T. Johnson - Hold It 'Til It Hurts

After that, he knew their bodies were made for each other. He hadn’t felt this for Janice. He melted at Ines’s smile, and just the sound of her voice on the phone earned a salute. Achilles was unaccustomed to so much downtime, but found himself feeling less guilty as time went on. For one thing, didn’t helping Ines mean that he was always looking for Troy while she was working? For another thing, Troy was a grown man, wasn’t he? He was probably fine and would show up when he was good and ready. There wasn’t any guarantee he was still in New Orleans anyway. Achilles deserved some R&R, didn’t he?

But the biggest reason the guilt receded was because he was happy. He had never before had such access to the female body. But he didn’t think that was why he was happy. His first week in Goddamnistan, he realized that he had been happy at home but had never known it. He missed Janice, the mill, the cool quarry water, everything that up until then he had thought he was doing to pass the time until his real life began. He’d had nothing but time, and it felt like a burden, like the proverbial rich man whose fortune drives his insomnia, except that Achilles’s fortune was time, and he was always looking for ways to spend it. That first week on rotation, before he learned to shut it all away, to hope for nothing, what he wouldn’t have given to be home helping his father weatherize the house or cut the grass or shore up the barn, but once home, all those tasks lost their nostalgic luster and he wanted a rifle in his hands and a pack on his back and to be doing something that mattered. Anyone could cut grass, but not everyone could clear a room in 5.2 seconds. Then, after the funeral, he’d have given anything to do that again, running the mower along the drive while his dad warned him away from the rocks, as he did every single time, even when Achilles was home on leave. He had not realized at the time that maybe Watch the rocks was another way of saying I love you. He’d learned to take whatever pleasure came his way, and Ines was all his. No kids, no ex-husbands, no crazy brothers.

Of course it helped that he’d never known a woman more comfortable with her naked self. Even prostitutes around the bases covered up after the act. He wondered now if that was to keep him from getting more than his money’s worth. With Ines, it was different. She would spring out of bed and roll a joint, or sweep, or read, or make phone calls nude. That was something Achilles could never do. To be nude on the phone was impossible. Besides, to whom would he talk nude? Since he’d stopped returning Janice’s calls, he didn’t have many telephone conversations with any woman other than Ines. It would seem gay to be naked on the phone with his friends. It would be too creepy with his mother. He didn’t even like it when Ines was nude while talking to her own mother. Other than that, everything was perfect, and his only concern was what to say when his brother did show up.

He imagined that after finding Troy, they would drive straight home. Troy would be exhausted from his search, but appreciative, in his case meaning quiet but responsive, unlike their last ride home when he had been sullen. He was rarely sullen, but when opting for radio silence became nearly catatonic, prompting Merriweather to once say, “I fucked noisier pussies!” When they squeezed through the front door, their mother and aunts would cheer and clap, welcoming Troy home, but more so applauding Achilles’s tireless efforts. Kisses and hugs, cries and sighs. His mother wouldn’t be wearing that backpack, not around company. Their names up in glittering letters, the party would finally begin. They could even have that parade Janice had mentioned. Sure, Troy had a Silver Star. But Achilles had Troy. Instead, Achilles received a voice mail and one text message: TROY ON WAY FROM NEW ORL!!!! ANY MINUTE NOW!!!!

A dozen exclamation marks! When he called her back, the line was busy, of course. Thirty minutes later, his mother’s line was still busy. She and Troy were probably talking to each other, laughing the whole thing off, as Troy did so well. Achilles had been out on the road for almost two months, but it felt like two years. All of that crap and he didn’t even get a phone call. He counted them, twice. Eight exclamation marks!

When he finally spoke to his mother, she didn’t sound like the same person who had sent the text message. She was so composed he wondered if it was for his benefit.

“He must have gotten one of your messages,” she said. “That’s the only way.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“He would have done it for you. And know what else? You were successful. You were there when it mattered. I was counting on you, and you came through. Your energy and faith and belief.” She had big plans. She’s going to cook for her sons. She’s going to have that extra room built on the back so they can put in that pool table their father always threatened to buy. She’s going to let them have a dog. They could build a kennel out back, or have the dog in the house, if they want. Every prohibition was lifted, every pledge affirmed, every courtesy extended. Though, of course, this didn’t mean that she expected them to move home. No. Not at all. She’d never suggest such a thing. Preposterous. They were soldiers now, men. Their country might call them to serve at a moment’s notice. In fact, Achilles didn’t even need to come home now. No, she was only saying that they would always have a house to come home to. Always. A comfortable home. The home they always wanted. Their home, really, because, as she explained with a smile in her voice, “No one is going to be around forever.”

He said he would leave the very next day, but he dreaded returning home, recalling those few nightmarish days, the lame laugh tracks, the preposterous comic books, the cheesy British accents. He packed anyway.

Having heard that in the seventies it was a backpacking haven known for the hospitality of the natives, he had often wondered what Afghanistan looked like in the deep sleep of peace. How would New Orleans feel now that it was only he and Ines? Now that Troy had resurfaced and headed back to Maryland, would Achilles have the same vertigo as on his first day home, when he awoke and didn’t know what to do? Surprisingly, he didn’t. The morning after his mother’s call, he felt free, a little nervous, like a puppy testing the leash, but free. So when Ines called that morning and suggested a staycation, he agreed. One more day couldn’t hurt. She shuffled a deck of souvenir cards featuring the top fifty-two New Orleans landmarks, and they each selected two. Because they did this over the phone, she had to tell Achilles what he had selected via the sexiest proxy in the city : Jackson Square and Café Du Monde. Meanwhile, she’d selected the Zoo and Café Du Monde.

His last trip to the Quarter was a blur. He and Wages had made the obligatory stop at Pat O’Brien’s and the Dungeon, then spent the afternoon daiquiri shop hopping, so Ines said he was still a Quarter virgin. They went first to Café Du Monde for hot chocolate made with real milk, and beignets — the blessed French pastry flash fried and dusted with confectioner’s sugar. Ines called it sacrilege when Achilles ordered his without sugar. She ate hers proper, so that the first bite released the dulcet steam trapped in the center, coating the tip of her nose and making a mustache. In a deep voice she said, “Kiss me, dammit.” And he did, quickly, suddenly shy, stealing a kiss that tasted of sugar and chocolate and lipstick. She dipped her beignets in hot chocolate and watched the sugar float on top, clumping up and clinging to the side of the mug. He followed suit.

Ines looked at Achilles’s ashy hands, pulled a bottle out of her purse, slathered his hands with lotion, and massaged it in until his hands were smooth and gleaming, even the knuckles shimmering like wet coffee beans. She did this without skipping a beat in the conversation, and when she finished, his hands were throbbing. He hadn’t known that nonsexual contact could be so intensely pleasurable, so intimate. In high school, in an attempt to segue into seductive slang, he’d once told Aiko, “I was thinking about you last night.” In response, she’d blushed and said she was thinking about him too. After much coaxing and whispering, she admitted that she’d imagined walking with him and holding his hand and laughing, much laughing, smiling. He’d thought she was joking. Now he understood. Everything in his body ran loose, his limbs slack and free, blood pounding in his temple, the vein in his thumb thrumming.