privy

I put my book down
on the night stand
next to the bed
and roll over
facing her.

She's propped against
a pillow and the wall
reading a play written
during the Depression
for her latest college paper
that I'll pretend to help her with
in order to do it all again
the right way
vicariously.

"I'm co-o-o-o-old," she shivers
in that wavering voice
that she knows will make me
crumble every time.

A wide grin spreads across
my stubbled face automatically.
It's replaced with a shocked expression
as soon as she shoves her icicle fingers
underneath my ribcage
to absorb some of the heat
my body seems to radiate constantly.
"Get those outta here!" I yell
as I squirm and feign an escape.

She moves her hand to what should be
a less sensitive spot on my body, my neck.
Her ring and pinkie fingers bend down
as the index and middle find my pulse
in one of my neck's large arteries.
I instantly shrug away and go limp
writhing with disgust.

She laughs sinisterly because she knows
that I'm grossed out by veins, arteries
and anything to do with the circulatory system.
I once told her about how my hands would
go numb in ninth-grade biology class
and I couldn't take notes from the overhead projector.
That's what love is, though:
knowing someone's weaknesses;
letting someone know yours;
trusting that they won't use them against you
at least not for real.

"Your mom told me that she'll
have to give herself an injection
once a day for two weeks
after her operation, but that
she can't tell you
since she knows you'd flake."
I laugh.
I'm glad the two of them
are sharing things in the kitchen
while my stepfather and I
talk construction in the living room.
It's all part of the process.

I smile and rub her thighs.
She goes back to her work
as I think about veins and arteries some more.

It takes a special kind of woman
to understand a freak.
Yeah, I think I'll keep this one.