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© 2004 by Liz Levy
Nothing New
“I am the one destined to be alone.” It stood out. Prophetic, intuitive, whatever it was – this written phrase was a cold study of intimidating pen-blue scrawl on shredded, mangled miniature lined paper. If a diary could be threatening, this diary would both terrorize and mystify. The statement bared its teeth like a beautiful, radiant tiger leaping out of a dead, desolately charred jungle. Sam sighed and tore her stare away, resting her gaze on the soft, headache-inducing rapping on her bedroom door. She tossed the diary aside. “Yes?” In walked her mother. With a scowl, her mother flung the phone at
Sam. Sam hesitated for a minute. Not a word. Sam translated her
prolonged, tense silence into one word – Jackie. “Yeah. I guess I’m not sleeping tonight. Should I do all my yawning now?” As Sam hung up, she glanced around for her diary. Silently swearing at her
persistent sloppiness, Sam admitted defeat and packed a bag. She
didn’t ask permission – she knew the answer would be yes. When her
mother walked in to retrieve the phone, she eyed the bag and knew.
Again, not a word. Sam smiled to herself. Her mother was muttering
in the next room.
I marveled at her oral dissertation on the lovely Ana, whom she described as a “beautiful, talented lezzie ditz,” not to mention a “selfish user.” At nauseating length, she told me everything. I learned about Ana’s mastery of countless instruments and languages, and just how good she was in bed. I could almost see Ana’s glowing smile before me, as though Sam were a chameleon taking refuge in Ana’s soul; I could also feel the tears dehydrating my heart through my eyes – only they were not my own, but Sam’s tears of mourning over her break-up. I rigged the safety net for Sam, and Sam jumped. She confided everything in me thereafter. I wonder, if she feels destined to be alone, what that would say of me?
She was so different from Ana. It was obvious how flawed Jackie stood, in contrast to Ana’s obnoxious perfection – yet that rendered Jackie human. It was Jackie’s imperfection that exalted her, somewhat illuminating her large form with divinity. Sam lay on Jackie’s comfortable arm sprawled across the pillow, a more fluffy comfort beneath Sam’s neck than the pillow itself. Jackie smiled a strangely familiar smile at Sam before reaching for the light-string, causing Sam to mentally force irritating memories and nostalgia out of the forefront of her mind. The darkness was a laxative. As Sam settled back into the warm softness that was her new lover, surrendering her body to this solid keeper while her mind occupied itself with the movie, Ana was temporarily purged from the room. As the lovers in the movie passionately kissed, Jackie remained dead weight beside Sam. A squeeze on the thigh did not arouse her, nor did Jackie move to even hint at affection. Sam reluctantly gave up her efforts. She knew Jackie was not asleep.
“So, what did you think of the
movie last night?” Sam smiled at Jackie, half seductively, half in
conflict of playful and serious. “Of course it was ‘typical.’ But I bet it wasn’t when it first came out.” “Yes, it was indeed revolutionary when it came out. But it was accompanied by and succeeded by a wealth of media like it. Homosexuality is the zeitgeist now, Sammy. Same old, same old.” Sam sighed and calmly stated, “Of course it’s ‘same old.’ What would be a lack of typicality? ET? The Matrix? Do you think people can really identify with creatures from outer space or people fighting in a futuristic computer virtual reality? There’s atypicality. And for the rest of us, there’s romance. And yes, it seems trite on the surface. And maybe romance seems trite to you anyway, because you sure seem to go out of your way to avoid it.” Jackie swiveled with such force at the implied accusation, Sam was honestly unsure whether or not she had smacked her girlfriend across the face. As Jackie stared at her slack-jawed, Sam feebly continued, “I mean, I love you. And you said you loved me. It’s pure. But I don’t think you want to go there. It’s… too new for you.” Dignity crept back into Jackie’s countenance, then swelled into a sneer of righteous irony. “Right. Too new. Every time you touch me, there’s recollection of another’s touch. And I’m sure it’s the same with you, so don’t act like you’re the Holy Virgin’s sister. We’ve already lived. It’s over. There is no novelty, no originality… no purity. It saps the juice out of life, doesn’t it? Sucks the marrow from the proverbial bones. Some day all of humanity will rise and scream a collective, ‘What’s the point?’ And even if humanity is slow to realization, I’m screaming that now.”
I admit it – I’m torn. At one extreme, I agree with Sam’s insistence on unfettered intimacy, and thus can understand her confrontation with Jackie. On the other hand, although I understand it, I cannot completely empathize with Sam. Jackie’s argument was strong, and obviously touched Sam with the unyielding finger of logic. What, indeed, was the point of faking purity, when the dirt in the relationship was so obvious? Sam couldn’t quite answer this question Jackie had posed, but something in her spirit that had not quite assimilated with the cold soul of Ana yearned for true love – what Sam and I consider to be the point of life. I drove Sam to school the day after her discussion with Jackie. Although we did examine the event at great length, Sam refused to allow me to call it a “fight.” It was a mark, a flaw in their union. The last thing Sam wanted was a record of hostility so early in the relationship. So she did not refer to it as such. My new blue Firebird, the sole gleaning of a one-year fling with my rich last flame, merged onto the highway. Sam was leaning back on the fuzzy faux-leopard fur seat, with her hand resting on the window. “I think you should stay with Jackie, but you should also respect her ideas and values.” “Why? Why the hell should I say with somebody who obviously doesn’t care about me, and who practically swears she could never love again a pure love? All because of an ex? She thinks life is over because of what? A loss of innocence? It’s bullshit! Ignorant, cliché bullshit!” Sam screamed, clawing at the rubber around my window. I winced as she yanked large tufts of fuzz from my seats, marring the shimmering smoothness. “Sam, calm down.” I turned onto a country road, my favorite shortcut to school. Placing my hand on her knee, I sighed, “You can’t expect everything to be exactly your way. Give it time.” In emotional agony, Sam began to paw my floor mats and car rug with her muddy sneakers. As I pulled into the senior parking lot and got out, Sam jumped out and angrily asserted, “It drains my mind. It drenches, extinguishes that damned ‘light at the end of the tunnel’. There is a serious sense of desperation when a teenager expresses sorrow at the imagined premise that life is over at sixteen, and the prime of life has passed already. Sixteen. Jesus, I thought life’s only begun.” She let out a grunt and watched with clenched fists and face as her anger shot through her leg, then dispersed across the surface area of my shiny car door in a vicious kick. Had I not hugged her, she would have collapsed from the sudden loss of energy. Sam gathered and composed herself, grinned at me, and took my hand, preparing to gallivant into the school. Glancing back at my sulking, newly abused car, Sam smiled again and said, “That Firebird you’ve got is so nice. I bet everybody envies it. Such perfection…”
The din in the lunchroom was unbearable. At least they were rendered some privacy. Surprisingly, Jackie was more eager to speak than nervous Sam. As Sam took a bite of her pizza, Jackie gazed at her and whispered, “I’m sorry; I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?” Sam attempted a spasm of surprise, and instead spewed pizza sauce and grease on her lunch, Jackie’s drink, and on Jackie’s arms. Mortified, she mopped up the mess with spare napkins, unwilling to meet Jackie’s eyes as she cleansed Jackie’s pizza-desecrated arms. A light shaking in her arms caused Sam to face her girlfriend. Jackie was laughing hysterically. A grin invaded Sam’s somber face. As their vociferous giggling blended in harmony with the din in the cafeteria, a classmate walked by and picked up their trash with a friendly, knowing smile. The loudness in the lunchroom began to taper off, the girls’ laughter almost matching pitch in a lovely duet. I don’t think they noticed everyone from my table to theirs wheel and stare at them. Sam had climbed over the table and was locked in embrace with her girlfriend. I crossed my arms and quietly stared in tribute to the lovers, as did much of the student body. I was sitting about five tables away.
