You think you know so much, you know? I've always felt this way, like I get it. Like there aren't that many surprises. I'm smart, I effortlessly rise to the top of my class. But that's just books. Books don't mean anything.
When I met Craig I was attracted to that thing behind his eyes, that secret vulnerability. I watched him in Qwan's English class, talking about being just one of six billion people so what would it matter if he left? I thought I could handle that kind of thought, that kind of thinking. I thought I could even guess what was behind it. I guess I never would have thought I didn't have a clue.
He was so physically beautiful, too. He had that pale creamy skin, large dark hazel brown eyes, dark curly hair that framed his face and curled at his collar. He was tall and thin, those long limbs of his kind of putting him off balance. He'd stutter sometimes when he talked, that sexy kind of stutter, the words stuck in their place. And something in me wanted him, and I felt pulled toward him even as I pretended we'd be just friends, Jimmy between us. But Jimmy never got me like Craig seemed to. Jimmy never said these wise sweet sad things like Craig did, and there was never that hurt vulnerable look in his eyes.
That was all ninth grade, the innocent times, the times when I'd stare at him in class when he didn't know I was looking. I'd be mesmerized by the rhythm of his blinks, the rise and fall of his chest. The way he'd lick his lips. I knew I wanted him, and I thought I was smart enough to get what I wanted.
You know how you do it. The casual conversation in the hall, leaning against lockers, twirling your hair. The way you hold a gaze just a second too long. The way you brush up against him, denim thigh touching denim thigh. Phone calls, quick texts, e-mails. Little connections. Still being friends. Smiling, ducking my head. I'd reel him in.
So I can remember that rainy day when I met his dad, and he was cute, too, in that older man kind of way. Craig had vulnerability, and his father had power. I could see it in the elegant cut of his suit, in the glint of his cuff links, in the gleam of his car. And I saw Craig kind of fall apart and kind of keep it together, covering looks of panic with nervous laughter. I saw Sean looking contemptuously at Craig's father, but I reacted to him like most young women did, I reacted to the charm.
Before that rainy day when he asked me to the dance and I met his father there was the play we did. Did I think he was just a good actor? Meeting his father I could see now who Craig had been playing on the stage that day, right down to the fancy suit and tie and the glasses, and did I like it when he grabbed my throat and shoved me to the ground?
That was last year, and this year he was growing into his long limbs and filling out, his shoulders were wider, he looked more like a man than a skinny boy. And I wanted him more than ever. I'd have sex with him, I knew I would. It seemed an easy thing to have happen.
My parents were away. Toby was off somewhere, off with J.T. or Liberty or both of them. I didn't know and didn't care. I just knew Craig was coming over and I felt the excitement rising in me like little butterflies flying up my throat.
Knock at the door, I could feel him out there, standing in the wind and the sun, under the blue sky, and soon I'd take him into my gloom. I went to the door and opened it and there he was, head down, jean jacket buttoned up.
"Hi," I said, my voice soft.
"Hi,"
Inside, and I backed him up against the counter, and he smiled and kind of squirmed away. I snaked my arms around his neck and he let me, and I could smell some cologne he had on, some bleach detergent smell of his clothes, the outside smell of fall that clung to him.
I remembered that day I met his father and after he left I said he seemed nice. Craig's eyes filled with an unidentifiable emotion and he gazed down and away.
"Yeah, when he doesn't have a belt in his hands," he said. That one sentence said it all. So Craig was hit with belts? Abused? And I couldn't help but think of what that must have been like for him, cowering and cringing away from the raised leather belt, and how he must have seen the look in his father's eyes, and how he lived with Joey now.
And still, here in my kitchen with no one here and his father dead, he still tensed up when I touched him. He still had that secret vulnerability behind his eyes.