulled my phone from my back pocket.

  Me: I’m not wearing a costume.

  It didn’t take long for her to reply.

  Kelly: Good, because she isn’t either.

  Shit, this was really happening.

  Me: Does she have a name?

  Kelly: Melissa, but she likes to be called Mel.

  Mel…

  Kelly: Don’t be nervous.

  I chose to ignore that text. I was tired of being babied.

  Me: Need me to get anything?

  Kelly: Just bring your own beer. Liam is being stingy with his, apparently.

  I laughed, and the sound of it filled the empty apartment.

  Me: See you around nine-thirty

  Kelly: You won’t be sorry.

  She sent a wink emoji, and I rubbed my forehead with my free hand as I threw my phone onto the desk with a long sigh. I shouldn’t have agreed to this. I wanted to meet someone I liked, take them to dinner, or maybe just drinks, kiss them goodnight, make out, see movies, and fuck like everyone else. A natural progression. I’d had a glimpse of that perfection in the woman from church, only to never see it again.

  Shit.

  No one was perfect, and I didn’t even know the damn woman anyway. I made everything too difficult. I should’ve gotten laid in high school, met a girl in college, married her, and popped out a few kids. Mom would’ve liked that, maybe more than me becoming a priest.

  “What do you want?” Mom asked as I sat on the couch beside her.

  “For you to be happy,” I answered.

  “Everything you do makes me happy,” she said and ruffled my hair.

  Back then, my fourteen-year-old mind had misconstrued what she’d said. I’d always thought her happiness was linked to my idea of maybe becoming a priest. But that wasn’t what she was saying at all. I’d made her happy. Just me, not my choices, not my grades, just Kieran. My throat narrowed and my eyes burned. I opened my desk drawer and removed my mother’s rosary. I lifted it to my lips and whispered, “Thank you.”

  I made the sign of the cross as I held the crucifix. I kneeled down next to the desk chair. The cold of the hardwood seeped into my knees past the thick fabric of my jeans as I murmured, “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

  I continued with the Apostle’s Creed, knowing I would finish the rosary before I let myself get ready for the night. But as I said the familiar prayers, it wasn’t God whom I felt close to, it was my mother. I had faith in more than the written words and doctrine of my church. I had faith that God would forgive me of my sins. That He would let me be human, be a man, and that even if I didn’t think I deserved it, after breaking the commandments I knew I would eventually break, the ones I’d already broken, He’d still let me see my mother again one day.

  The dress was too damn short, and as I pulled at the hem with my fingertips, Maria giggled.

  “Stop. You look really cute, Mel.”

  “It’s too short.” My lips pressed together as my fingers tried desperately to find a little bit more fabric to hide my knees.

  Maria cocked her sculpted brow. “Since when did you start caring about how much skin you show?”

  Maria was joking, of course. I’d never been modest. I liked to feel unconfined, but I couldn’t help the shame that bubbled through my chest. My face must have fallen because Maria’s posture straightened, and her smile turned from jovial to placating.

  “You know what I mean, Mel. I’d never bring up—”

  “That I used to be a stripper.” I turned to look in the mirror, avoiding her eyes. Maria had a way of making me feel small despite all the things she’d done for me.

  “You used to be a lot of things,” she said as she stood behind me and pulled my hair up with her hands. She watched me as she twisted the strands this way and that, deciding if it should stay up or down. She dropped my thick, black waves and let them fall over my shoulders. “But, that was five years ago.”

  I fixed my eyes on hers in the mirror. Five years was nothing compared to all the years I used drugs.

  “Go to the party. Have fun, meet a guy, and let go a little.”

  “Fun,” I whispered as I drifted my fingertips down the front of the dress. “I’ve had enough fun to last a lifetime, Maria.”

  She tipped her head to the side, and her smile warmed the chocolate specks in her dark eyes. “The past is the past is the past. You’re clean, you’re working. Five years, Mel… That’s something to celebrate. Be proud of who you’ve become.” She tugged on a strand of my hair. “And besides, you look hot as fuck in that dress.”