Sam was nervous. They were
huddled on Jackie’s floor, closer than they had ever been. Sam was
sleeping over Jackie’s house again after making up with her. Jackie started stroking Sam’s sides, staring only at her erect nipples. She refused to look in Sam’s eyes. Lowering her head, Jackie expertly began to lick circles around Sam’s nipples, then suddenly grasped a nipple between her lips and sucked fiercely. Her hands roamed down Jackie’s stomach, stopped by Sam’s hands. Jackie glanced up in surprise and Sam, taking advantage of the break, maneuvered Jackie onto her bed and licked up her neck, teasing her earlobes. Jackie’s midsection bucked in spasms, quieted by Sam’s soft petting on her leg. When Sam finally ventured onto her crotch, Jackie lifted Sam’s shirt and slung it off Sam’s body. She tore her own clothes off, then roughly kneaded Sam’s soft back and sides. Sam calmly pet Jackie’s light fuzz, intermittently teasing Jackie’s clit with one fingertip. The finger crept down to her lover’s wetness. She gently rubbed the wetness on the outside, bending over to finally kiss her right before Sam plunged her finger inside. Sam pumped, cherishing the feel of Jackie’s gasps with her lover’s mouth on hers. Again she worshipped Jackie’s ear, sucking the lobe and licking the neck behind her ear. Before Jackie could dare to come, Sam swiftly pleasured Jackie with her quickly lapping tongue, alternatively sucking. Jackie’s wetness suddenly flowed with saltier taste as her moans reached crescendo. Sam loved her flavor, different than Ana’s but just as good, equally sexy. At this point, the blissful, serene stare on Jackie’s beautiful face as she held Sam close did not indicate to Sam that she was going to reciprocate. Surprise. She immediately twisted herself so she found her tongue on Sam’s
opening, licking up the pleasure lube already gleaned just from
hearing Jackie’s passionate sighs. When Jackie shyly but expertly
placed one finger on her anus, rubbing slowly, Sam jumped in
surprise, then relaxed in even deeper surprise when she figured out
it not only wouldn’t hurt – it actually turned her on, made her
wetter. A different hand, different finger this time. Gently pushing
up, massaging the bump of absolute sexual pleasure, eventually
accompanied by deep suction, her tongue brushing up against the firm
clit in her mouth. “I love you Sam.” A thumb on her clit, two fingers up her pussy. Sweet words. Singing sigh.
Sam felt her orgasm cause her walls to pulse, sapping Jackie’s
fingers. The kiss was a real love.
Cute. That was their first time together. I appreciated the intimacy of my friend’s account, but feared for my friend’s sanity. I think Jackie was now irretrievably vested in Sam’s heart. What was the point? I didn’t see Sam for a while during their little exclusive spiritual honeymoon. But, my logical mind cried out to Sam’s, unheard, I’ll bet. “Don’t let her break your heart, dear. Don’t let her break your heart…”
It was almost Chinese water torture, but not quite. Sam stared at the “dripping faucet” screensaver on her computer, wondering when she had become so masochistic, she could subject herself to this type of anti-entertainment. She was finished surfing the Internet with the intent of tying up the phone line for hours with her cheap modem, and wasn’t sure whether the idle computer with screensaver running was still hooked up to her dial-up connection. Regardless, the phone wasn’t ringing. Sam draped herself upside-down over her bed, with her skull almost touching the floor, and the half of her body still on the bed lay rigid like a corpse. She ignored the rush of blood in her head and stared unseeing into the depths of the world beneath her bed. Upside down, she found her center, her core – but it was still three miles away. With a jerk out of her almost euphoric yet depressive meditation, Sam noticed her diary under the bed where she had evidently flung it, open to a page with childish obsessing about her new girlfriend Jackie on one side and a heartfelt, sad lament on the other side. “Alone again,” it read. “How can I stand to be alone on a Saturday night? Who can? Lonely…again…” Sam sighed at the irony of her life. She knew, it was at the forefront of her memory, what she had written not too long ago on her sentiment on loneliness. Destiny… destiny was the product of actions. Every destination has a path, and a different road leads to a different destination. She knew all this. You can remain driving north on Route 95 for a while, feeling destined to eventually end up in Connecticut or Massachusetts, but there is always the possibility of getting off at an exit in New York. And of course there’s that possibility of turning south, or west, or just staying in New York City for a while, glaring north but refusing to approach. Sam knew all of this. The only problem was her confusion. She knew not what actions would lead to which fate.
“I am so glad the two of you
are back together.” “Whatever. Don’t think about it. Look, Sunday is 14-18 year olds at the
club. You’ll go with me. Cool?”
