Identical (32 page)

Between doorbell rings

and candy grabs, I roam

room to room, sitting in chairs,

straightening photos, opening

drawers and touching

their contents, trying to

absorb Lawler by osmosis.

The last room I enter

is his bedroom. Like everything

else, it is tidy. Spare. Few

embellishments but the wandering

star quilt, in sapphire and rose,

and matching throw pillows.

I flop onto the bed, settle

into the hand-sewn luxury.

Who gave him such a personal

gift? Mother? Grandmother?

No, this feels like the remnant

of a lover. Resentment swells

and I bury my head in his pillow,

seek his familiar leather scent,

breathe it in. In. In. Smother myself

in leather perfumed eiderdown.

My Lawler-scented reverie.

I go to answer, expecting a knee-

high Cinderella or Spiderman.

Instead I find a half-dozen

people my age. A couple wear

masks—a blood-scarred monster,

a long-fanged werewolf, a Dumbo-

eared George W. Bush. The rest

assume they don’t need costumes

to look horrific, and that includes

my dearest friend Madison. At

the sight of me, her jaw drops.

This isn’t where you live, is it?

No
Hey, how’s it going,
just

demon-eyed inquisition.

Don’t suppose there’s any use

lying or denying. “No, it’s not.

I’m just answering the door.”

I have no idea if she knows who

does
live here, but I’m not

volunteering the information.

As if reading my mind, Madison

asks,
Well, whose house
is
it?

They all wait for the answer.

The answer I really don’t plan

to give. But as I try to formulate

a reply, Lawler’s Charger pulls

against the curb. The jig, as

they say, is up. And so, I’m pretty

sure, is any notion of hanging

around now that he’s home. Anger

erupts like Vesuvius. “So do you

freaks want candy or what?”

The car door shuts and all attention

turns to Lawler, tall and frigging

gorgeous beneath his new haircut.

Madison turns back to me, and

the smile on her face is not exactly

friendly.
You’ve got to be kidding.

Mr. Lawler arrives, all charm.
Hey,

guys. A little old for trick-or-treat,

aren’t you? Well, help yourselves.

Wouldn’t want you to knock over

any little kids for their candy.

He smiles and puts handfuls

of the sweet stuff into their

pillowcases.
Anyway, I don’t

need junk food lying around

the house. I’ll just eat it, you

know? Thanks for stopping

by. See you all on Monday.

Dismissed! Then he turns

to me.
Thanks so much for

watching the place. I sure

didn’t need any kids playing

tricks on me.
He takes my arm.

Come back inside and I’ll pay you.

And I wouldn’t expect

anything less. Still, I suspect

Madison, et al. are lurking

nearby somewhere, waiting

to see when and if I leave.

No Lawler tonight.

“The haircut looks great.”

What else can I say?

He stands very close to me,

looks down into my eyes.

Thanks. I had hoped you

could stay for a while, but now…

“I know. It’s okay.” Oh

yeah, real okay. I swear

I will strangle Madison

one of these days. “Oh,

and you don’t have to pay

me anything. I was happy

to help out.” Happy to lie

on your bed, your pillow.

And we both know it, and we know

it has to be sooner rather than later.

Do you need a ride home?

I’d planned on staying out later.

Much later. But somehow I don’t

feel like calling Mick or Ty.

Somehow, going home and fantasizing

about Lawler will be more

than enough action for one night.

“Okay. If you think it’s safe

to leave your house empty.”

I’ll leave the candy on the front porch.

We walk to the car, far apart,

but the street appears deserted,

except for a few kids well down

the block. “Trick-or-treat seems to

end earlier and earlier every year.”

I think that started with 9/11.

He opens the passenger door,

every molecule the gentleman.

I’m pretty damn sure no guy

has
ever
done that for me

before. “Thank you.”

But of course, milady.

I might as well melt right now.

Even without Lawler in it yet,

the Charger smells like him.

I think I could just curl up and die

right here in the cushy front seat.

I know this relationship can never

work out. But, oh, how I want it to.

Lawler gets in, starts the car, drives

me home. And although there is so

much to say, neither of us dares

attempt it. The silence crushes.

Finally I chance resting my hand

on his thigh. “I find older men

very attractive, you know.”

He smiles.
Older than what?

I’ve got plenty more to say too,

but I’m afraid if I do I’ll jinx

myself. Still, home isn’t so

far and my curiosity is killing

me. “So…what do you think?”

About what?

Is he playing coy? He has to

know what I’m talking about.

This game isn’t that complicated.

“About us.” Okay. Said it.

He sucks in a deep breath.

There isn’t an “us.”

Now see? Went and jinxed

it. Oh, well. What’s jinxed

is jinxed. Might as well push

things right out into the open.

“I thought there might be…

could be, anyway. Kind of

seemed like things were

moving that way.” Enough

already. Let him talk.

A couple of blocks from home.

I don’t move to get out of the car,

and he turns to face me.

You are a stunning temptation, not

to mention an amazing distraction.

You’re bright, beautiful, adventurous.

I am totally drawn to you, and if you

were eighteen and not my student,

I’d go out with you in a hot second….

No! He’s brushing me off.

I want to yell, but I get the feeling

a soft question might work better.

“What if we were really careful?”

I can’t believe he’s about to

withdraw from the game.

You saw what happened tonight.

I guess that was an eye-opener

for me. Ours is a very small school,

in a very small town. Secrets are

difficult to keep here, especially

this kind of secret. I’m really

sorry that I led you on. There’s just

something about you. Something…

fractured…injured, despite how

together you always appear to be.

I wanted to help you. To heal whatever’s

broken in you. To make you whole.

Whole. No one can do that

for me. God, why did he have

to go and get so serious?

Game over. I lose. What am

I going to do? Throw a tantrum?

“Okay. I understand. But if you

ever change your mind, you know

where to find me, at least during

second block.” Side-out.

Like the “fall in love, settle

down, and have three kids

with a picket fence” kinda

guy. Definitely not my type.

Not that I’m sure exactly

what my type is. Other

than cute. Built. I’d like

to say intelligent, but that

hasn’t always proved the case

with some of my selections.

Still, if I could build the perfect

guy, he’d be smart. Just not

as smart as me. Funny.

And, oh yeah, a stoner.

Killer combination. Lawler,

with connections. Sounds

pretty good to me. Yet even

all that can’t add up to “happy

ever after.” Does anyone

really believe in such a thing?

Is a concept I’ll never believe

in. I would be content to sample

some little taste of happiness

today, tonight, right now, though

I know

without a doubt that tomorrow

will arrive, saturated with pain.

Life is like that. At least

my life. And honestly,

I can’t

think of anyone whose life

is any different. The price

tag for joy is misery. I don’t

want to go inside, but I can’t

stay

out here on the grass all night.

It’s crunchy cold. I watch

Lawler drive away, wish with all

my heart I could keep him

here

beside me, wrapped around

me, blanketing me with security,

fragile as that might also be.

Oh yes, I would like that

very much.

But he’s gone already, out of

sight, a shadow blurred into night,

and I will weave dreams no

longer.