I Still Remember (5 page)

But I saw the fire in Amy’s eyes—a fire I might have been too young to see when we were teenagers, if it was there at all. I’ve felt her fingers inside of me and her tongue between my legs. And how can I possibly run away from that, no matter what she has to say?
 

Instead of going to bed after the last guests have left, I borrow my mother’s bike, because I’m too tipsy to drive a car, and cycle to Amy’s house.

It’s late and the air has cooled off, but an alcohol blush burns on my face and I have the memory of my afternoon with Amy to keep me warm.

When I arrive at Amy’s house, everything is quiet and dark. For an instant, I wonder if it’s appropriate to disturb her night rest, but I tell myself she’d want me to. I park my bike against a bunch of low shrubbery and, not wanting to ring a loud and intrusive doorbell, go round the back.

As I approach I hear a crackling noise I quickly identify as fire. To my surprise, Amy lounges in a deck chair, wrapped in a quilt, by an iron fire pit I hadn’t noticed before—understandably, as earlier I was suffering from a severe case of tunnel vision.

“I was hoping you’d show up,” she says as if she’s been expecting me. “This time.” There’s no malice in her voice, only a playfulness and maybe a hint of hope. She looks up at me, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I couldn’t sleep.”

A bit wobbly with too much wine in my blood, I crouch beside her. “I know an excellent remedy for that.”

Amy’s eyes sparkle in the light of the flames. She circles her fingers around my wrist again, and I’m glad for the extra support.

“This is all terribly romantic, isn’t it?” I quip, because I have a lot of things I want to say but I don’t really know where to begin.

“Let’s go inside, anyway.” Her fingertips already scorch my skin and I’d follow her anywhere. This time, I would.

The day I said goodbye to Amy without her knowing was an ordinary Wednesday. I was leaving for summer school the next Monday, but Amy was joining her family on a road trip to the coast the day after and wouldn’t be back before I left.
 

We sat in the kitchen at my house, eating scones my auntie Ella had brought over. Amy loved scones, mostly because no one in her family knew how to make them properly. A big dollop of cream stuck to her nose, but I didn’t tell her because it looked so adorable. I believed that if I remembered her face like that, more goofy than sexy, I’d get over her quicker.
 

For Amy, the summer still seemed to stretch itself out endlessly. A few weeks of no responsibilities and expectations had that effect. I sat there, looking at her and the cream on her nose, and the thought of leaving her behind made all the words die in my throat.

I let her rattle on about another party she was planning next week when she got back. I’d have to bring scones—preferably the ones my mother made—and everyone had to wear a white t-shirt, but I shouldn’t forget to bring my bathing suit. And could I possibly get my hands on some beer?

I just nodded and watched her being Amy, cringing every time she mentioned Brett, and even more so when Paul’s name came up.

At a bit past four—I remember because we had an old cuckoo clock in the kitchen that had just chimed four times—she got up because she had to take her little brother candy shopping for the road trip.

We didn’t hug, because we weren’t that type of people. Just a quick wave, and she was gone, out of the kitchen, our house, and my life.

I stayed glued to my chair until my mother came home from work an hour later, debating if I should go over that night to say something. But I knew I couldn’t do that because I couldn’t possibly face the accompanying questions.

I should have, but I couldn’t.

“I should have told you,” I say as I stand in Amy’s kitchen. It’s a dimly lit, stark white, handleless cupboards affair with lots of stainless steel and a host of Smeg appliances lining the countertops.

“I can’t disagree.” Amy leans against the fridge, out of which she has taken two beers. She hands me one—as if I need more booze. “But I understand why you didn’t.”

“Look, um, Amy…” I start to stutter. “I can’t help but wonder if you, um, you know…”

“You couldn’t ask me then, and you still can’t ask me now.” Amy’s fingers hug the neck of her beer bottle. I stare at her hands because I can’t look her in the eyes. She steps closer, puts her bottle on the counter, and lifts my chin up with one finger. “Ask me, Eli.”

It reminds me of how she begged me to fuck her earlier today. I didn’t hesitate then.