  I choked out a laugh. “Come with me? Mom can watch JoJo.” After all, she was single, too. “You’ve been divorced for a year, when was the last time—”

  “I’m not ready.” Her smile dipped, but I’d only noticed because I knew Maria, and I knew how well she hid her loneliness behind that giant wall of pride. She stepped out from behind me and grabbed her black clutch from the dresser. “But you… in this dress, if you don’t get at least one phone number, I’ll know I’ll be single forever.”

  She handed me the clutch, and I looked at myself one more time in the mirror. The dress hugged every curve. The black material was too light for fall. My tan skin was exposed along my shoulders. The thin straps and open back made it impossible to wear a bra. I felt more vulnerable in this dress than I ever did on stage in nothing but pasties and a G-string. When you’re dancing for money there’s no hiding who you are. This dress was for a girl who was pushing limits for the first time, trying to seem sexy when she was nothing more than wholesome. My pouty, pink lipstick, my painted eyes—it was completely fake. But, as usual, my fear was that someone would see through the decorative mock up, straight down to the ugly history, the truth no borrowed dress could ever cover up.

  “You look scared.” Maria laughed quietly as I turned to her. “Stop worrying. You’ll be fine. If something triggers you, leave, come straight over here, and we’ll watch a movie while we eat our emotions.”

  She was making sense. I could leave whenever I wanted. I didn’t have to drink. I’d make conversation, meet the guy Kelly wanted me to meet, and then head home, or back here. An early night didn’t mean I wasn’t trying to move on, or be normal. It meant I was testing the waters like I always did, making sure I was truly clean, making sure no temptation could pull me back under.

  “The movie sounds better than this party.”

  She pursed her lips. “Open invite. Call me if you need anything.”

  “Thanks for letting me borrow the dress.”

  “The cardigan is on the bed.”

  I scooped the sweater into my hand and pulled it on. The armor it provided felt weak—if anything—I felt even less like myself. “I should’ve never allowed you to talk me into a dress. Jeans and t-shirts are like my comfort foods.” I gave Maria a small smile. “If I don’t see you tonight, I’ll drop the dress by tomorrow?”

  “Just keep it, bring it to the restaurant on Wednesday.”

  We made our way out of the bedroom and into the family room. JoJo was sitting on the couch with candy wrappers strewn around him, the television turned up, and his eyes fixed on the video game Maria had put on for him when we got b
ack from trick-or-treating. The grin on my face expanded past what I normally allowed. Acknowledging the truth of who he was to me would only make it harder to walk away from him every day. He looked just like me except for those light eyes.

  “Thanks for letting me go trick-or-treating with you guys.”

  “It was nice to not have to do it alone.” Maria’s fragile mask started to crack as her eyes glittered.

  “He never deserved you,” I said as she nodded, wiping her fingers under her eyes with a watery smile.

  “How could he just shut us out like that, after everything? Jordan is his son…you think he’d want to—” She caught herself and the guilt that flashed across her eyes ignited my own. “I mean—”

  “He should’ve been the one here today, not me.” I saved her from apologizing. Jordan wasn’t my son. We shared blood, but I wasn’t his mother.

  I had many titles over the years. Daughter. Drop out. Addict. Thief. Stripper. Whore. But mother, it wasn’t in my vocabulary, and I would never deserve the title, at least not when it came to JoJo.

  “I’m getting used to not having him around.” She shrugged, pretending she was fine, dropping that mask firmly in place again. “I hope he’s happy with her, they both deserve each other.”

  My sister’s ex-husband, Dean, left a little over a year ago to start a new life with his office manager. I never liked Dean, but he’d always made Maria so happy. Charming fuck that he was, had her fooled, but I was good at sniffing out the worst in people, and he’d stunk to high heaven the first time I’d met him. But, I was handing over my baby at the time, and Maria had acted like life couldn’t get better, so I’d brushed it off as post-pregnancy hormones. I trust my instincts better now and, if anything, it helps keep me aware, alive, and away from the lure of what haunted me every day.

