“Anytime.” He winks and shoots a finger gun in my direction.
I clink my bottle with Justin’s and go up to start my second set. A song from my first CD. Angsty and fierce. Snakebites and heart attacks. I’ll never make you mine, go back. People sing along. I finally feel like I don’t have to think about anything but lyrics and chords and the faces in the crowd. Like things can be simple for a moment.
* * *
After my second set, Sam has disappeared. Justin waits for me. He hangs around while Arnie counts out the register to give me my cut.
Arnie slides beers down the bar to us while we wait.
Justin rests his hand on my thigh and drinks his in big gulps. I don’t know anything about his real life, what he does when I’m not here. He’s grown into his looks, less awkward. He should have a girlfriend, but he always seems to be available when I roll into town. We never talk about it. And the things I do know, I forget. I can’t remember what his major is, or where he grew up. I can’t remember his last name.
Arnie slides a wad of bills across the bar to me. “You are a little bit of magic, I think,” he says. “Good haul tonight.” I hop up to sit on the bar so I can give him a hug.
“Thanks, Arnie,” I say, kissing his cheek. He blushes a little.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he says softly, looking me in the eyes, sizing me up. “Okay?” It’s his way of taking care of me. “Okay?” He’s making sure I’m not falling apart. That my bruises will heal. It’s his way of saying something without saying anything specific, and I love him for it.
“Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”
* * *
Justin’s new place is two streets over from Main. We’re both too drunk to drive, so we leave my car at Arnie’s and walk over. Justin carries my guitar for me. There aren’t many people left walking around. It’s still cold and crisp and the puddles ice over at night. Binghamton won’t see the last of the snow for months.
I shower when I get to Justin’s. I’m in wash when you can mode. It doesn’t matter that I just showered at Arnie’s. I smell like bar and smoke and I’m sweaty from playing.
Justin’s shower isn’t too gross. The house is big and empty. It’s just me and him and it’s sweet, because of all the people I know, of all my pockets, Justin is my favorite. He’s my marker. I count time against him. I’ve watched him grow up. He’s older than me, two years, I think. So, he must be twenty-one now, but it feels like he’s a kid and I’m something else.
I tie my hair in a knot and pin it with some bobby pins I keep in my bag. I wrap myself in his towel and walk down the hall to his room.
Justin lit candles while I showered, the globe kind with psychedelic patterns that glow as the wick burns down. The candlelight reflects in the sheen of his Sports Illustrated posters. Patchouli clouds the room, but it doesn’t mask the fact that he’s stoned.
“Wow,” he says when he sees me. He already has condoms out. I can see the shiny wrappers next to a skull candle on the shelf over the bed. Three of them, lined up like a goal he’s set.
“What happened to your hair?” I ask, rubbing my hand over his head. The wax he slicked it with makes my palm sticky.
“I cut it.”
“I liked it long.” I wipe my palm on his comforter when he isn’t looking.
“Internship interviews. I’m a junior now.” He raises his eyebrows, tilts his chin down and looks up at the ceiling. He’s posing for me. Look how much I’ve grown.
“Ah.” I nod.
I reach over him and pull the joint out of the ashtray.
“Saved you some,” he says.
“Good call.” I light up and suck in hard. Hold my breath until I feel my eyeballs bulge, and then I exhale the smoke slowly through the tiny O I form with my lips. Before it’s all out, Justin is working his tongue into the O.
He pulls the pins from my hair. Wet strands slap my shoulders as they fall. Drops of water run down my back. Justin licks them up. He cups my chin and holds my head at my shoulder, working his tongue up my neck on the other side. He has learned things since I saw him last year.
We slide until we’re lying down. I feel him hard on my thigh. His arms are smooth, muscles firm and round. He loses his cool when he tries to undress and get the condom on. Underwear stuck on ankles.
“Oh, crap,” he says. “Close your eyes.”
I do. The light goes on for a second.
“Okay,” he says. The light goes off. I hear him fumble with the condom. I hope he pinches the tip to leave room. I had to show him how last time.