“Are you…” I begin. Her eyes are on me, just like they were when she slipped her fingers inside of me, and I suddenly realise I’m about to ask the most redundant question ever. So, I kiss her instead. I trail my lips from her mouth to her ear. “If you’re not into women, I’m not either,” I say.

“My sexuality is very fluid,” she whispers back. “Always has been.”

I snicker at the cliché. “You could have said.” My lips descend to the hollow of her neck.

“I had no idea back then, Eli. Don’t you think I would have told you otherwise?”

“To sum things up.” My eyes have caught sight of the swell of her breasts. “I knew but I didn’t say and you didn’t know, but you would have said.”

“Whatever you say, Eli.” Amy’s hands tug at my jacket. “All I know is that when you came into my spa, my heart started beating like mad and I wanted to tear your clothes off.”

She’s doing a good job of that now. Her fingers start unbuttoning my blouse, while my own hoist up her sweater.

“Good thing you’re in the right profession for that then.” After I pull her top over her head, our eyes meet. I see something shimmer in them, and I don’t know if it’s regret or promise, infatuation or pure lust, but it doesn’t matter. We’re Amy and Eli and we spent endless summers in this house. We ate dinner in this kitchen, which doesn’t remind me at all of the kitchen of our youth, and I push Amy against her fancy Smeg refrigerator and flip open her jeans. And nothing could feel more right, more full-circle than this.

My hand moves quickly under the waistband of her panties and she’s so wet it astounds me, but I don’t let that deter me, because I realise I haven’t done what she’s asked me yet. I haven’t fucked her yet.

“Stay,” she mumbles in my ear, when I slip a trembling finger in between her hot, moist folds. “Not for the night, but for a week, or a month. Don’t go, Eli. Please.”
 

And as her words transform into throaty groans, I know I won’t be going anywhere soon. As I fuck Amy, at last, there’s nothing else I want to do but stay with her. The walls of her pussy clutch around my fingers and I dig deep, as deep as I can, as if the deeper I go, the more it will make up for lost time.

When I look at her, her eyes are already starting to glaze over. Maybe she’s waited for this as long as I have.

“Yes,” I say. “I’ll stay.” In the back of my mind, all the arrangements I have to make start rearing their head, but I ignore them easily, because, at my fingertips, a miracle is about to happen. I can sense Amy is about to come already, that her body has been on the brink all day from fondling me—and seeing me again. And I feel heat rise through my own flesh before it pools between my legs. I’m with Amy—I feel what she feels—when her knees buckle and an incredulous look takes over her face. And I can hardly believe it either, but it’s happening right in front of me—to me, to us.

“Oh fuck,” she says, and I swear I can feel my own pussy unclench as she lets loose on me. As she bangs the back of her head against the door of her refrigerator and the climax roars through her muscles.

I stare at the delicate skin of her neck while Amy catches her breath—my fingers still inside and her head still tilted back—and a knot I had long ago deemed not there anymore fizzles away to nothing in the pit of my stomach. When I exhale, it’s not only used-up air that gets expelled from my body, but years of repressed feelings and, from the corner of my eyes, a few tears of relief and pure happiness.

Gently, I slide my fingers out of Amy and I press myself against her, finding her neck with my lips. After I’ve kissed a path to her ear, I whisper, “What will we do when I stay?”

I feel her body contract against me when she giggles. “I’ll teach you how to give the perfect massage.” Amy’s voice is low and husky, and I might be bone-tired and drunk—my head swimming from too much booze and finally sinking my fingers into Amy—but this night is not over yet.

* * *

After calling my producer at the network to lie about a family emergency and claiming I need a week off, I head back to the bedroom where Amy still lounges.

She arches up her eyebrows when I walk through the door, her face lit up by the sun because there was no time to close the curtains last night.

“We have seven days to figure this out.” I have no idea what I mean when I say it, but the prospect of spending a week with Amy makes me want to burst out of my skin.

Amy’s quizzical expression transforms into a wide smile. She extends her arm and I grip her wrist so she can pull me back into bed with her.

“Who knew,” she says as she draws me on top of her, “that it could be so easy to make you stay?”

I realise I’d best get used to wisecracks about me leaving town so stealthily twenty years ago. “Let’s go outside.” I kiss Amy on the tip of her nose. “I want to swim in the pond like old times.”

