My Special Creature

by Marston Hefner

I thought my boyfriend Richard went to Barcelona for his extra-curricular sight-seeing trip but he’s speaking in Portuguese. The College Vacation Trip. Richard gets A’s with ease and I look at his essays he hangs on his wall. Those fucking A’s are going to take you places, baby. An A man can always have me because I deserve an A man.

The other night I couldn’t kiss him. We watched a movie and he closed his eyes, squinting at the screen. I felt physical about it. I was shaking. But these are just thoughts. We are not our thoughts and we are not our feelings. Unclear what we are but I’m sure it’s very good. We are bodies. Not brains. We are vaginas. Not brains.

I know I can’t depend on him for happiness or self-worth. So what if my organs itch? Over time I am sure something will change. He’ll know to put an extra blanket over me when I sleep in because I require just a little bit more than the average gal. A mind reading ability of sweetness. A blanket on me.

But yeah, I couldn’t kiss him. I couldn’t touch his knee when we watched the movie. Why don’t I just marry my forty-year-old boss who is twice divorced and has a penchant for dangerous sights? A man who conquers the world by stepping his boots on mountain tops and places a little flag with his company logo at the top. Our company logo—a small man who is about to be crushed by a large boot. The boss always says the man is made of iron. People know that, right? He asks me. That the man cannot possibly be squished? My boss, a man who emails his employees the picture of him on the mountain and says, “We’re going everywhere. Everywhere together.” So it’s not just him who climbs the highest peaks but it’s us. Looking in the mirror, feeling the lines on my face, and thinking “soon, honey” in a melodramatic tone. Looking in the mirror and pulling my cheeks back just enough to get that young face.

“How did you know you were in love with Devin?” I ask Tiffany.

“What was the hat party, honey?”

“I don’t remember,” says Devin.

I require a thousand suns in my name, Richard. All dedicated to warming me. Your space heater is not enough and it is depressing. I am sick of the dampness of your carpet. What does it sweat? Before I go, Richard, I want you to know that after I break up with you I’ll think about how I could have made it work with you if I had just tried harder. I’ll think I just had to grow up a bit.

I look at Devin and say, “Piñata.”

He cracks up.

I say, “Café leche. Dulce de mi amigo. Lunar de pronto.”

He cracks up.

“I can make you laugh pretty easy, kid.”

“You have no idea what you said.”

“I know exactly what I said.”

Devin says, “Que?”

We all laugh.

Richard says to Devin there is a dog or he is saying but in Spanish. I think about it and he is saying but I think. My High School Spanish teacher took me outside the classroom once and pointed to the test I took. He said, “You wrote dollo for the Spanish word doll.” For the whole test I did that. Dollo. Toyo. Sheepo. I didn’t know what to say. My feet were stiff. My knees side by side. I held my hand in my hand. I knew it was very funny so I smiled but I knew it wasn’t right to smile. I felt hot in the face like tears were coming. For a long time, I thought I was stupid because I was stupid in school. For a lot of the time there were hot tears in my eyes as I tried to avoid teachers in hallways. They wanted to talk about something. I grabbed asses. That wasn’t OK. I poured water on my tits in math class. You can’t do that. I took the math teacher’s Altoids. I thought I was stupid for a long time.

“Where are we going?” asks Tiffany.

“Good question,” says Devin.

“I think we should just stay here,” I say.

We are alone. And it feels good to be alone. When alone I can feel my strength.

“It’s only 11, babe,” says Richard.

“I suppose you’re right,” I say.

Just the other day my boss patted my back and said I was doing so well. He was making eye contact with me. It was intense because I kept the eye contact. I stared at him not knowing what the eye contact meant to him. Did he always look people in the eyes? Because I didn’t. For him maybe it was a standard eye contact conversation. He sees me that way. Promising. He sees me that way. I can get there. He can make me think that an apartment is not about money. That getting guacamole is not about money.

When my boss looked me in the eyes I was thinking about fucking him with a strap on. Like a small one because I care about him. Bending him over and making him say I’m the best shit ever. That he can’t even touch my shit. “What is my shit like?” “Your shit is so good I can’t even touch it.” “Am I impregnating you?” “Yes. I mean I don’t know.” I go all the way in so he stops thinking. “We are having a baby,” I say. “I want a baby.”

I want to be alone with myself and cry for a while. I want to tell you that it’s been a long time since I have loved.

I am not a fish in bed. I do not flop with my hands at my side. But with Richard I am a fish. Is that the real test? Do I flop or do I hold? There are women who take the ass of a man and push him inside of her quickly. Just come.

Watch me, baby. I’m a fucking werewolf. I’ll own your night. I’m going to steal your fucking boyfriend, baby.

“Devin. Are you going out tonight?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I’m awfully tired.”

For God’s sake. Let it be known. This is my contract. My personal contract I am writing right now. I will wait for him. Whoever he is. Just fucking rad love. Engorged bellies. Laughing because it is good to laugh. Crying because I can trust him. Believing that the future is good again. Believing that the future has feelings and wants to fuck me again. I want. Another man. I want him. And go to hell. If you think it’s all a dream. I’ll get it. I’ll go for it. The way I go for it. I’ll get it. Flight so eratic that we eventually land on something significant. Your head going right through the alien cruiser and pointing right at the sun. Going up to the sun. Not getting burned. Getting so warm that we fall asleep. Vacations that mean something. Trips to Rome where I hold his hand in public. Trips to Rome where I think the gelato tastes good. Relaxed. Chilling with him. Boredom a sign of progress. Creatures in the night wanting to take our baby—leaning into us and creating a small thing in the universe that we go through. The rip we go through and are alone.

“I think I’m going to go,” I say.

“You want to come over tonight?” asks Richard.

“What do you have in mind?”

He shrugs his shoulders.