Orphans

4

4 I shake the water out of my hair as I walk back into the apartment. My hope is to catch Shalla still in bed, wrapped-up in the sheets, warm and cozy, and dreaming happy dreams about a life she wants and a world she wants to live in. One that includes me, and our love, triumphant and real, and bigger than the day-to-day concerns that dog us as we manage stress and fear, and hope for something more than what we’ve been handed so far. But that’s the reality and I am interested in the dream— the dream where Shalla is happy I’m home and is looking forward to wrapping her arms and melting her legs around me. Her lovely hair floating like tendrils as we make love throughout the morning with the reckless abandon we knew as a new couple—wildly in love and crazy from the excitement of the unknowns still to be explored, the past we were running from, and the moment-to-moment goodness of having someone who wants to be with you unconditionally , no strings, no agendas and no confusion. Shalla is not in bed though. She is at the kitchen table. Drinking coffee and staring off into space, as beautiful as ever, but no craziness, not the good kind of craziness anyway , in sight. “Hey Norrin,” she says sleepily as I walk over and give her a kiss, first on the cheek, lingering for a moment in her caramel awesomeness, before moving to her lips and thinking about more, always more. If it isn’t true that every time a male kisses his lover he is wondering, hoping it will evolve into sex, it would be hard to convince me of that right now as I drift down her B E N TA N Z E R 15 neck to her chest, her stomach, between her legs, before we wrestle each other to the ground—a tangle of spinning , twisting arms and legs and heat and contact. Moments later, and too soon, always too soon, we lay there staring at the ceiling, catching our breath and waiting for someone to say something. “Wow, miss me much?” Shalla says breathlessly, small drops of sweat on her upper lip mingling with the freckles in the space below her nose that my grandmother always claimed was where God touched us before we entered the world. “I always miss you,” I say, “any time we’re apart.” “Right, look dude,” Shalla says grinning, “we already had sex, well, if that’s what you want to call it. No need to sweet talk me anymore. We’re cool.” “I was laying the groundwork for later,” I say grinning back, “plus, I do miss you when we’re not together. I have abandonment issues.” “Oh, I know sweetie,” she replies rolling up onto her elbow. “Your daddy left you as a boy, no wait, he was snatched, right, leaving you and your mom to your own devices before she finally offed herself and you came and found me?” I flinch. I know she’s trying to be cute here, funny, right, but is it something crueler, an intention to hurt, maybe subconscious, maybe not? “Norrin, come on, I was just messing with you,” Shalla says. “I don’t know what that was, really, I’m sorry.” I should move on, the comment means nothing to me, but the feeling behind it, why so much anger? “Snap out of it,” Shalla says. “What, we can’t joke around anymore? Tell me about the gig and how much you got paid.” O R P H A N S 16 “It was cool, and I can tell you more, but first you need to know something, they didn’t pay me. They said the whole thing was a simulation, a practice run and they were just assessing my potential. If they like me there will be more training and more work, paying work, to come.” “What? They didn’t tell you that before you went, did they?” Shalla says almost shouting. “No,” I say weakly, “they didn’t, but I will find out more when I go in for my review.” “Fuck, Norrin, we have bills to pay, school, food, fuck,” Shalla says. “That’s not fair,” I say, wishing that bills were our only concern. “No, what’s not fair is that you...