s q u a r e shouldered, top half
stiff like a two-byfour. How we sat
quiet, in the dark
on the front porch
steps. It’s suspicious
to stay outside on
soggy
Alabama
nights when the
mosquitos
even
chase the cats away.
We would stand up
against the garage
door to kiss so he
couldn’t see us. He
wasn’t able to come
up with a reason
not to let her stay
the night; girls
our age thrived on
Illustration by Scott Stripling
Amber Koski
badger v.
I think it was the
way
she walked that gave us away: square-shouldered, top half stiff like a two-by-four. How
we sat quiet, in the dark on the front porch steps. It’s suspicious to stay outside on soggy
Alabama nights when the mosquitos even chase the cats away. We would stand up against
the garage door to kiss so he couldn’t see us. He wasn’t able to come up with a reason not
to let her stay the night; girls our age thrived on sleepovers. Our sleepovers thrived off
sexual discovery. We felt like the only ones who did what we did, anxious shaking hands,
trailing tongues. Boys didn’t know how to tease to agonizing lengths like we did. We were
always nervous: “Did you lock the door?” “He’ll kill us.” Mama said years later – after she’d
half-swallowed the reality of me, repeated but hadn’t accepted what I ‘was’ – that the thrill
of rebellion, of breaking his hopes for me, probably started this whole mess.