texaswildfire

Mom lets me roam around the pharmacy while she talks to the cashier.
I can't hear what they're saying.
Don't really care to.
I am too happy looking at awesome shampoos to want to.
But my mother pulls me away from them by calling me over to her.
The cashier hands my mom the things she bought.
None of which was for me.

I kick my shoes off in my room when I get home.
My mom follows me up and catches me pulling my hair into a high ponytail.
She is still holding the bag from the pharmacy.
I find it only a little odd.

"Rose, I would like to talk to you if you don't have any plans for the next hour or so," my mother tells me as she shuts my bedroom door. "You see, I was thinking about some things while you were in the bath and, I decided, it's about time that I tell you about sex."

No one ever wants to hear their mother say this.
12 or 50.
Sex is off limits.
So, when she drops a box of condoms onto the bed, I almost die.
No, I do.
I blush and my hearing goes fuzzy.

"Mom, this is seriously embarrassing," I tell her as if we are in a crowded room and she's screaming out positions from the Kama Sutra. She doesn't listen.

"I just want to make sure that you are prepared. Summer romances are just fine. You lounge all day in bed with someone that you think set the sun but, you have to be responsible in this day and age," she says, pulling the box of condoms open. "You don't need to get an STD or have a human reminder of what's supposed to be fun with no strings attached."

"I wouldn't say there are no strings attatched," I mumble.

"Doesn't matter, Rose. You still need to prepare yourself. The easiest way to do this is to carry protection with you. You can't always count on someone else having it," she explains as she drops the condoms into my dresser drawer. "Also, I will call my personal doctor Monday morning and set up an appointment so you can attain birth control. Doesn't hurt to be even more cautious."

"I don't need the Pill, mom," I mumble even lower, my cheeks burning bright with shame.

"Oh, yes, you do. It's simply a smart decision to start you on them now," she tells me. "Trust me, it pays to be smart, Rose. You need to be smart over the course of this summer and this next school year. It will be your last. You won't have Jonah around since he's going to camp the first week of June and Seth, well, he will be moving in with your grandparents so he can get used to his new environment. For the first time ever, it will just be me and your father in the house alone with you. There is going to be a great lack of supervision so, as I have said, I would rather you be safe than sorry."

She finally leaves.
I curl up on my bed with a stomach ache.
My mom is thinking about me having sex.
I don't even think about that.
Much.
It's nice that she wants me to be safe but...
She bought me condoms!
She wants me to get on The Pill!
I feel like a whore and I haven't even let a guy anywhere close to my panties.

I collect Marc's flowers from the bathroom.
They now sit on my dresser.
I sit myself down in the middle of my room, on the floor.
Flip through the rest of my mom's magazines.
All the dresses, shoes and bags are so pretty.
The pricetags are heart stopping.

"Have you found anything in them you like," my mother asks, walking into my room holding a tray of what looks to be dinner. "You know, we could always go to New York to get you a few lovely pieces. It's never too early to start having good taste, not that the things you like are bad."

She sits in front of me.
Hands me a fork.
Takes the magazines from me.

"No, but everything looks so nice. Dad would die if we bought anything, though," I tell her. "Thanks for bringing dinner up for me. I guess I either lost track of time or didn't hear you calling for me. You did call for me, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I understand how it is to sit in your room looking through fabulous magazines, envisioning yourself in every flowy dress, even if you won't admit to me that is was what you were doing," my mother smiles. "I wanted to continue my talk with you from earlier but I could see you were uncomfortable."

"It's just...weird...to talk about sex with your mother. I don't know how else to explain it. Like, okay, when you were my age, would you have wanted to talk to your mom about having sex, or even the notion that you were thinking about having sex," I ask her, cutting up the baked chicken on the plate.

"I do understand that, Rose, but it's something that we do need to talk about. If not now, then at some point soon," she says, watching as I cut it up, probably making sure that I'm doing it in a proper way. "When I started to have sexual relationships with men, I was quite naive. I wasn't thinking ahead but, I got lucky. I am still perfectly healthy, I have a wonderful husband and three amazingly gorgeous children. I just want you to be as lucky as I am, without the worry that I walked with for a long time."

I think about it for a split second.
Talking to her is better than talking to dad.
At least she's open about it.
Nothing I can say will shock her.
Hopefully.

"All my magazines talk about sex," I start off. "I understand that you should use condoms and have birth control to be responsible. I don't want to get an STD or have a baby anymore than you want me to, but I also know that I won't do anything until I'm actually ready to because, even with those things, things can still happen and, I think that you shouldn't just have sex with someone just because they look good without a shirt on."