“Old times, huh?” Amy paints a wicked grin on her face. “You mean lusting after me silently while I pretend I don’t notice how you stare when I wear a bikini?”

“Absolutely not.” I sink my teeth into the soft flesh of her earlobe. “No bathing suits allowed.” I push myself up from the bed and the robe I borrowed from Amy splits open.

Amy eyes me. “I can hardly say no to that.” She jumps from under the covers and snatches the fabric off me. Stark naked, we run down the stairs, through the kitchen and into the playground of our youth.

I’m sixteen again when I dip my toes into the water to test the temperature.

I first felt it when I sat in my familiar spot by the edge of the pond, timing Amy as she tried to swim as fast as she could from one side to the other. My job was to focus on my waterproof watch—something I’d always done with great determination before—but this time around, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Amy as her body cut through the water towards me. It was an afternoon of just us, before Brett appeared on the scene and stole precious moments of our time together.
 

I didn’t know what a lesbian was and I had no idea it was even possible for a woman to fall in love with another woman. But when Amy pulled herself out of the water, drops raining down her skin and lingering in her hair, I knew I was in love. I knew because not only did the sun catching the hazelnut in her eyes look like the most beautiful sight in the world, but later that afternoon, when I had to go home for supper, it suddenly hurt that I couldn’t spend every waking moment with her.

“You weren’t timing me,” Amy said, her hands on her hips and, to punish me, she swung her head from left to right so the cool drops of water splattered from her hair onto my hot skin.

“Stop it.” I looked up at her, at the grin on her face, which all of a sudden seemed unbearable as well as totally addictive. Because I had no idea how to handle myself, I pushed her back into the water, jumping in right after her, because I didn’t want her to swim away from me.

She ducked under and yanked me down by the ankles and, just like that, an innocent game we’d played all of our lives, caused my body to pulse in places I’d never paid much attention to before.

This time, it’s Amy who pushes
me
into the water. It’s freezing cold, but not for long, as she dives in and wraps her body around me. I feel her pubes rub against my skin and her nails scrape along my back.

“I love this pond so much,” Amy says before she kisses me and the world seems to disappear for a moment. “We have so many memories here,” she whispers when her lips reach my ear.
 

She embraces me under water and it hits me, exactly like it did on that afternoon twenty years ago, that I’m in love with her. Maybe I still am or maybe it’s just nostalgia mixing with confused memories. Maybe she was the one all along or perhaps she’ll always have the same effect on me, either way, I rake my nails over her skin and bury them in the lush flesh of her behind, my body all fired up again. Because Amy in this pond might be the closest I’ll come to everything I’ve ever wanted in my life.

With one hand, I cup her buttocks, while the other travels to her belly. Her legs are spread out in front of me, her body enveloping me, her breath on my neck as her lips nip at my skin. Despite being surrounded by water, I feel how wet she is for me again. There’s not a hint of hesitation as my fingers find her opening and I slip and curl them inside. Her body tenses around me, her nails burrowing deeper into my flesh.
 

“Ooh,” she exhales, her mouth so near.

My body takes over because my brain has shut off. This is as close to primal as I’ve ever been. I fasten my pace, exploring her under water, her mouth now on mine, her moans disappearing down my throat. Her nipples are hard, wet peaks against mine, moving up and down with the rise and fall of her body as she rides my fingers. I press my thumb against her clit, circling it slowly every time I thrust deep. The sensation of having her in my arms, her body so close she almost melts into me, while my fingers are buried inside of her, is enough to make my muscles tremble and my knees go weak.
 

Amy holds onto me for dear life as I try to stay standing in the water, bucking under the force of her approaching climax. The sound of splashing water mixes with her groans in my ear, until she goes silent and her body clamps down on mine, nearly squeezing the breath out of me, and her pussy clenches around my fingers.

“Jesus Christ, Eli,” she says, “I think I might fall in love with you.”

The sun colours the water around us pale yellow as I slip my fingers out of her. Amy’s legs are still wrapped around my waist, as if she can’t let go, and I trace my fingertips along her sides and hold her close.