He linger in the bush, in the darkness, outside her window... he crouching, crunchy sneakers in the soil. He rubbed his running nose, took a swallow of the evening air: sharp, holiday-cold, seasoned with the smoke from the neighbor’s chimney. He exhaled & saw his breath before him- steam heat- as he took another good suck from the home-rolled cigarette smoldering in his fingers, his lungs taking in the exhaust like good company.
Inside the house he saw Megan finishing up her tuna casserole, lick the spoon like a champion ramping, toss the bowl into the sink and stretch before walking to the bathroom. He watched her pull her pants down, sitting pretty on the toilet, as he take her pap smear out his pocket, licking long; languorous. Megan finish her spree & flush the goods away: he tried to image the inside of the bowl as it make swirl. He swallowed, his mouth still foul from the smear. He coughed & tasted mucous.
She was in the bedroom now… light switch on, entirely unaware. He watched her work shirt come off, change into her pajama top, his pants falling to his ankles, his coming alive in the November night icy.
‘How did I get this far?’ he wondered, stroking himself in silent fury. "I will be good tonight. I won’t go inside while she’s sleeping,’ he promised, telling a lie that was built to be broken. At one time he had been full of hope, a promising young med student at (cont. on page 43)
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