Going Bovine

Going Bovine Page 133

“Here,” Staci says, giggling. “Let me help you out with that.” She gives me a coy grin, bites her bottom lip, and puts her hands behind her back so that her br**sts are practically in my face. Two seconds later, the bra is flung across the room, landing on the TV. She’s still got her shirt on, though. “Hold on. I have to pee.” She stumbles off to the bathroom.

Oh my God. I think I’m about to have sex. With Staci Johnson.

I don’t know what to do. Should we have music? I feel like we should have music. But all I’ve brought are those Great Tremolo CDs. I’d kill for a Junior Webster album right about now. But Tremolo will have to do. I put in “Viver É Amar, Amar É Viver” and push play.

The toilet flushes. Staci comes back out and practically falls into the bed. This makes her laugh some more. “What’s this?” she says, meaning the music.

“The Great Tremolo. You ever hear it?”

Staci wrinkles her nose. “No. Wait, are they one of those Scottish bands? Is he singing in Scottish right now?”

“It’s not a band. The Great Tremolo is a guy who sings Portuguese love songs that always end badly.”

“Oh.” Staci straddles my lap. She’s brushed her teeth with my toothbrush in the bathroom. Between the toothpaste and the beer, her breath has a weird scent—mint mixed with grapes gone bad.

“He plays the ukulele, too.” I’m losing my mojo. Like the bathroom break was just enough to make me nervous again. “So do you wanna hear some more of his stuff?”

Staci licks her lips. “Is that what you wanna do?” She slips her hands up my shirt and rubs them over my ni**les. It seems like something she’s read in a magazine and wants to try out. Jesus, she’s going to town. My ni**les are in danger of being erased.

“Here, just listen to one song,” I say. I grab her wrists and take her hand off my chest. I turn up the volume as Tremolo whisper-sings the line about looking at his lover’s face and seeing happiness. It’s sort of beautiful. Cheesy, but heartfelt and sad and happy all at once.

Staci laughs so hard I think she’ll fall off the bed. “Omigod. This guy sucks so bad. It’s hilarious. You should totally put this on your MyNet page or something.”

I nod, suddenly wishing she weren’t here. I looked upon your face and knew happiness. I wonder if my dad has ever felt that about my mom or if my mom has ever felt that about Jenna and me. I feel kind of shitty for leaving them behind like I did, without a note or any kind of goodbye. I don’t know, for the first time, the song hits me in the gut. Under the recorder, beneath the sort of bizarre lyrics is that pain Eubie talked about. This longing for something, for someone, all your atoms dreaming toward somebody else’s. And just like that, Dulcie’s face flashes in my mind. The way the light’s all soft around her face, the goofy expressions she makes, the look of wonder when she smiles.

“Amor, amor, o meu amor,” the Great Tremolo sings, and for the first time, I feel every note of it.

“What a retard,” Stacy laughs.

I turn the music off. Suddenly, I don’t want her to hear any more of this. I don’t want to make fun of the Great Tremolo.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, sitting up on her knees. Her shirt’s half off.

“Nothing,” I say. I kiss her hard on the mouth. I want to blot out everything.

Staci giggles. “Cam, I didn’t know you had it in you.” Her eyes are half closed and her mouth opens. I kiss her again and again. I keep kissing her, chasing a feeling that’s staying just out of reach.

Staci fumbles with the buttons on my Levi’s. Her warm hand slips inside my boxers, and I don’t want her hand to go away, ever.

“Um, I don’t have anything on me. …”

“It’s okay,” Staci says, kissing me some more.

This goes against all the responsible You Can Get Knocked Up the First Time/Don’t Drink and Drive/This Is Your Brain on Drugs/STDs Don’t Discriminate programming I’ve gotten through years of “very special guest speaker” assemblies in the auditorium. But then I remember I’m dying and it doesn’t really seem like the time for caution.

“You sure?” I ask. I’m practically panting when I say it.

In answer, Staci pushes me back on the bed. We shed clothes like we’re setting a land speed record. Her body feels soft but awkward against mine, like we don’t quite fit. Then I’m inside, and I’m not thinking anymore. I couldn’t if I wanted to. I try to say something to Staci but her eyes are closed and wherever she is, I don’t think she’s really with me. Maybe she’s thinking about Tommy. It’s like we’re alone together, and it doesn’t seem like that’s how it should be. And then something explodes inside me.