Page 35 of You've Got a Place Here, Too

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And I murmured this into her ear, and she smiled

her smile, and singsong whispered into my ear,

“Do your postflight shutdown. Just like you would for the exam.

The faster you get it done, the faster we get back to my place.”

Bro. If Melody was waiting open and warm on the

other side of my midterm I knew I’d pass it lightspeed.

Before she could say anything else, I was done

with the postflight and we were in her off-campus spot.

She had a roommate, who was out for the night,

and we toed off our shoes and moved into her room.

She turned on the light and unbuttoned her sweater.

“You done this before?” she asked, reaching for a condom.

I shook my head. “Um, I’ve done a lot of simulation.

But never taken flight with a co-pilot.”

She laughed and tugged at my belt. “I’ll tell you anything that doesn’t

feel good, and you tell me everything that does. Deal?”

And I ain’t never thought of the body

as a miracle, but we were softness and stiffness, and I smelled

her skin in the pockets I’d only dreamed about,

and her breasts in my hands reminded me

of the cashew tree back home, how perfect each

nut whetted and met my hunger.

We spent the next week in Melody’s bed.

I got to some classes, I missed others. I studied for midterms.

Melody drove me to the big Latino supermarket forty miles away

and we picked up a hand of plantains, salami, queso. For the next three

mornings we ate mangú and fried cheese. We had mofongo

for lunch, and when the yellowing ones turned brown, I made

enough sweet plantains to leave a Tupperware full for Josh.

We played house, in her little apartment, with scarves

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