“Everybody dance now!” The disco ball was twirling like a world of its own, the 90’s jams pounding around it as its wind and waves. I had never been clubbing before, and neither had Sam up to this point, although Jackie’s more permissive family let her party at a club every Sunday. Sam was supposedly at my house. Her mother had evidently thought a sleepover at someone’s house other than Jackie’s would be good for Sam. Strangely enough, she didn’t know a thing about me except my name. Obviously, her mother did know a thing or two about the drug use at these teen clubs. Pills were passed like party favors. Pot brownies were choice fare. Sam didn’t dare imbibe such demonic substances, but I had outgrown my pure stage. I nibbled hungrily on the brownies, loosening in body and spirit and laughing warmly as Sam gave me a reproachful look and danced around me, arms in the air. As my world changed in accordance with the lights changing in the room and the drug in my hand, everything and everyone was dancing. I began to truly party to the blaring disco along with Sam and every other teen in the place. I saw everything. When nobody was looking, attractive girls lifted their shirts while best friends secretly touched each other’s boyfriends. I saw a paradise of tolerance, where here and there two boys or two girls kissed near the walls. I saw rough guys fight, then break into laughter when the bouncer strolled by. I saw Sam dancing in complete oblivious freedom, in one dance finally attaining the purity she had so strived for, yet completely incognizant of her feat. I saw Jackie. I tried to deny it, tried to doubt my hypersensitive senses that asserted that Sam’s wayward girlfriend was indeed in the same room, grinding to the same music with a clean-cut yet virile teenaged boy. But pot does not lead to hallucination. Marijuana-stimulated senses don’t lie.
She didn’t want to draw
conclusions. But she knew. There was no way of not knowing. For all
Jackie feared a true relationship with Sam, one who started to love
her, Sam had gotten over Ana for the sake of her relationship with
Jackie, but Jackie couldn’t risk it. So she chose a guy. Sam… the last I saw of her, she was curled up in a ball on the floor with her diary in her hand. Her mother eyed me coldly, but said not a word. Although I’m sure Sam’s mother happily sensed it was over between she and Jackie, there was a desperate, painful sense of finality in Sam’s wailing. As I quietly slipped out of the room, I noticed Sam’s mother observe her hurt child with a look of concern, maybe even with a hint of empathy, before she too left Sam alone. The cry followed me out, a keening wail. “I’m destined to be alone! I’m destined to be alone!” I’ll see her tomorrow.
Nothing Changes
"I don’t love Sam. I don’t love Sam. I don’t love Sam." I thought that maybe if I had written it enough, it could solidify. I could have fallen into the ingenious Sam-complex, although I am starting to believe her mysticism is just that – a mystic gift, not a psychology complex. The sand I upon which I lay was burning. The cruel summer sun boiled every droplet in the air until the air itself was burning. And Sam had been burning since that day she was burned, a seemingly eternal flame over the grave of her relationship with Jackie. Jackie can be burning in hell for all I know, for all I care. I guess I was burning too. A different kind of burning. I placed the book gently on my lap, lay down completely, threw my head back so my chin could have a nice spot on the grill that was the sun, and sighed. My friend Ed, who had apparently immersed himself in my writing from his vantage point over my shoulder, suddenly chuckled. “Well, it’s better than your last lover.” He snorted at me. “I think you just loved the Firebird.” “Car fetishes don’t count as a love interest.” Ed shook his head and took off for the ocean, yelling back at me, “What’s up with the boring repetition? It sucks!” “Great! Don’t read it.” I yelled back. “It’s a diary, buddy! A diary! Not your restroom reading.” “You don’t get anywhere with a diary.” “If you’re a writer you do!” Ed flipped me off, smiled at me, and dove into the incoming wave. I’m not quite a writer. Not yet, at least. But I am writing this account, am I not? Although I can only write in tribute to Sam. In my first account, I was just the “Friend of Sam.” That was the only identity needed. Jackie was with Sam, Jackie hurt Sam, I was Sam’s friend. I was Sam’s friend after both ex-girlfriends broke her heart. Sam was a swinging single. I’m still her friend. It’s obvious. You can easily guess it before you hear it. Two truths before the story begins – I loved Sam, and Sam did not know. I was in the sidelines again.
I didn’t see Sam in the week I
had lounged on the lovely beaches of the Jersey shore. She called me
only twice, and I did not get a clear sense of her exploits in my
absence. If there were any exploits. After Ana, she seemed ready for
Round 2, but I doubt she’s in shape for a new heartbreak. So much
for persevering in an attempt for purity in love. I wonder if she’s
renounced purity. But not love. May she not give up on love… “Hey man, how’s it going?” “Great, buddy. My back feels like I fell asleep on my car engine, but I’m otherwise cool.” I tried to sound nonchalant. “What are you doing tonight?” I don’t think she got a chance to answer before I jumped down her throat. “You wanna go out again? We don’t have to go clubbing; we can go somewhere else. Wherever you want. Just to get you out.” Sam smiled sweetly, heavenly. It was an all-too familiar smile, and I was
vaguely reminded of two other angels I had known before. When her
grin repositioned itself so it was beaming fully at the ground, I
briefly thought about ants gazing up at her contentedly the way I
had stared at the sky, basking in the smiles from above.
Sam ended up joining about three different groups for gay students – a social group, a school group, a local gay youth group. When Sam returned to school three weeks ago, Jackie was nowhere to be found. Sam connected with one girl from one of her many groups who, it turned out, had dumped Jackie two years before for “manifested confusion.” Lack of commitment may have been another reason, as Sam had speculated. I resisted the urge to shout “DUH!” in her face, out of pure dignity. But let me get back to Sam. This girl she had met was nice, was upset by Jackie and had to save herself by getting rid of Jackie, and obviously understood what Sam had gone through, and what Sam had no desire to go through again. After only two innocent dates with her, Sam had fallen into total enchantment with this understanding yet frustrated young lesbian whose name was Valeria, or Val for short. Sam believed she was back in heaven, despite her wariness for all things female at this point. On this third date, Sam was dressed to kill. Quite literally. I was scared to hug her good-bye for fear of the spikes around her neck. Val was femme. Sam figured she could play a new game for awhile.