"You have your father's logical mind but, you see, my love, love is not logical. They are polar opposites. Love can play a million tricks on your mind," she tells me. "Men are wired with the perfect things to say to make us believe they want only us, need only us. We're wired to believe that, if he says it in a certain tone, it must be true. I hope that when the time comes, you can distinguish a lie from the truth because those lies, lies about love, wanting and needing, they hurt more than you could ever know."

She kisses my forehead then leaves.
I eat my dinner while thinking about what she said.
Love can hurt.
I thought I loved Elliot.
But that was a different hurt.
He betrayed me just when I was on the cusp of believing him.
I don't know what I think about Marc.
He's nice.
He's cute.
He's fun.
He's smart.
He's a great kisser.
He's...grey.

I eat my dinner then take the things down to the kitchen.
Mom's sewing in the livingroom while watching The Way We Were.
I leave her alone.
My backyard looks inviting right now.
Well, it's more like the old swing set does.

I rip off my socks and let down my hair.
I want to feel the grass between my toes, the wind in my hair.
The swing still feels nice against the back of my legs.
I start off very slow to test the set's durability out.
Once I determine that it's still in good shape, I swing higher.
And higher.
And higher until it feels like I'm flying.

After a few long minutes of enjoyment, I can feel a new sensation.
A set of new hands wrapping around the chains on the swing.
They slow me down considerably.
I don't get angry because they slide over the chains then over my own hands.

"You looked so adorable out here that I couldn't keep just watching from my window," Marc says from behind me. "Do you want me to push you or would you prefer if I just sat and watched?"

"Swing with me. There is another one and I'm sure that the structure can support you as well as me," I tell him, patting the extra swing's bottom. "Or, you can at least sit here and talk to me about, well, something other than sex because, honestly, I have talked about it enough today."

"With your friends or was it a fate much worse," he asks, sitting himself down on the swing beside mine.

"My mother decided to buy me condoms. It's completely embarrassing to admit but I have to let someone know. I am just happy that she didn't tell me all the details about her sex life before my dad," I spill to him. "I felt that she was on the brink of doing that but, thankfully, she restrained from doing such."

"Lucky you. My mom went into amazing detail about her sex life before my dad when Allison was going through her 'I'll-fuck-anything-that-moves' phase a few years ago. I had the misfortune of being close enough to hear it all," Marc says. "Imagine living with those images in your head forever."

"It would suck," I tell him, unsure of what else to say.

"You have no real idea how much it does," he laughs. "Why are you out here anyway? I thought you'd be really living it up since Seth and Jonah are gone. Aren't they supposed to be back tomorrow afternoon."

"They should be at some point tomorrow but I'm not thinking about it. Or trying not to at least. Don't get me wrong, I love them but they get on my last good nerve most of the time. I almost feel guilty for saying this but, I will be happy being home this summer with them gone," I tell him.

"You shouldn't feel guilty for how you feel," he says quickly. "Your brothers can sometimes be horrible creatures. It will be great for you to have a whole summer to enjoy your backyard without it smelling of weed or having to deal with Seth and Jonah for once. All you will have to deal with is your mom, your dad and, if you are willing, me."

He pushes his shoe against my foot in the dirt underneath the swings.
He bumps his swing into mine.
Our knees collide.
He half smiles and I blush.

"I think I can deal with you, maybe not every single day but...I think every other one should be fine. Summer is still a few weeks away. You have other pressing matters to attend to besides trying to schedule 'grey' time with me," I tell him. "Perhaps, you should find someone to replace you on the newspaper, get some college arrangements finalized...find a date for prom."

"Still looking, it's all in order and I have someone in mind," he answers in correct order.

"Someone in mind," I repeat, mindlessly.

"Yeah, she's cute," he says, unknowingly tearing a small hole in my heart.

"Do I know her," I ask, hoping he will say no.

"Yeah," he says, making the hole he tore larger, it almost starts to bleed. "I just don't know if she'd go. She might not want to with it being so late in the game. Most girls already have dresses and shoes and hair appointments."

I say nothing else.
I just want to go inside.
I want to lay in bed and eat chocolates.
That is what depressed women do, right?
I want to know who she is.
No, I don't.
Hearing her name would make the hole really bleed.

I just nod my head.
Stand up.
Let my head fall back so my eyes look toward the stars.

"You should ask her," I tell him, my eyes closing just in case I start to cry. Or hear her name fall from his mouth. "I doubt she'd say no to you, no matter what hassle she had to go through to get a dress, shoes and find a place to get her hair done."

He stands.
His hands fall into his pockets.
His head falls back like mine did to study the same stars.

"Think you could?"

My the hole in my heart repairs itself quick so it can pump hard.
Does he mean that?
Should I?
I bet it would make a cute picture.
Him kissing my cheek while I have a heart attack in a pretty dress.
At least it would make the yearbook.