Skin to Skin
This post deals with heavy topics. I worked extremely hard to be both tactful and compassionate in how I handled writing about these issues, but they may not be appropriate for everyone. Reader discretion is advised.
Rain had just begun to seep through Paul’s hooded sweatshirt onto his skin, but he still didn’t move. Silent, still, unblinking. How long had it been? 30 years? Flashes of pain and fear and shame flooded his mind, overrunning decades of mental blocks and repression that had served as levees until this night.
This is where it happened.
~~~
Paul held the tiny human to his chest. His shirt was off, and even though he expected to be a little grossed out by the remnants of pasty newborn slime that still clung to his daughter--still hid in the crevices of her joints and the crinkles around her face--he wasn’t. His eyes filled with tears. Grimly, he realized that he might not have ever loved another person until now… not really. Not the kind of love that would take a bullet or dive into traffic or tear a man limb from limb or lose his mind fully and completely over. I love you, Felicity.
He couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud yet. If they came out of his mouth, perhaps they would skitter away, leap from the windowsill, sprout wings and leave him without this wonderful sense of purpose.
Felicity’s mother slept in the hospital bed, exhausted from the day (and night and most of the next morning). This wasn’t how Paul imagined he would meet his first child; while standing next to the bed of an ex-girlfriend who, other than a general sense of polite obligation to the other half of her daughter’s genetic code, wanted nothing to do with him.
Paul didn’t blame her. He wanted nothing to do with himself. But he knew Felicity would need better than the man he’d been
~~~
“Hey there,” Paul said, approaching the cute brunette who leaned on the rail overlooking the shot bar. She didn’t look up but adjusted herself to face further away from him. “I’m not from around here, but… Isn’t a hundred bucks pretty steep for a beer? Why would they post that like it’s a steal?” Paul gestured at a sign that advertised a one dollar drink special. It was missing a decimal, but the size difference between the dollars and cents made it unnecessary. The woman smiled, but just a bit, before biting the inside of her cheek and adopting a straight face once more. She shifted back, almost imperceptibly, toward Paul.
“Who do you hate more, me for that joke or yourself for almost laughing at it?” Paul offered a toothy grin.
She repaid it with a brief flash of twinkling eye contact.
“I’m Paul. I’d like to buy you a drink, but if you say no, I’ll leave you alone. Heck, I’ll leave the whole bar and find another with cheaper drinks, too.”
She turned to face him full on. She looked him up and down, and smirked in a coy sort of way. “Marie,” she replied, extending a delicate hand. “I’ll have a Manhattan.”
The next song began to blare throughout the establishment. It was several decibels louder than necessary. Loud enough to drown out consciences.
For the next three hours, the two shouted back and forth over the music, sharing story after story and drink after drink. By the time the bar was closing, they’d found a corner that, intoxicated as they were, seemed secluded. They kissed until the exasperated mixologist began to usher them to the door. Giggling, Marie led Paul to the bus stop, where the two went back to kissing. Soon, they were at her apartment. Their drunken displays of affection escalated.
The next morning, Marie explained her regret, thanked Paul for the drinks, and generously offered to drive him back to his buddy’s apartment where he was staying for the weekend. Paul was hungover and missing a sock.
~~~
The room lit up as Paul’s phone pulsed.
<Is the plan still to all hang out at your place?The message made Paul giddy. He tapped out a response.
Everyone else bailed, but you’re free to come over if you want. It’d just be the two of us, so no hard feelings if you don’t want to.> The text message went through, and soon Paul received the notice that Sarah had read it. His heart skipped a beat when the three dots danced at the bottom of his screen.
<Can I be honest? Of course, I prefer that you are.> <I was hoping the others would bail. I’m about to shower, then I’ll head over.Paul smiled till his cheeks ached. When Sarah arrived, he had a Spotify list of love songs playing lightly in the background.
“Want a drink?” He asked, starting to pour. She said yes.
To every question Paul asked, she said yes.
When he awoke, a wave of shame and guilt washed over him. He barely knew Sarah, and had only really begun flirting with her because he thought she was cute. Work was going to be awfully awkward, now.
You know better than to eat where you—
“Hey you,” Sarah mumbled, barely awake. “Are you watching me sleep?”
Paul hadn’t realized he was staring at her. He chuckled nervously. “I guess I was.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not too creeped out,” she replied, snuggling closer to him. Paul’s entire body tensed up, unsure how to handle the unwanted touch; unsure why he didn’t want it.
Just 12 hours earlier this had seemed to be the one thing he wanted most in the world. He was sure that Sarah was all he’d need to be happy. Why can’t I be happy? Why don’t I know what I want? When will—
“Paul?”
He shook his head just a bit and looked up at her. “Sorry, what was that? I was… lost in thought.”
She’d climbed from the bed and was wearing his flannel shirt. She hadn’t buttoned it. “I asked if you have coffee. I can make it, I just don’t know if you have it. You drink coffee right?”