Forget what Sam said. I was loitering around her house at 7PM when Val drove up with Sam. I turned tail and darted into a bush by her window posthaste when the two went into her room. I heard them enter Sam’s room, still talking. I always seem to see the wrong things. As Sam removed her superfluous Goth-punk accessories, I watched Val ogle her, then finally rip Sam’s shirt off. Sam looked surprised, but she gave in. Maybe she figured there was no reason she shouldn’t, or if she didn’t, she could never win over this seemingly compassionate, unique young woman she had met. Sam had told me that, like Ana, Val seemed perfect with everything; but unlike Ana, she bragged about nothing. She seemed pretty good at seducing the same sex, I could see. I saw her start to massage Sam’s nipples with precision and dexterity, then softly start to suck on Sam’s neck hard enough to make Sam squirm and grind her body against Val’s, but gentle enough so that it didn’t leave a hickey. Valeria’s hand snaked down Sam’s loose pants and brushed up against Sam’s sensitive lips, and farther in. Sam seemed intent on asserting her newfound masculinity on this soft femme. She breathed deeply and kissed Val hard, pushing her onto the bed in the process. Val’s hands escaped Sam’s clothing and rose above her head in delight. Val helped Sam by shedding her tight clothes, and trapping Sam’s seductive smile between her legs while lying comfortably on her back, enjoying the view. Sam respectfully inched away, still massaging Val’s inner thighs to maintain her flowing juices and ripped open a dental dam she had stashed… just in case. She softly laid the square upon Val’s pleasure center, massaging her clit with it as she did so. Valeria sighed, but as Sam began to lick swiftly and catch the dental dam on her tongue, the girl pulled it away and shoved Sam’s face into her pussy, rubbing her lube into Sam’s mouth. Sam kept licking wildly, inciting a geyser of cum from Val that she practically inhaled in pleasure. Valeria leapt to reciprocate to eager Sam. I turned in disgust and glimpsed a fellow spy, a perverted man of indeterminable age with penis out and hand on said dick. I had been revolted enough. I decked the dude and fled.
Love should not be represented by a heart. The heart is useful, I must concur, but not quite the proper icon. The heart on its own can beat, which is good; or stop, which is not good for the owner. But when someone’s in love, a simple fast heartbeat can’t quite measure the magnitude of the experience. Likewise, loss of love is not as fatal as a heart attack, nor quite so peacefully final as a complete stop. I prefer a lightning bolt as the icon of love. When you are struck, you can feel, for a second, the awesome power of a magnificent, unearthly shock. Then afterwards, you can survive and walk away, drop dead, or survive with your feet blown off and scar tissue adorning your badly scorched torso. That sounds about right.
Sam called me the next day and every day after that to give me the latest. Val called her, Val had blazing sex with her, Val cheated on her, Val had more great sex with her, Val said she was young and wanted an open relationship, Val and Sam broke up. Sam was free the weekend after the drama. She insisted I hang out with her. I picked her up in the Firebird, hoping that this time it would stay in one piece. “Fuck it. Should I just turn straight? Maybe all girls are like this. Some of these dykes are pitiful excuses for woman-lovers. Someone should just shove dicks in their mouths to shut them up.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at this, despite the pained look on Sam’s cute face. “Sorry, buddy. I guess it’s time to –” She cut me off. “ – Try again. Fine. Peace.” I winced at the slam of the door.
Sam must have averaged three girls a week in the next month. I don’t think she slept with all of them, but I’m starting to believe some of the rumors. Two of these girls one week were enjoyed at the same time. I didn’t think Sam was capable of such lechery. Until I saw something out of a porno flick going on in my apartment. I kid you not. Sam’s bitchy mother was evidently home that night, but strangely had no qualms about Sam’s sleeping over my house. Two girls who had been dating each other but found cute Sam attractive insisted upon a threesome. Sam wanted to improve her reputation as a lesbian stud. So she gave in. I wonder why I did. Sam and two sluts practically banged down the door. After a brief introduction (“Hey man. These are my girls.” Laugh. “You can tape if you want and enjoy it later.” More laughs.), they tore off their clothes, rolled onto my couch, and started licking each other everywhere. Fingers rolled into each girl’s private sector, tongues glided against smooth skin. I mumbled something about pizza and threw up in a trash can outside. The Firebird found itself at Ed’s house. I tried to cry that night after I heard his snores coming from his room. I couldn’t.
“I’m SO sorry I grossed you out like that.” “It’s OK, Sam. But do you know how many diseases you’re going to end up with this way?” She looked at me, scared. “Or have. You know, I –” “Whatever. I insist on you getting tested. Stay safe, ok?” Her eyes were never wider. “Yeah.” “Come in and hold my hand, ok?” I must have looked incredulous at that. “You sure you want me in there?” “I’m scared.” Sam was on the table. I averted my eyes from her degrading position – sprawled on the table with feet in stirrups and ass on the edge. The doctor meandered towards Sam’s open legs, and I felt a vice grip on my hand. The cold metal slipped into the beautiful woman on the table and stretched her exploited body. I shut my own eyes with Sam’s, but it was over soon. I smiled at her once out of there, and promised to be there when she called to find out the results. In the car, she hugged me and thanked me with tears in her eyes. My heart was beating fast. The lightning had struck. I knew not the outcome. “Sam… I… I’ll…” She looked at me expectantly, and… was that a glimpse of hopefulness? “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I’ll see her tomorrow.
Nothing Warm
Try, just try to capture the bleakness of Middle Atlantic winter in plain language. The average adjectives, like dreary and dull and depressive – all are such objective nonsense words skating by in recreation on the frozen landscape. Whose bright facade of unsullied cheer can survive at a time like this? The mediocre cold simply discomforts, and the tree branches obscenely stand as dirty tombs without the relief of a Northern blanket of angel white. That which is cold but beautiful is lacking here. Does anyone really want to die?