  “Finally, something we can agree on,” I teased and she laughed. “I wish I had some good advice, but shit, I’m me.”

  Maria laughed even harder and JoJo’s attention was won. He yawned as he paused the game and set the controller on the coffee table.

  “I know, you don’t even need to say it,” he grumbled and stood from the couch.

  “What?” Maria asked with a tone that suggested she knew exactly what.

  “Brush my teeth, jammies, and bed.” He checked off each word with an annoyed bob of the head, and even though I had to press my lips together to stop myself from laughing, my smile showed through.

  Jordan gave me a hug. “You look pretty, Aunt Mel.”

  “Thanks, kid.” I leaned down and whispered into his ear, “Don’t give your mom a hard time, okay? She loves you too much to tell you it hurts her feelings when you’re salty with her.” When I pulled away, his mouth had twisted up on one side, and his nose crinkled as he smiled.

  “Thanks for coming trick-or-treating with us,” he said, and I ruffled his hair.

  “You’ll be too cool next year to want us old ladies around, so it was my pleasure, and besides, you make one hell of a Spider-Man.”

  His cheeks flushed and his eyes darted to his mom. “I think that’s a curse word.”

  Maria laughed and said, “Not really, it’s just an awful place little boys go if they don’t brush their teeth.” She put her hand on her hip and he stood straight, giving her a goofy smile before running toward the bathroom. “Parent of the year right here.”

  My heart felt heavy, saturated with too much warmth, and the breath I was supposed to take got stuck in my throat. She was parent of the year. Maria took Jordan in as her own, gave him something I never could. A home. I owed her so much, but somehow, I wished things had been different and Jordan could’ve been mine.

  “I better get going.” I held up the clutch she gave me as I grabbed my bag off the coffee table.

  “I’m serious, Mel. Have some fun and I’ll live vicariously through you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I submitted with a grin. The same grin that hid what I was really thinking. I’ll have fun at the party, but today, while Jordan ran up to each door for candy, I’d finally admitted to myself that I had been living vicariously through her.

  The muffled sound of music drifted through the hall, and I figured knocking on the door marked 4B, as dictated in Kelly’s instructions, wouldn’t grab anyone’s attention inside. I slipped my sweater off, folded it over my arm, and stared at the door. I’d transferred a few essentials from my bag into the clutch I was gripping in my hand, but nothing could take the edge off this goddamn anxiety. Everyone inside was a stranger except for Kelly. I’d met her husband a few times, but that was it. I hadn’t officially started at Irene’s yet because Starlee ended up in rehab. My boss at The Western needed me to stick around until he hired a replacement. I’d only trained a couple of days with Kelly, helped paint and clean, but between the bar, my dad’s restaurant, Lifeline, and now this new job, something had to give. I said goodbye to everyone at Lifeline a week ago.

  The song changed, and I realized I’d been waiting out here too long. I felt totally out of place, but I tried the door handle anyway. I was here. In a dress, and I might as well dive into the fucking deep end. Recovery wasn’t about self-preservation, it was about finding the will to live.

  The door opened and the music filled the dead space inside my chest. My heart matched the beat of the bass as I shut the door behind me. Kelly’s place was huge and open, and the soft gray color of the carpet and furniture eased my nerves. Splashes of purple sat on the couches in the form of throw pillows. White sheers had been pulled to the side leaving the floor-to-ceiling windows on display, framing the city and its lights beyond. There were a few people scattered around, no one really noticing the new chick walking in. Most of the people here were covered in tattoos and, I noticed, mostly male. My anxiety began to crest again but, as I allowed myself a few more steps, I saw Kelly in the kitchen opening a beer. Her husband Liam’s smile was megawatt as he leaned down and kissed her lips, taking the bottle from her hands. The moment was too sweet. It wasn’t meant to have an audience, so I looked away.

