Patricia Dale Decker
thumbnail drawing by Rene Castro
Orphy asks if she can pee on you. You stop kissing her neck.
The movie theater is small, so you see most of the people sitting around. The girl from high school is being fingered by the grocer down the street a few seats away. Her head is leaning back and her mouth is open almost to a moan. Two rows down is Orphy’s little sister, Jenny. She’s sharing popcorn with sticky fingers, Matt. He’s shorter than her, dumber than her, not worthy of her. When he got into the car earlier, he only greeted Jenny’s breasts. They were squeezed tight and her blond hair was stuck in her armpits. She looked at you in the driver’s seat, and showed her gums. Everything she says is accompanied with a smile. She makes cocoons turn into butterflies.
You’re wondering if Orphy is joking so you don’t retract from her soft skin, smiling instead against her ear. You haven’t done this in a while, so you lightly wet the lobe the way she likes it. You try to amuse her, say that you really need to get rid of that burn from that jellyfish earlier. She doesn’t laugh. Her body doesn’t move. You take your tongue out of her ear.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Orphy says, staring ahead. The colors of the movie are lights on her face. They flicker blue, green, white as her eyes stay small and serious. You straighten up.
“Alright, when?” you say.
She says she wants it tonight. You nod slowly, hoping that if you nod enough she might change her mind.
For the rest of the movie, you’re trying to decide if you should go relieve yourself or not. It was a lot of Pepsi. By the end of the film, the urine has absorbed back into your body and you feel good. The Pepsi has become you. Orphy is now licking butter off her fingers. Her sucking is slow, meticulous, as if her pores have digested the oils and now she must give them a taste. The movie ends quickly as you watch her. You take Orphy’s hand out of the theater to leave. It’s stiff but holds on nonetheless. She’s been holding on ever since you met in college. Jenny follows the two of you out with her little bitty boyfriend. He’s full of braces and blue balls he doesn’t know how to use. Not on Jenny for sure. She’s ahead of all of them. Jenny’s got the same small eyes as Orphy, but they’ve sprung on her sooner. This goon might just be for practice. She wants someone older, she’s even said it. She’s winked at you before, too.
You’ve had conversations. Most of them were brief, and unfortunately taken up by Orphy. Jenny would be talking about what she wants out of life and how all the guys are idiots.
“I feel like I’m ahead of everyone, my friends, everyone. The teachers at school are just holding me back with stupid reading comprehension! I can’t wait to get out of this shithole. I’m going to travel the world,” she’d say.
“It’s about living so that when death comes, you’re not afraid,” you’d said.
She’d think that you’d said something spectacular. She’d then give you a hug and say thank you for listening. Orphy would stand over the kitchen counter, adding herself to the conversation when she didn’t have to. She’d tell Jenny that thirteen is probably the most confusing time in someone’s life. As she was speaking, you’d have to remind yourself that two years with the same girl meant something, that a new girl would end up being an old girl in no time. When you first slept over at Orphy’s house, her parents were out of town as always. Jenny was there in the morning. She came out of her bedroom in her pajamas, no makeup. She shook your hand limply and offered breakfast. Orphy left to work and Jenny stayed to make an omelette. She asked if you were picky. You’re never picky. She spoke about the guys she liked at school and you told her she could have anyone she wanted. She shrugged, not yet aware of the power she held as a woman. You shared music, she made a playlist, she said that Orphy loves you. Jenny hasn’t made a playlist since then. When reminded she says she doesn’t have the time. You always hug goodbye. Maybe she feels it too.
You drive everyone to their place and Orphy puts her hand on the inside your thigh. It’s warm and you’re small. You’re thinking about bed, but also about the inevitable urine festivities. Is it for consumption or piddling? Should you stop by somewhere for funnels? You think of these various possibilities as Orphy’s hand glides expertly north. You look at her, and she’s calm. She is looking forward as always. You haven’t been able to finish with her lately but you’ve heard of the two-year-itch. It’s supposed to go away. You use all the positions but perhaps you’re about to learn a new one. Orphy’s hand is working in deeper to your crotch now. You switch lanes and catch Jenny’s eye. She’s there in the back with Matt. He’s looking out the window and she’s looking at you in the rearview mirror. Her eyes are deep brown, and getting darker with every intersection. They could take over mind and bone. You feel Orphy’s hand make firm contact and you get hard, rubbing into it. You slip your finger inside Orphy real quick but Jenny looks away and once again, you go soft.