At the time of which I speak, I was neither boy nor girl, not child nor adult, not alive nor dead. I believed in neither heaven nor hell, nor the lack of either. I would say I was not yet born – that I speak of a time before reality, but in conventional perspective, I had been born and was real and will be real until I am forgotten, provided I first forget myself. I tried… I tried so hard back then. It never seemed to work. I have been counted in number among criminals and transgressors, although I am neither of such nor the Christ treated as such. I have eaten lunch in a mental hospital with one who strangled his sister, one who brought a gun to school, one who stole cars with the intention of driving off of a bridge. How can one glare at such innocent children, confused lion cubs roaring before their time? My crime was an attempt to eradicate myself. My “crime”…
First Frost Jamie… Jamie… I loved her. “Hey, fuzzy,” she’d greet me. She called most of her friends “fuzzy.” “Hey, babe.” She’d smile at this. And walk over to her boyfriend. Hands linked, hips kissing in the subtle PDA so stigmatized in school. I wanted her to be happy. But I loved her. Was that enough? I remember when she first came crying to my old car. She was still beautiful, even with her face as red as her hair. No makeup to run, though. Jamie was a real woman, not a doll. “Whatsa matter, babe?” She could not answer. She just cried. I maintained distance, unwilling to rape any boundary she set, even one a mile away from her, if she so desired. “It’s ok, sweetie. Fuzzy’s here for you.” She managed a smile, then launched into my shoulder. The center of my chest carved into a stream for her tears. My arms ventured around her soft body, my hands found the calming spot on her back. It was my body healing hers. Jamie fell asleep in my arms. Eyes closed, I communed with the angels. I wasn’t quite so cold that day. That wasn’t the first time her boyfriend had emotionally injured her. She spent hours in my car outside of school. Her man suspected nothing. He shouldn’t have. Even though we didn’t, we could have held a month-long fuck fest and he wouldn’t have known. He couldn’t see what was going on in front of him. I should have stepped in. But I wanted Jamie to have what was best for her. So I removed myself from her. I did not wait for her outside school one day. I should have. Damn retrospect. I went to school the next day… Oh, why do I try to explain this with sophistication? What’s the point of chronological order, or grammar, or any storytelling informative voice? There is nothing intelligent to say about the love of your life, whom you have emotionally betrayed, freeing her vitality onto your body. Through her neck. With a knife. I don’t fear blood. I feared Jamie’s. I didn’t cry then. Shock had not registered. I stood there like a police officer, cool and cruelly observant. Time was normal. Had it sped up or slowed down, I could have either saved her life or extinguished it with minimal suffering. Time was merciless. Events were too rational. She glanced at me, whipped out a sharp pocketknife, swiftly slit her own throat, and watched where her blood spurt onto me. The blood ran down the valley in my chest where her tears had been – where only her tears belonged. About a minute later, she fell. Jamie. My love.
I didn’t think I would ever be warm again in the winter. Either that, or it is just the coldest one yet. The bottle and cigarette taunted me – the flame of the burning death comfortable and rational, the drink cold and nauseating. Or maybe I just didn’t have enough. I couldn’t. There was none. No more familiar warmth of oblivion. If I had thrown up, even that would have been cold. I knew who I was. And what the papers said I was. My name is Alexandra, Alex for short. I was 17 at the time. I told the hospital staff to remember to put that on my tombstone. I guessed I couldn’t have left it blank.
Snowstorm No chemical could cure me; I lacked no chemical. I don’t know what they were trying to do. If they were trying to annihilate me, they didn’t need to bother. I could have catalyzed my eradication with my own implements. Either way, at least I didn’t really have to feel. Right. I didn’t have to feel. Like I didn’t feel the prick of a needle every day, moving into my vein and being carelessly jostled around until my vein was pushed against my skin from the inside out while draining me of my own vitality. I didn’t feel the lack of fresh air and sun of the outside or the stale air coating my lungs like a rotten smoke. I didn’t feel the degradation of being forced to go to the bathroom and shower with someone else nearby. Ridiculous. Cuffs, the police car, the seven-hour wait, the hospital gowns, the midnight entrances – in and out, in and out, in and out – three times I was sent to that mental hospital to undergo the same old troubles. Each time I tried to die, I prayed I would just die, but after three failed tries, I ended up with a needle in my ass again, strapped down and tranquilized, wondering what went wrong. Resentment and depression grew – in a little bottle where they tightened the once-loosened lid – the pill bottle. I could feel it. I could not free it.
“Honey, you seem depressed tonight.” I turned and gazed through him in a daze. I wasn’t sure which color was more prevalent in the restaurant – gold of the rich snobby bastards that surrounded me, or red. Blood. Jamie’s blood. Or maybe love. It was Valentine’s Day. “Don’t be sad, honey. Think about your birthday coming up. 18! I’m gonna make you so happy!” “Awww…” He probably just wanted to get laid. He didn’t. Not by me, at least. And I stayed with him for almost a year. He gave me a sports car. My dream car – a Firebird. In my favorite color, blue. I tried to love him. He was a car. He was a nice place to live when my mother finally got the chance to kick out her non-adult psychotic child. He kept me out of the mental hospital because he caused me to avoid it – just so he could maintain ignorance. I stayed on the meds until the last month, out of fear of the mental hospital, round four. It was too cold in there, and I was sick of the view of frozen rocks and tree limbs. I ended the meds because of an insatiable urge to deck him. Then I left him. I was free for once. I took the car with me. On a wild ride, I barreled towards my desired final freedom.
