texaswildfire

Sunlight dances across my back as I move to my stomach.
Marc's fingers tug back the neck of my tank top.
Light kisses make me shiver.
Moist, soft lips adorn the back of my neck, my shoulders.
His body shifts above mine while his hands push my top up.
Warm fingers roll over my belly button.
Gentle but greedy palms cup my breasts.

"Welcome to summer," he whispers against my ear.
I am too busy drowning in him to even try to be sexy.
Not that I need to.
He holds me like this for what seems a long while before pulling away.
He even straightens my top for me when he does.

"It's 10:30 a.m. Our souls are still attached to our bodies so, with complete confidence, I can say that we weren't found out between the time we went to sleep and now," Marc says. "And, to celebrate this momentous occassion, I say we get in my car and kick summer off right; a full breakfast, a movie, lunch, another movie, dinner and then, if you are up for it, another movie."

"I will have to go home and change into something comfortable enough to spend the rest of the day in," I tell him, very unwilling to follow his suit and get out of bed. "And doing that takes money, which is something I don't have."

"But I do," he shoots back. "Come on. Meet me back in my driveway in 45 minutes and we'll make a day of it. It can be our first real date."

A real date?
What does that mean?
He will open doors for me and consider me potential girlfriend material?
He wants to go to another level?
We're already at another level.
Well, sex does that, I guess.
But I agree to go.
Jeans work fine.
So does the plain white t-shirt I throw on.
Summer warrants white.


First up: breakfast.
I order french toast with blueberries and bacon.
He gets the same.
So, while we wait, we're forced to talk.

"So, do you like to be called Marc or Jean-Marco more," I ask him as I line up the different types of syrup at our table. "Because, you know, Marc is so casual but Jean-Marco is more sexy. More French. More...hot."

"I'll answer to either but I like how Jean-Marco sounds coming from you. What about you? Do you prefer Rose or Rosemary or Rosie or would you like me to come up with something more personal," he rambles off.

"I like Rose more so than any other nickname," I tell him. "Now, another question. Just why did you ask me out to this day long date? Did you feel bad for not doing it sooner or did you feel obligated since I basically handed you my virginity on a platter?"

"First off, I offered mine up just as easily as you did yours. I didn't ask you here because I felt like I needed to do anything. I wanted to because I like you. A lot. Of course, you knew that part," he smiles. "Any more questions for me that I can answer in public?"

I shake my head.
We eat breakfast then go to the first movie.
A comedy.
We leave the car parked in the lot to walk to the Taco Bell a few blocks away for lunch.
We watch the second movie.
A horror.
We take the car to find a place to eat dinner.
We settle on the little place on the lake that belongs to Mrs. Frost.


Then, we go back for the last movie.
A romance.
It wasn't even my idea to go watch it.
Marc suggested it.
He puts his arm around me and doesn't mind when I cry like a loser.
He doesn't even make fun of me for it when it's over and my eyes are puffy and red.

"So, be honest and tell me how this date rates on your scale, Miss Rose," Marc says as he pulls back into his driveway.

"I don't have many dates to compare it to but, for me, it rates a 10," I tell him. "After this, I just want to go home, take a long bath and maybe get some sleep. Since you let me stay with you last night, you are welcome to stay with me. Dad is getting up before the crack of dawn to take Jonah down to where the camp bus is picking up kids. You know my mom won't care that you're over."

"Shall I meet you at the back gate at 11, then? I mean, you will have to completely sneak me into the house once everyone is dead asleep," he says, sounding oddly condesending considering he'd done the same to me.

I point that out.
He tries to downplay it, saying it was different.
I ask how.
He says it just is.
I get out and go home.
He basically ruined the whole night.
Totally.

I am angry at him during my bath, while I'm checking e-mails, when I try to sleep.
I keep waiting for tapping pebbles.
None come.
Sleep doesn't either.
I stay up stewing until sunrise.
No sleep doesn't suit me.

"Rosemary, my dear, it's after ten. Would you like some breakfast? I am making Seth banana crepes. Should I make you strawberry ones," my mother asks as she pushes the door open to my room. She notices my state. She can't just leave it alone. "Oh, Rosemary, just what is wrong? Did you not sleep last night?"

I shake my head.
She closes my door and sits with me on my bed.
She looks so small and put together.
I'm jealous of her.

"I didn't sleep at all, mom. I just...I got very angry at Jean-Marco last night," I explain. "He acted as if we had different standards, something that I just cannot stand at all. People should be equal, right?"

"Yes, they should," my mother agrees. "Was he upset that you asked him to sneak into our house instead of letting him in the front door and did you get angry with him because he had you sneak into his?"

"How did you know that? Did his mother say something," I ask her, falling back on my bed, exhausted and frustrated. "I swear, this town is much too small and people talk way too much."

"She told me all about it, throwing in that she heard nothing that would be a cause for concern. Jean-Marco is very sensitive. So, if you want him to come stay with you, he comes in the way he used to," my mother tells me. "Your father doesn't notice as many things as you might thinks and, even when he does, I have a way of making him understand that it's not as bad as it might have seemed."

"Why are you being this amazing about the situation, mom? Most parents would be discouraging this kind of behavior the way dad does," I say, getting comfortable for the first time in 24 hours.

"I do it because I understand how important it is for you to have something like this in your life," she says. "This is something that you will always remember, something that you base every relationship you have on. You can't spend your time angry with Jean-Marco. You should spend it loving him in any way you see fit."

She leaves me to think.
I just roll over and sleep.
And sleep, and sleep and sleep.
A forever passes.
I don't wake up on my own, though.
The knocking on my door does the job.
The clock reads 9:52.
The absence of light instantly tells me it's p.m. over a.m.

I push myself out of bed.
Pulling the door open, I come face to face with Marc.
He looks just as tired as I am.

"I'm sorry. I know that I was stupid last night and I didn't mean to make you angry. You would have gotten into trouble, with your dad at least," he says as he walks into my bedroom. "I couldn't sleep at all last night. I thought about coming over but I knew that you probably wouldn't let me in, not that I blame you. But, when your mom told me you didn't sleep either, I knew that I needed to come over and talk to you."

"When did you talk to my mom," I ask him, disregarding pretty much everything else he's told me.

"She's having a card game with mine and some other ladies right now," he explains. "Your dad is already asleep, she told me, and that it would be okay if I let myself in to come tell you all this, not that I wouldn't have anyway. She just made it easier for me."

I wrap my arms around him.
His fold around me and I am sweetly almost suffocated in his red t-shirt.
He's not going anywhere but I don't want to let him go.
I do, though, so he can bury himself in my sheets.

"Am I welcome to stay here with you tonight," he asks as he cuddles into one of my pillows. "I want to sleep sweetly, not out of sheer exhaustion. I know you do, too. So, please say I can stay. Please, Rose. Let me stay with you."

I want to crawl into bed with him.
I want to tell him to leave.
I want to be strong.
I want to go weak.
That wins.

I crawl in with him and find my perfect place next to him.
His arms are welcoming, like a second home.

"Please don't make me spend a night without you again," he whispers against my ear, his voice sleepy. "I missed you more than you could have imagined."

"And I missed you," I confess in my over-sleepy state. "I love you."

"Oh, Rose, I love you just the same. We should sleep now. Really sleep. I'm tired, so are you. Confessions are coming too quick now," he rambles.

Quiet settles into the room.
And we sleep.
And dream.
And hold each other.
And we aren't sorry for the confessions that came from hazy minds.