the hole in tina's jeans
It was maybe March of 1995. Jen's mom has come from Omaha to visit. I'm sitting in my bedroom, with Tina. We're probably smoking cigarettes. Jen and her mom are in the living room, having The Talk. Jen is telling her mom that she's a lesbian (or maybe bi) and that Tina is her girlfriend. Her mom won't like that.
Meanwhile, Tina is telling me a story I've already heard from Jen, but I pretend like I'm hearing it for the first time. She tells me about why she had to go to prison. She tells me about being in high school and being humiliated by classmates who think, rightly, that she's a dyke. She tells me about having sex with one of her female tormentors. She says it was consensual, but she describes it in a convoluted way that makes me think she forced herself on the girl. And that's what the girl tells the police - that she was raped.
Jen speaks to her mother of love, and it drives them further apart. Tina speaks to me of violence, and it's a bonding thing that brings us closer together. Then the four of us get into Jen's car and head for the House On The Rock for an afternoon of touristy fun.
Mom sits mutely beside me in the backseat, numbly glancing through some "So Your Kid's Gay" booklets Jen had provided her with. It would be funny except it's sad. She likes me, and had probably thought (or at least hoped) that Jen and I were a couple. Now she's gotten this heartbreaking news, and she probably wishes she could drive right back to Omaha instead of sitting in this car with her lesbian daughter and her daughter's girlfriend and her daughter's non-boyfriend.
Despite the drama, and despite the fact that I, like Mom, wish that Jen and I were a couple, I feel rather relaxed and content. On the equally silent drive back home, for no particular reason except fondness, I stop staring out the window long enough to reach forward into the front seat and put a finger through a hole in Tina's jeans, briefly exploring the soft skin of her thigh. She breaks the silence, goodnaturedly exclaiming "Did you put your finger in my hole?" I have to stifle a laugh because Jen and her mom hadn't seen what I'd done, and I wonder what they're thinking. Even more relaxed, I go back to staring at the passing Wisconsin landscape.
Meanwhile, Tina is telling me a story I've already heard from Jen, but I pretend like I'm hearing it for the first time. She tells me about why she had to go to prison. She tells me about being in high school and being humiliated by classmates who think, rightly, that she's a dyke. She tells me about having sex with one of her female tormentors. She says it was consensual, but she describes it in a convoluted way that makes me think she forced herself on the girl. And that's what the girl tells the police - that she was raped.
Jen speaks to her mother of love, and it drives them further apart. Tina speaks to me of violence, and it's a bonding thing that brings us closer together. Then the four of us get into Jen's car and head for the House On The Rock for an afternoon of touristy fun.
Mom sits mutely beside me in the backseat, numbly glancing through some "So Your Kid's Gay" booklets Jen had provided her with. It would be funny except it's sad. She likes me, and had probably thought (or at least hoped) that Jen and I were a couple. Now she's gotten this heartbreaking news, and she probably wishes she could drive right back to Omaha instead of sitting in this car with her lesbian daughter and her daughter's girlfriend and her daughter's non-boyfriend.
Despite the drama, and despite the fact that I, like Mom, wish that Jen and I were a couple, I feel rather relaxed and content. On the equally silent drive back home, for no particular reason except fondness, I stop staring out the window long enough to reach forward into the front seat and put a finger through a hole in Tina's jeans, briefly exploring the soft skin of her thigh. She breaks the silence, goodnaturedly exclaiming "Did you put your finger in my hole?" I have to stifle a laugh because Jen and her mom hadn't seen what I'd done, and I wonder what they're thinking. Even more relaxed, I go back to staring at the passing Wisconsin landscape.
posted by jesus bush at 11:02 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home