Screw the meds. I’m off those meds now, I can feel whatever I want, do whatever I want, fuck it all, fuck this whole thing anyway. The bridge seemed isolated, though I knew it wasn’t on either end. I was vaguely reminded of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” but sans snow; substitute the snow with native Jersey smog. Only there were no Bible heroes talking in shining light from the stars – no Joseph up there, only Jamie, and unlike me, Jamie was the one we needed and could not do without. I should have never have been born; I did not prevent evil; I caused it. Jamie’s blood, frozen in wisps of cloud overhead. Take this fucking car with me. Might as well blast music for the last time. No CDs around. Whatever. 80. 90. 100. Almost ready to swerve. And…YO! I swerved the other way. A woman was standing in my way. About halfway down the bridge, I could finally stop the car. Thank God for good brakes. This was ridiculous and highly unlikely. Regardless, I approached the woman. She was dressed in a lovely flowing dress that reminded me of river nymphs – “water sprite,” I thought. With long dark hair to match. It was obviously a sundress, but I could conjure images of but water, not fire. “What are you doing? Are you fucking drunk?” “I could ask you the same question. You were driving like a drunk driver. All the way here. My friend gave me a lift here when we saw you zooming like crazy for the bridge. I told him to drop me off here. I like to help people.” She spoke softly. I was starting to like her. “Way to be the deux ex machina.” She smiled and bowed her head, shaggy hair parting and softly bashing into the smooth sheen of her face. I thought of spring rains carving little nests into road ice at night, cars skidding and clawing viciously, finding refuge in these nests before possible salvation by the Angel of Death. “I’m normal. I mean… wait… Define normal! Actually, I am probably significantly more depraved than you,” she said with head still bowed. I grinned with an ease with which I was no longer accustomed. “Define depravity. Immaturity? For all the fact that adults are the only ones who can drive off of bridges, in retrospect it’s damned immature.” “Touché. I no longer succumb to the lure of today’s pseudo-maturity. I’ll stick with true maturity, even if it’s no longer revered. Get in your car.” We hiked down the bridge, luckily encountering nobody else. Truly a ghost bridge, it was. We leapt into the Firebird, my newly discovered water-sprite girl in the driver’s seat. “You have a license?” “Yup. And that qualification called ‘lack of depression’.” The clear night and empty highway were our sky, and so we flew. “When you called yourself ‘depraved’, to what were you referring? I mean, I’ve tried to kill myself, drank like crazy, made at least three trips to the mental hospital, then used a guy for about a year just for his money and support, and all of this after I betrayed a girl I loved who cut her throat in from of me because I was wrong when I assumed she loved her boyfriend and not me.” My right hand gripping the bar above the car door, I glanced at her briefly, waiting for her to pull off the road and bolt. She seemed barely fazed. “Oh. Never mind. I was just going to announce that I was a lesbian. OK. I’m not depraved.” She grinned. “So you’re saying I am?” I laughed. “Nah. Depravity is subjective, I guess. And I guessed you would blanch at my cliché confession. Guess not.” She pulled off of an exit when a deviant blonde soccer mom in an SUV, probably out on a late-night brandy hunt, cut us off. My upper body flew over hers instinctively in protection as she swerved; my hands landed on the wheel and righted the car. She took over as I landed on her lap in exhaustion. I woke up about a half hour later, parked outside an apartment building. My head was in her lap still, but my hands seemed to have found a home near the back of her water-sprite dress. Sitting up groggily and considerably redder, I wondered how long I had been holding this strange girl. “Do you always get affectionate with people you just met?” I grinned. “Cut me slack, yo. I was exhausted.” “Cut me slack, yo’? You Northern girls.” “Yeah, if you call this no-snow freezer ‘the North’. I noticed you had an accent, though. I figured everyone in Heaven was educated in the South for a while.” “You’re a New Yorker, aren’t you? The yokels getting too much for you? And here we are in PA, right in the middle of your Big Apple and good old Virginia. And at least it does snow here. Virginia only knows from ice.” “It’s not exactly the middle. Closer to NYC.” She sighed dramatically. “Well, at least you’re awake now. As they say where I come from, are you red-eyed and left-legged, Skippy?” “As they say where I come from, fuck off and leave me alone.” “Peace! Hey…” Her already melodious voice softened further. “Who are you really? My name is Sasha.” Sasha. I could see an angel Sasha. “I’m Alex. Back when everything started, I was 17.” The banter was over. The water-sprite had opened my true floodgates. Floodgates. The torrent was not just words. As much as I had opened my mind and soul, the water-sprite allowed me into her soul and body, shedding her river nymph outfit and roaming free over our gentle waters. Our gentle waters. She took my virginity. I had seen enough. I had heard enough. And I’m sure she had made love before. It didn’t matter what we each had known. She crawled over me, feeling my body and rubbing her own soft body into mine – touching me, sensing me and letting my skin and intuitions rub over hers. We were exploratory. Her fingertips brushed past too many sensitive spots on my body, her lips found a home on my neck, her teeth gentle on my earlobe, her nipples and my own connecting. My fingers found her clit without my conscious help. Her sighs found my neck in warm breaths, the song of her moans reaching my ear as she tensed and gripped my back. I almost came from this contact alone, but that was before Sasha licked my stomach. Then pet my soft fuzz while my hands ended up gripping her own back before stroking her head as I first felt the bliss of a woman’s tongue on my clit. Her tongue moved so fast; she seemed never to tire. She pet my stomach as her tongue slid so quickly up and down. I was in paradise – I could have been here or on a cloud and I could not have told the difference. I feared for her endurance, but this manifested itself in further pleasure, as the lapping morphed into suction, and the tight, beautiful fluid feeling in my pussy felt almost drawn from my body. In the suction, her tongue still brushed against my clit, and I was about to come. At the last second, two fingers slid into my body, and the pain was lost in the indescribable pleasure. My cum – that closest to my inside – squirted onto Sasha’s tongue, and I was silenced from protest when I saw the calm demeanor on my lover’s face, and the hazing of her eyes into a horny oblivion. I dove into her, inhaling the scent of her sex attractant hormones, and started to cleanse her opening of its own lube. I learned to lick, increasing in speed, and was rewarded by her perpetual moaning. She too stroked my head and ears, but I was surprised when she asked for a break to kiss me and suddenly started rubbing my clit again. I twisted and licked her sideways as her hand massaged my clit quickly enough to tense my body. I came when she did. I collapsed, again, into Sasha’s embrace. We fell asleep, to awaken late the next morning, my head still upon her. When she woke up and petted my hair, smiling, she gently set me onto the pillow and sat up, naked. Her serenity deepened as she stared out the window from the edge of her bed her hand still upon me. “Sweetie?” “Accchhh…” I whined disgustedly. “Rain?” “Snow.”
Thaw “I have no girlfriend. But I want to go home.” “I won’t ask why. But don’t… You’re the only real friend I have… and the only one I’ve ever loved…” “No I’m not, and you know that.” “I know.” I looked up sadly. “I can’t lose you too.” I helped her pack and followed her to her car. I had been with Sasha for three months, and it was time to go. It was March. “Don’t leave me, Sasha.” “I’m not leaving you. I swear I will see you again.” “If you loved me, why would you drive me into the ground?” The look was first anger, then sadness. “Alex, if you love me, why would you drive yourself into the ground? You can’t just stay with yourself for me?” I launched into her willowy body, once again holding her in a flowing water-sprite dress. “I will be like you. I swear I will try to be as great as you are, my angel.” Nothing better for me to do than drive her back to Virginia, go back to my job and apartment, and finish senior year. The proverb reads “Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day; teach him how to fish and he’ll eat forever.” A woman likes to keep warm. When there is nothing warm, she has but to cover herself and others to perpetuate human warmth. And with two people, the warmth of love may thrive. Sasha had covered me and taught me to cover myself; for love I could have searched out another to intensify our heat, but first I chose to share my new heat with pure humanity – other women I could see that would shiver. Jamie. Sasha. Sam. I see each of them at some point every so often to this day – Jamie’s smile in a random constellation or in one of my clients’ shining eyes, Sasha on the phone or in good old Virginia on one of my visits. We hike the Blue Ridge Mountains at twilight, looking at the stars, and Sasha tells me about her life and her new wife. And Sam… I only approached her that day in the lunchroom because her sobbing resembled the shudder of chill. I only spoke to her and for her because I wanted to share my warmth and impart it to her. I only stayed in pursuit of her – despite her naïveté, delusions of purity, wariness of humanity, and bad choices to compensate for these things – I only stayed because I loved her and did not want to leave her. Jamie. Sasha. Sam. All are still with me, Jamie is dead, Sasha I rarely see. But Sam… I’ll see her tomorrow.
