And the worst part, she thought, was that she had not even gotten to use it for anything interesting yet. Ricky held her gaze as he walked down the middle of the bus. He passed 3 empty seats before stopping next to her and dropping his backpack in the middle of the aisle.
“Good morning,” he said and sat next to her. Jenny thought they should get married in the fall, next to the lake behind her grandfather’s house.
“Good morning,” She said. He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. Maybe they should get married on the beach. At night.
Two weeks ago she thought that her head might explode when he sat next to her. She could feel her pulse throbbing in her temples. In less than 5 seconds she had memorized everything about him. He smelled like Irish Spring. He had a scar in the shape of a half moon under his right eye. His jeans were pegged perfectly. She was infatuated.
Last week she was convinced that it was her heart that couldn't handle the pressure. Her heartbeat so fast and so strong that her ears were ringing. She thought that she saw him looking at her chest and was worried that he could see her heart thumping through her sweater. He let his hand rest next to hers on the seat of the bus. He reached up and pulled a bug out of her hair. He touched her arm when he spoke to her. There always seemed to be some reason to touch her. They would have three kids; two girls and one boy.
Yesterday he had leaned in close to tell her a dirty joke. She felt his lips brush against her ear. She did not understand the joke but laughed anyway. The blood drained from her head and her heart and all seemed to rush down there. It was going to explode. They would live in the black part of town because it would be safer there.
“You eat breakfast?”
Jenny shrugged. “Nah, not hungry.”
“I’m starving, woke up too late for breakfast again this morning.”
“You want a Pop-Tart?” Jenny asked pulling the backpack out from underneath her seat.
“Shit yeah, what kind?”
Jenny bit her bottom lip. It was so cool the way he cursed- like he didn’t care who heard him.
She unzipped the backpack and emptied the contents out onto the seat between them. At the bottom of the backpack was a crushed foil wrapper holding the ruins of what had once been two frosted cherry Pop-Tarts. Their foreheads touched as they looked down into the bag.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Ricky said, his breath blowing a long blonde strand of hair from Jenny’s forehead. They would skip their honeymoon and use the money to buy a convertible.
He tore open the foil and poured the crumbs into his mouth. Jenny held her breath and watched from the corner of her eye.
“Ah, thanks,” he said and tossed the empty wrapper back into her backpack. He looked down at her lap and smiled. Reaching out, he took her hand in his, pulling it towards him. What a lovely way to explode, Jenny thought. He lifted her hand in the air and looked down at the Trapper Keeper in her lap. Her hand gone, he could read what she had scrawled across the plastic cover in History class the day before. “Jenny loves Ricky 4Ever” in permanent marker.
Ricky started to laugh. He laughed so hard and for so long that tears rolled down his cheeks and he held onto his sides as if he was afraid that he would split open down the middle if he let go. The bus stopped and he wiped the tears from his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he said. “Thanks for the Pop-Tart.” He stood up to leave and turned his back to Jenny.
“You’re welcome,” was all she intended to say. She couldn’t tell where all of the blood had gone; it seemed to have vanished altogether. She sat in the seat, too drained to follow Ricky off of the bus and tried to think of a way to regain her dignity. She wanted to hit him, to kick him, to spit on him for embarrassing her; but the blood had drained from her legs, she couldn’t move.
“You’re welcome N****r.”
Ricky made it from the front of the bus to her seat in the back in three long strides. Without a word, his hand flew out and slapped her in the face.
She pressed the palm of her hand against her warm cheek. It stung a lot. But, she thought, an exploding vagina probably would have stung a lot more.
Ricky made it from the front of the bus to her seat in the back in three long strides. Without a word, his hand flew out and slapped her in the face.
She pressed the palm of her hand against her warm cheek. It stung a lot. But, she thought, an exploding vagina probably would have stung a lot more.