Jenny’s play pal is dropped off in the west end of Barry. She doesn’t get out of the car to say goodbye. Maybe she was only giving him a chance, and he blew it. You arrive at Orphy’s place in the city and the girls lead the way to the door since her parents are out studying animals in the islands. They never go into it. Jenny says goodnight as soon as you take your shoes off. You follow Orphy upstairs to her room. She lies down on the bed and asks you to take her before the door is even closed. You do, anyone would. You hear Jenny getting ready for bed down the hall, her favorite song is on. Orphy stops rubbing your crotch and asks you if you think she looks beautiful. She kisses you with lips wet with frenzy. They’re thin, and so are her legs. But you don’t get any harder. She’s trying to be playful and lifts her skirt up to show you her panties. You’ve seen them before and you’re exhausted to see them again. She tells you to meet her in the bathroom. You ask her why, what for. She gets all serious and tells you to stop fucking around. She stops at the door and turns back to you.
“We need this. You know that we need this.” she says. Her eyes are sad.
You hear the shower start to run and you think you might as well see what Jenny is doing down the hall. Orphy is probably shaving her legs, between her legs, she needs a few minutes. You’re not sure if this is what you need, the both of you. A golden shower is not something you had in mind, you want something completely different, something that makes you giddy again.. Maybe Jenny wants to chat while her sister prepares to pee on you in the shower. You past the bathroom and walk up to Jenny’s door, looking inside, she’s brushing her hair. She’s got her preppy pajamas on. Pink plaid. Her face looks up as your knock startles her.
“What are you doing here?” she says.
You say that you just wanted to chat, you point to her collage of friendship photos and ask who they are. She tells you. She sits down on the bed with her legs crossed. You join her with your feet flat on the floor, the ground is the only thing you can feel anymore, the rest of you is floating. Her hair is covering her cheeks and she’s looking up at the ceiling. She asks you where Orphy is, if she’s gone to sleep. Maybe she’s hoping Orphy is asleep like you are.
“Jenny, you’re something special.”
“You really think so?”
You feel her gravitational pull, the way her body is leaned towards yours tells you she needs the excitement. You wonder if this is the moment things change. Maybe this is the moment that life becomes a little more important. Maybe life is made in the mistakes.
You lean into her hair, and bring the strands behind her ear. You kiss her soft cheek and she still hasn’t moved. She must be a little shy, she needs your expert hand to lead the way. You take her chin and bring it to touch yours, your eyes are closed but you find and kiss her chapped lips. She doesn’t kiss back. Upon looking at her face, you see tears rolling down.
“Please, please stop. Oh my god please just stop,” she says.
You feel your heart leave your chest and drop to the floor. You ask her why? Isn’t this what you wanted? I think I love you. Don’t you love me? She’s sobbing now, shaking her head uncontrollably. You say, Maybe it wasn’t Orphy all along, maybe we’re meant to be together. Don’t you feel it? She’s shaking so hard she might fall over. You get up, confused, not sure you should be here anymore. Maybe she needs a minute to figure it all out. You go to go to the door and there’s Orphy, standing with a towel around her naked body. Her face looks disoriented. The water from her hair is making a dull sound as it creates a puddle at her feet. Your stomach hurts, or maybe it’s your bladder. It feels like appendicitis but you’ve already gotten that taken care of. You have to pee badly. You say you have to go, but it comes out in a mutter and Orphy starts screaming.
“What the fuck? What did you do?” Orphy says. You stammer in a lack of response because your tongue has melted down into your throat. You hold your stomach, and feel it’s expanded.
Orphy goes to Jenny and touches her shoulder, “Jen, tell me. What did he do?” She sees how hurt Jenny is, how she can’t explain herself. You’ve never seen her like this.
“He…he…I’m so sorry Ophelia.” Jenny says. She looks up with swollen eyes.
“Did he touch you?” Orphy turns to you, “Did you fucking touch my sister? You did, didn’t you. I knew it. You’re disgusting.” She turns away from Jenny and steps in front of you.
“I’ll call the fucking police.” She says.
Jenny cries harder and you’re just standing there, staring back at Orphy, not sure of what to say. You realize, there’s nothing you can say. She starts screaming at you, calling you a pervert, calling you all these things you haven’t ever seen yourself as. You wonder what the police would think, if they would actually side with Orphy. You guess yes, it’s their word over yours. You mean nothing. She tells you to get the fuck out. She holds her little sister and tells her it’s okay. You leave your jacket, you leave your shoes. You run downstairs to that front door without being escorted as you run to your car you’re thinking: how could you have ever been this wrong.
Patricia Dale Decker is a Canadian-Russian writer living in Santa Monica, California. She holds a BFA in Writing from Pratt Institute and is currently working on a debut novel.
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June 04, 2017
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