Nothing Lost
I held her. My ear was hovering over the phone attached to her ear; my arm was comfortably around her waist. I felt her body relax against me suddenly, and I tensed in an automatic response – an awkward seated dance. “Negative?” “Yeah.” Sam breathed deeply. “Safe to sleep with me now. Right, man?” I think she was kidding, so I played the part. “Oh yeah, baby. Let’s go four people this time! Or maybe 7, my lucky number!” Sam smiled and tackled me on the bed, letting her long dark hair tickle my face and make me squirm. “How about just you and me?” I chuckled nervously. “Just cuz you need to get laid doesn’t mean you have to partake of the straight crowd now.” Crawling off me with a sideways look, she asserted, “I’m done with promiscuity and gratuitous sex.”
Banter, banter, banter. Hiding, secrets, and semantics. I was quite bored with this myself. I somewhat preferred living in denial on the outskirts, watching the drama from my nice big comfy couch, connecting nothing with myself. Ok, at least I attempted not to. I’m about to swallow my own comment on the banality of dramatic lesbian relationships. And yet some of my own drama is quite banal. Thus my superego responds with a defiant shout, “SWALLOW THIS!” She must have known. I could have stalked her – as if she didn’t know my car, the telltale blue Firebird. I could have kept yapping carefully but seemingly thoughtlessly, slipping and stumbling into an “accidental” confession. I could have walked right to her door with flowers, apologetic but sincere, offering my utmost in affections. All of these, all cliché. Trite, cliché, mundane, banal. You may have noticed by now my cynical affinity for these words. What accurate descriptions for the human condition.
Her couch was so comfortable. I don’t know at what point in the movie she inched over to where I was lying, but by the time the credits rolled, I could feel her breath. I had to put my arm on her out of pure respect so I would not be the unresponsive dead weight Jackie had been during their first movie together. Maybe Sam felt friendlier with me. “You know what I wish?” I spoke from beneath her blanket of hair. The scent was so sweet, I did not bother to disturb her head upon my shoulder. “Hmmm?” “I wish there was no gay. No straight. No crazy subculture of strange people, no wondering if the person you love is possibly fair game.” Before Sam could draw quick conclusions about me, I quickly added, “I mean, what if you and your friends and everyone was bi, and even if you just love one person, that person could always have the potential of loving you back. Male OR female.” “Uh huh. And while we’re at it, we can make everyone have blond hair, be tall and thin, dress the same, and have the same features and personality so everyone has an equal chance with everyone else. We can eliminate the quest for compatibility and the interesting aspects of variation completely. Not just one lid for every pot, but almost six billion lids for every pot! Heck, what’s a little worldwide orgy?” Sam was sarcastic yet grinning. “So it can still be hard to find someone you will love that much. No recourse.” Sam had a yearning look in her eyes. “It’s worth it when you find her.” The words settled as her hand settled on my chest. Though her hand was deceptively still, her fingers seemed to stretch just slightly farther. I glanced down at waves of cotton fabric gathered on my stomach, and realized her hand was crawling up my shirt. “Let me touch your body,” Sam whispered. -Oh Sam. What does this mean? What do you know? What do you really feel?- Her fingers lightly circling my chest, stopping and gently attending to my hardening nipples. -What are you doing? Don’t lead me on. You won’t like what’s here. I know you won’t.- “You have such a beautiful body.” -No, Sam. You can’t… I don’t… I’m not… How can you think that?- She kept lightly petting me, soft fingertips on sensitive skin, desire slowly building. “Stop, Sam. You’re gonna make me want it…” Her hand stopped quickly, her eyes closed, a breeze from heaven escaped from her lips. Her body relaxed; her whole self and spirit suddenly melted into me upon my words. But out of respect, Sam stopped. I let the storm between my legs settle with some ambiguity. But we lay together for a while. I stroked her hair, feeling the twitch of muscles dropping into slumber against me. We lay there for about an hour.
Would it be understatement to say that Sam had definitely figured it out? The ironic element was this quirky approach with which all involved had to take – only because of all we had been through. Had we have been Romeo and Juliet, or random Dykeo meeting random Lesbiet and finding ourselves in each others arms for the first time, perhaps this matter may have been more obvious. Sam had told me much about her own exploits – her thoughts, her feelings, her actions. Yet here we were together, blind bunnies in a basket, not knowing what lay beyond the fluff. Tentative, wary – the both of us. Round 3 for both of us. Round 3 – the very last round. I suppose I should thank the angels she loved no one else after Jackie.
“You goddamn carpet-munching bitch! Where is my daughter?” The cell phone Sam had given me a short while ago- with the same shared plan – seemed ready to shatter from the shrieking. “Excuse me, but I have no idea myself, nor do you have to scream insults at me.” Level voice, firm and polite. “Don’t come near that fucking girl, you hear me bitch? Stay the fuck away from my kid. You won’t keep causing trouble in THIS house!” Sam’s mother hung up. Where was Sam? -What did Sasha do when she sensed something was wrong? She jumped in her car and went after me – on pure instinct alone.- The Firebird… companion through so much of this year… I leapt in. I had no idea what she was doing, where she was… I think I alone lack primeval instincts in some areas. She wasn’t with me; she wasn’t at home. It was too dark to have much fun outside, and getting chilly at this point. Winter was coming back.
