“You.”
“How am I funny? I don’t know anyone who sits around, doing nothing and being still.”
“Lot of people do it. Most the time they f**k it up with their eyes glued to a television set, filling their mind with garbage.”
I had to admit this was true. “Is that why you think I’m funny? Because I can’t be still?”
“I think you’re funny because you asked me if it was a Native American thing.”
“Why’s that funny?”
“The only thing I know about my culture is what I’ve read in books. I was off the rez by the time I was twelve. The two years before that I was bounced around amongst people with good hearts who took me in but not enough patience to deal with my shit. Before that all I knew was my Dad gettin’ shitfaced drunk every f**kin’ night of his life, most of those beatin’ my Mom bloody while my brother and I watched.”
Every muscle, bone and piece of tissue in my body froze including my lungs and heart. Then I snapped out of it, leaned over him, reached high and turned out the light.
“Jules?”
I settled in beside him and put my arm around his waist and pulled him to his side, facing me.
“Jules,” he repeated.
I looked up at him, my arm stayed around his waist and I pressed my front to his.
Then I whispered, “I can’t do it, Vance. You have to give me time. I need the moonlight.” I took a deep breath then said, “But before you get upset, you have to know that I know it counts, this counts more than any of it.”
A change came about him. I could barely see it but I could definitely feel it.
“Jesus, Jules,” he muttered but he wasn’t disappointed in me. It was something else, something bigger, something that made his voice sound kind of husky.
It was something good.
I pushed deeper into him. “If I had a superpower,” I whispered, “I’d go back in time. I’d talk your Dad to an AA meeting. I’d get you back your family.”
“Quiet Jules.”
“I’d fix your Mom so she was only beautiful and not broken –”
“Quiet.”
“And you’d know all about your culture because you should.”
He rolled into me, then on top of me. “If you aren’t quiet, I’ll make you quiet.”
“You should at least find your brother, Vance.”
His hands came to either side of my face.
“I’ll help you,” I offered.
He kissed me and he didn’t stop there. He did a lot of things that made me stay quiet.
Not exactly quiet, as such, but the sounds I was making didn’t have anything to do with a recognized language.
So I guess I figured out how to get Vance to make a move and take his turn.
After we were done, he pulled a soft knit, chenille blanket out of the cubbyhole over the hall ceiling and arranged it on top of us.
He held me front-to-front, my face in his throat.