  A few guys nodded their heads at me as I walked by, and I exhaled a nervous breath. There were some people who loved attention, loved to talk, meet new adventures head on… that wasn’t me. Well, not anymore, and not without the assistance of some mind-numbing substance. I’d always been a wallflower until I’d met Chance. He’d stolen me from the waiting line and made me feel invincible. He’d shown me the world through an opiate-fogged telescope, and I’d forgotten how scary and small it had always been.

  “Hey.” A girl with sharp, black nails, and red-tinted lips waved at me. “I don’t know you.”

  Her abrupt hello should have put me off, but her smile was real, and I couldn’t help gravitating toward people who weren’t fake as fuck. It’s why I liked Kelly. She wasn’t afraid of who she’d become and wore it out in the open as a fuck you to those who would dare to stare at the girl with scars on her face. This girl in front of me was sucked into a red velvet corset, leather mini skirt, and covered head to toe in ink. I respected that kind of bravery.

  “You made it, I thought for sure you weren’t going to show.” Kelly’s voice eased the tight ties in my stomach. I was glad my sweater was draped over my left arm veiling the vice grip I held on my purse. “This is Ronnie. She works at Avenues.”

  Ronnie picked at her nails. “And you are?” she asked, but not rudely, more like she was flirting…

  “Mel. I work with, well, I’ll be working with Kelly at Irene’s.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand, and I shook it with my right.

  Kelly laughed and I furrowed my brow. “You’re never this nice, Ronnie.”

  “Well, she’s hot,” Ronnie said as she dropped my hand. Her smile took on a whole new predatory gleam.

  Kelly whispered, as if Ronnie couldn’t hear, “She’s a little aggressive, but what can you expect, she’s the only girl who works at Avenues. Working with all those guys has to be hard.”

  “Whatever, I run that plac
e.” Ronnie’s shoulders straightened and her eyes found mine. If I wasn’t flattered I’d feel a little naked by the way her eyes slithered over my body.

  “No, you fucking don’t.” Liam’s low timbre was almost a growl as he wrapped his arm around Kelly.

  Ronnie’s eyes flicked to Liam’s and promised murder as they lowered into slits. “You always have to swoop in and ruin shit.”

  “She’s here to meet my brother.” Liam smirked when Ronnie’s smile dimmed, and the twists and knots returned to my stomach.

  Of course, he would know. Kelly was his wife and Kieran was his brother. I shouldn’t feel surprised, but I did, and a little nauseous.

  Ronnie’s crestfallen expression brightened as her eyes trained on the door. “Yeah… have fun with that,” she said with enough sarcasm the butterflies in my stomach died on the spot.

  “Have fun with that.” What the hell did that mean?

  Ronnie gave me a sad smile and a wave of her talons as she turned and walked away.

  “Why do I allow her to work at Avenues?” Liam’s jaw muscle feathered under the skin.

  Kelly laughed. “Because you love her like a sister.”

  “Love who like a sister?” A deep voice, somewhat familiar, drew my attention away from Kelly.

  Our eyes met and the smell of incense, fresh soap, and cologne flooded the space between us. His clear, blue eyes widened briefly, before they dusted across my cheeks, lingering on my mouth. My heart leapt into my throat as those deep blues eventually settled on my gaze.

  It was him…

  Just a couple of weeks ago, I’d chosen to go to a different Mass at St. Ann’s. I was tired of always attending with my parents. He’d been sitting in front of me the whole time and, even though I should’ve been paying attention to the priest, his soapy smell had mixed with the incense smell of the church, and I swore it was the sexiest thing I’d ever inhaled. He was tall with big, broad shoulders and, that day, his white dress shirt spread across the muscles of his back like it was made just for him. When he offered me the Sign of Peace, and his skin had touched mine, it was juvenile, but I didn’t like how the sensation of it made me feel reckless. Like I was sixteen all over again, and this gorgeous guy was looking at me like I was something special. He should’ve dropped my hand, but he’d held onto it, and that reckless feeling had turned dangerously into something akin to hope, that maybe someone like him, a man who went to church, who had eyes with soul, could want a girl like me.