First Kiss

I know should see somebody about the voices in my head, but if I did, and the voices went away, then who would I talk to?  Life is hard enough without having to keep repeating things to yourself that you've already heard a hundred times. But what do I know about anything anyway; I'm a horny sixteen-year-old virgin for Christsakes; I don't have parents and I live in a goddamned car.  So what do I care what happens to me next?   I do what I want and leave crumbs for other people to pick over like it's chicken bones they're fighting over.  Shrinks, doctors, teachers:  What's the difference?  They all want something and they don't give nothing back.  I'm just another Petri dish to them:  something they make penicillin in. 

They wrote a book about me once that they say made a lot of money, but my check must have gotten lost in the mail.  But it doesn't matter; I've got what I need.  I could live in a box and still think I'm living in Bucking-fucking-ham Palace:  As long as it's air conditioned.  In fact, that's why I came here to this church this morning, because it's fucking hot outside and I need a place to sleep until the sun goes down. 

The church is half empty and I'm half asleep in the last row when this half-dressed, head spinning stunner walks in and sits down next to me.  She can't be a day over sixteen and when she sticks her bare knee up against my sweaty leg and reaches for the hymnal, her hand brushes against the rising bulge in my pants.  I can feel my heart rattling around inside my rib cage and my skin's so hot I figure I should probably check with somebody to see if I've got a fever.  Suddenly she tilts my head back and plants a hard wet kiss on my mouth like she's offering me Holy Communion.  She's got her tongue half way down my throat, but her spit tastes like wine so why would I mind?  I just give into it, and while it drips down my chin she gives me a little cheerleader wink and says, "Think of that as the blood of Christ and consider yourself saved." 

"Thanks, I tell her," like I have any idea what she's talking about." So, you come here often?" 

OK, so I know how lame that sounds, but there's a party going on in my pants and I can't think straight.

"Uh, no," she says, "I've never actually been in a church before, but it was just so hot outside I thought maybe I’d stop in and cool off. " 

I feel compelled to tell her that the A/C's broken, but judging by the drop of sweat on her upper lip, and the way her skirt's sticking to her bare thighs, I figure she already knows that.

"So," she says, "you wanta go somewhere and get an root beer float?"

"Not in this condition," I tell her.  "Give me a minute."

She takes a peek at the bulge in my crotch and grins;  "Looks like you might be awhile," and then she checks her watch like she's got a train to catch.  "I really should be going", she says, "my boyfriend thinks I'm stuffing my bra, peroxiding my hair, and having my nails done, and believe me, I don’t need the aggravation.  See you next week?

"Count on it."

I don't know what's happening, but if this is what it feels like to get saved, I'm all for it.  On the way out the door, I make myself a note:  "Go to church next Sunday.  And don't be late."