She doesn’t even know if I drink coffee. “Uh, yeah, of course. Who doesn’t?” He hid his frustration and adopted a flirty tone. “I’ll make it.” He rolled from the bed and followed her into the kitchen. “I’ll make breakfast too,” he continued, “But I need my shirt in case the bacon splatters.” He playfully tugged the clothing off of her.
She didn’t even pretend to be embarrassed, instead just standing there, giving him an impatient glare.
He glanced back at her over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. What are you getting yourself into?
~~~
The carnival ride spun, faster and faster, centripetal motion forcing Amanda into Paul. He turned to her and smiled. She smiled back, until he mimed sicking up. Terror spread across her face, but melted into laughter when she saw he was joking.
As the ride slowed, she shoved him away from her, “You jerk!”
“Oh, come on! It was a little funny. I had you for a second!”
She continued to feign offense. Paul dropped to one knee and pleaded for forgiveness. Loudly.
“Stop! You’re so embarrassing!” She said through a smile.
“I can’t stop till you forgive me! My regret cannot be fathomed!” Paul’s melo-dramatic tone garnered a few awkward glances from passers-by, but Amanda followed suite.
“Good sir, your words stir my sympathies and move my heart. I grant you the forgiveness of your petitions.”
Paul jumped to his feet and pulled her close, “If I may be so bold, I have but one petition more. I must needs feel your lips against mine.”
Their noses bumped as they searched for a first kiss.
Four weeks later, they sipped too-hot espresso while Paul tried to explain that he didn’t feel ready for a relationship and hadn’t meant to lead her on. This apology was much more sincere, but, understandably, Amanda withheld forgiveness.
~~~
From the back of the class, Paul scanned the room to find any attractive girls to sit by. In the third row he found what he was hoping for.
He sat down in the chair next to her. “Hey, Any chance you have a spare pen?”
“Sure, no worries!” she said, handing him the pen she held while digging to extricate a spare.
“Thanks. I’m Paul, and I am usually more prepared than this; I just realized I didn’t bring one,” Paul said. It was a lie in more ways than one; Paul was exactly this prepared for every first day of class, and had known since he left his apartment that there were no pens in his bag. Borrowing a pen had been his go-to method of getting to know a girl in every class since his sophomore year.
~~~
Paul sat behind Clara in Spanish. His goal with every class was to make her laugh at least once. He’d had a crush on her all year, but she had a boyfriend. Or at least, she used to. Recently, she’d told him they broke up, and Paul had been screwing his courage to the sticking place for over a week.
On this particular day, he succeeded in making Clara chuckle by doodling a pair of pants with grass stains on the backside and displaying it for her while pronouncing the Spanish word for thank you in a deep, East Texas drawl.
When the bell rang, Clara turned to face him as they stood. “Hey, would you be my date to the Sadie Hawkins dance?”
Paul stammered out a shocked and enthusiastic “Yes!”
After the dance, Paul floated in a mind-fogging joy. After dropping Clara off at home, he looked in the rearview mirror and tried to stop smiling, but couldn’t.
On Sunday, Clara didn’t respond to his text messages, and on Monday he learned that she and James had gotten back together.
~~~
Paul unfolded the note delicately. He held his breath while he read.
Paul, I’m really flattered that you like me as more than a friend. I think you are such a sweet and nice guy. I value your friendship more than you know. I just don’t like you in that way. I’m sorry.
-Jess
~~~
Paul’s arms hung limp at his side while Ms. Holloway questioned him. His eye was swollen shut. She furrowed her brow and looked intently at the injured boy, but Paul counted the eyelets on his sneakers, refusing to look at her face. Soon after Ms. Holloway stopped talking, Paul realized that she expected him to fill the silence with a response, but he didn’t know what she’d asked. He pursed his lips and decided to say nothing. The only thing worse than hitting his cousin would be ratting on her.
~~~
“Shhhh!” The sound was harsh and demeaning. “Boys don’t cry.”
Paul flinched, and Ellen’s voice softened, filling with saccharine warmth.
“It’s OK. You just have to be really quiet. If your mom finds out, she’d be really mad at you. Trust me. You’ll like it!”
Cousin Ellen was almost five years older than Paul, and was always put in charge when they were left unattended to play outside. Paul knew if he didn’t mind her, he’d get an earful from his mom later.
So when she told him what to do, he dutifully obeyed. He blushed when she pointed at his exposed skin. “See, I told you you’d like it.”
~~~
After decades of suppression, he stood in the backyard of his childhood home gazing at the little shed that had been a playhouse so long ago. Drenched by the unceasing drizzle, he allowed himself to feel the magnitude of what he had lost; what she had taken from him.
He accepted that he hadn't liked it.
He hadn’t wanted it.
He understood now that it was possible for men to not want it. He invited the truth into his long-numb soul, and he wept. His tears were lost in the rain, but they made him feel strong and clean.
