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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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19 April 2005



Monday, 2 AM
Marcus has left to catch his train; Mitzi is gone five minutes later. I am getting into bed as she says goodbye.

Jefferson slides into bed, spooning me with his arm under my neck. I can feel his chin on top of my head. We lie there, quietly breathing. We have 18 hours left.

We both feel it; I can't speak. My stomach is twisted. I try to breathe deeply and not tremble in his arms.

“Something’s happening here,” he whispers into the darkness.

My throat catches and I can only nod, my tears welling.

He moves back, turning my face toward his. We kiss. I am remembering our first kiss on Friday morning; when he pulled me into the apartment and we spun down the hallway. How intensely charged and passionate and hungry it was. Over the past three days we’ve learned how to kiss each other. Now it is about doing that and making it last; of searching out each other in the darkness and stopping time.

We make love. I feel sad and hopeful and lonely and full. This I did not expect.

He is sweet, gentle and quiet. His body rocks me into a place between wakefulness and sleep. My eyes close, and I am aware of my own voice, speaking somewhere in the ether. I feel him whispering to me. I should surface; come back from this place I have found to the quiet cadence of his voice.

His words are soft and muffled in my ears. I understand them anyway.

He is holding me close; my face is turned into his neck, breathing him.


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