The bridge… I had nothing else to do. After hitting the highway at my personal record of 105 mph, I headed for the bridge. Don’t think this is too coincidental. Yes, Sam was there. Her mother’s stolen car was parked on the side. Sam must have known something to have been there that night, instead of using rope or knives or pills like other kids. Why she was trying to emulate my disturbed former self was beyond me. “SAM! WHAT IN FUCK’S NAME ARE YOU DOING?!” She turned, crumpled, looked down at the pavement, and said, “I couldn’t have done it anyway.” “Of course you couldn’t have. You have way more going for you than I did.” Sam shivered noticeably and walked with me back to her mother’s car. “I suddenly understand why you – strong you – could buckle under all of life’s complexities. I didn’t get it up until now.” “Suicide. What a joke. I can’t tell if it’s everyone’s way of saying, ‘Ooops…guess I was weaker and needed more help than I thought,’ or ‘Hey everybody, look at me! I’m the product of your insanity!’ But what myself and all those other bridge-jumping, throat-slitting, yet perfectly thriving people seem to miss is the obvious irrevocability. But I guess nobody ever bothers to even look in front of their faces anymore,” I ranted bitterly. “And to think I ever worshipped purity. You had already known purity didn’t exist in the context I had thought it existed. But I didn’t know that until AFTER Jackie,” she said dejectedly. I snorted. “Irrelevant now. Can you drive home without getting pulled over for looking suspicious?” “Yeah.” Sam got in her car, but I stopped her from shutting her door before I got into the Firebird. “Hey… How did you know anyway?” “I knew, Alex. I love you.” I refused to let her get away with that, even if drops of my heart were sizzling on the pavement. “Don’t give me that. Specifics, please?” It was the first smile I had seen from her all night. “Hell, I was always in your apartment. And since I was so in the dark about you, I just wondered who this Sasha girl was.” “What, did you find her number and call her?” Heh. Cute. “Hey, Sam?” “Yeah?” “It’s not like you don’t have your license. Next time you need to take a drive, steal my car, OK? This is gonna be hell to get out of.” I sighed, “I’ll talk to her.”
Her mother looked like a demon
when we got in, and yelled like a demon, too. Fortunately, dealing
with her was rather painless. Sam burst into tears at the screaming
and tore out of the room, landing on her own bed. I gathered
emotional strength and mental strength, and physical strength in
case I too had to hightail it from the screaming witch, and
truthfully explained the situation. She ignored me until the word
"suicide". I thought I might finally see some show of concern for
her child that exceeded that of the last time I had seen Sam unhappy
in her mother’s presence – after Jackie dumped her. “She loves you, you know she loves you… Don’t break her heart. You saved her life; don’t take it away from her… You’re all she needs… Don’t leave my baby, please…” Sam’s short mother babbled into my shoulder. Sam had stalked back into the room to witness this interesting spectacle, and I was able to address her as I stood up in resolve and quoted a line from a Dan Bern song. “You know I’ll never leave you. I’ll never leave you.’” Sam’s mother wasn’t fully cured though of whatever her issue was, as far as I could tell. Sam knew that. So she invited herself to my apartment. Her mother had no issue with that. I think her priorities were slightly skewed. But no matter. From that moment forth, I was fully committed to be there for Sam for the rest of her life.
When we both climbed naked
into my bed, we knew we both wanted to be there. We knew what we
wanted for ourselves and for each other, and we both knew what we
would find in each other. I know that she knew that this was not the
ridiculous debauchery of previous experiences, nor the lusty jaunts
of her experiences with her first two women. And I knew that this
would far surpass the experience with Sasha. Although I knew love, I
knew not the intimacy of it until I felt it with Sam. Our first kiss lasted about three sacred minutes. In that seeming flash of time, the past and future were only Sam and Sam alone, and the present was Sam’s silk skin melting into my own, her heart beating into my own in a deep pleasant resonance. The loud and quickening heartbeat between us was ours. The taste on my lips was ours; the warmth from our bodies was ours. We did not rush into things. Although we both wanted it, we waited until our minds and bodies could synchronize and desire equally. I bid Sam roll onto her stomach, and began to gently but firmly knead her back muscles. Up and down in the stroke effleurage, I massaged her back, gently circling her butt muscles. I traced her gluteus maximus with deep strokes, softening the pressure as I reached the end of the muscle between her thighs, feeling Sam twitch and watching incredulously as her visible opening started to shine with physical desire. Sam would not allow any more without asserting her worship of the intimacy between us. Rolling over, she pulled me onto her and kissed my cheek, my nose, my lips, then sucked on my bottom lip until a sound escaped my vocal chords and I grabbed her back in passion. “Sam!” I broke off and sighed, “I want it!” I never felt more pleasantly naked then when Sam sucked on my nipple and teased my clit with one finger, causing me to buck my hips into her hand. I wanted it badly, so badly, but I loved Sam so much I was driven to pleasure her too. I made sure we somehow landed in the beautiful position of 69. My tongue flew onto her clit; my hands gripped the backs of her thighs, shoving her intimate and sacred parts closer to me and further into me. When I teased her with my tongue circling slowly – too slowly – my lover squirmed and licked at me with pleading. Quick switch – I licked as quickly as I possibly could to grant Sam a good fix. Hard sucking next. I drew her cum from body in passion. Sam, sweating beneath me, gave up on trying her lightning speed licking and followed my example, sucking on my clit as hard as her entire angelic body tensed, pushing warm cum into my mouth. I myself was writhing in pleasure above Sam, and after one intense moan from me, I dove into Sam full speed, bringing my love into a mind-blowing orgasm. I was not permitted to leave this. My lover lid from under me, brought me onto my knees, laid herself over me from behind, and slipped a finger into me. Penetrating me from behind with her breasts pressed against my butt, she shook me with her stimulation of my G-spot. Her other hand rested around my leg and played gently with my clit. Pumping, rubbing… the tension built. I came in heavy waves, moaning, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” – to little avail. Sam collapsed with me, her fingers still being squeezed by my walls, sighing, “I can feel it. Oh my God, I can feel it.” I next saw her in my sweet dreams as I lay with her curled against my side.
Nothing was warm; we learned nothing new. And sometimes nothing seems to change. But once Sam and I were together, nothing was lost. Regeneration of warmth and novelty with nothing lost is quite a boon to the young hearts in love. I stand before the angels on a bridge, under the stars, and hope that the stars may warm all those who seek it. As long as lungs should breathe and hearts should beat, all humanity should have the gifts of the stars. Sam stands with me in the chill. She’s started to truly share my affinity for symbolism. She stands close to me so we may both be warm, and leans her head on me. At some point during our cosmic vigil, Sam says she has finally found purity. It truly exists. Aye, Macbeth. Indeed, “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time.” I’ll see her tomorrow. And tomorrow, and tomorrow. Every last tomorrow.
~~~ |
