Christopher Prato - Little Boy or, Enola Gay

I love her , I kept saying to myself, silently. But maybe , I thought, if I kiss Lee Anne, Maria’s past won’t hurt as much . I’ll just be replacing Maria’s past with my own present. Nothing is wrong with just kissing one more girl, a girl I knew I’ll never see again.

“No,” I said. “I don’t have one.” And, without thinking a second thought, my tongue was twirling around in her warm mouth, hers in mine. I yanked her bikini top off, and exposed her perfect breasts. They were huge—even bigger than Maria’s—and immaculate and chalky white, in contrast to her tan body.

Like a piglet fighting his siblings for his mother’s teat, I pressed my head into her bosom and sucked her breasts not knowing where to begin or end. Leaning over, grunting and groaning, I licked her stomach and poked her belly button ring with my tongue. Desperate to impress her, but clueless as to why, I slid my tongue up the middle of her belly, between her tits, and ended by nibbling her chin.

As quickly as we’d begun, we stopped. I figured that having sex with her in the stairwell was a crazy idea. I’d already accomplished what I’d set out to accomplish. I wiped her slimy red lip gloss from my face with the back of my hand, kissed her on the cheek, and said good night. “Good night,” she said with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong, A.J.?”

That’s how Maria began our first phone call after I returned from Virginia. Those words still echo in my mind. I hadn’t even said anything yet, but she suspected something was up. Of course, I was determined to conceal what had happened. I hooked up with two more girls in the very next day, one in the afternoon, one in the evening. Each was a member of a different group of people hanging out there, so they didn’t know about Lee Anne.

Vicki, a French-Canadian girl visiting the beach all the way from Ottawa, was even sexier than Lee Anne. She was also tall, almost my height, but with brown hair and blonde highlights. But unlike Lee Anne, she was intelligent. I think she said she wanted to be a doctor or something, I really can’t remember.

The other girl’s name I forget. I think it was something like Linda, or Melinda. Or it could have been Cindy, I’m really not sure. She wasn’t too attractive, anyway. I’m not into fat girls so I didn’t hook up with her for long. But it was long enough to count.

So, by the time I’d returned to New York on Tuesday evening, Maria and I had both kissed the same number of people, and that was all that mattered. It was only a little white lie. A venial sin. She didn’t need to know—not about the first three, at least. In fact, I promised myself that if I ever cheated on her again, then maybe I would tell her. Evening the score would make me feel a lot better in the long run, I thought, especially when I became jealous of her past. Whenever an image of Guido popped into my head, or I thought about any of the guys she’d hooked up with, I would just think of Lee Anne or Vicki, and forget all about being jealous. I thought it was a pretty good plan.

In my mind, I was doing what I had to do. I remember thinking: I’ve actually matured. It’s not like I have a back-up anymore. See, before I met Maria, whenever I dated a girl, I’d always have a back-up. Basically, I’d talk on the phone with a girl that I knew liked me while I was dating somebody else. That way, in case my girlfriend ever broke up with me, I could just call up the other girl and ask her out. I can’t even remember actually using a back-up. But I always had one, anyway. The last time, of course, was when I was dating Lynn but working on Maria.

I’m trying to think of the words to describe how I felt about cheating on Maria. I really didn’t feel depressed. I didn’t’ cry myself to sleep at night. Instead, I felt frightened—frightened of myself, I think. I kept wondering what else I was capable of doing to her. It was so easy to hook up with Lee Anne, Vicki, and the other girl that I was afraid that someday I’d break my promise to myself, and cheat on her again, and then have to tell her. But I knew I had my reasons for cheating on her, and I eventually forgot all about it.

When I arrived home from Virginia it was pitch black outside. I ran up the stairs, fumbling with my suitcase, trying to avoid the hunter. I hadn’t seen the hunter for a while before that night. Of course, my shadow must of been there all along; but I probably didn’t notice it. That’s all. Nevertheless, the hunter reappeared that night. I guess that for the few months prior I’d just forgotten about him.

For a moment—and I know this sounds ridiculous—I almost thought he’d caught up with me. When I reached the top step, I suddenly felt as if I was being pulled back, like I was going to topple down the staircase. It was pretty scary. But, I figured, it was just the weight of my suitcase pulling me back.

The first thing I did when I got to my room and calmed down was call Maria. As the phone rang, I glanced over at the World War II V-J Day poster on my wall. The aircraft is depicted was sleek and dark; it was the type, I thought, that I’d like to fly someday. Was it a North American T-6? A Supermarine Spitfire IX? I made mental note to ask my father what model plane it was, and to find out more about it. But before I had the chance to do so, I heard Maria’s inquisitive voice.

“What’s wrong, A.J.?” Maria repeated. I was still a bit shaken from almost falling down the stairs, and I suppose she sensed it in my voice.

“Nothing, baby,” I said.

“Okay, but you sound a bit nervous.”

“It’s nothing, really. I just really missed you. Did you miss me? You didn’t say that you missed me.”

“Of course I missed you, A.J. I was bored here without you.”

“Did you flirt with any guys while I was gone?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“What I mean is, did any guys flirt with you? I’m just curious. You didn’t cheat on me did you?”

“No! Jesus, A.J.! What’s your problem?”

“Are you sure?” I asked. She seemed a little defensive, so I became suspicious. “You didn’t talk to any boys while I was gone?”

“No!” She was getting a little pissed off. I kept wondering if she was hiding something. “You were gone for almost a week and this is all you have to say when you call?”

Ignoring her logic, I pressed on. “So,” I said, “you just sat at home all week, doing nothing?”

“I did the laundry,” she said. “Is that okay with you, sir?”

“You don’t have to be so sarcastic.”

“Well you don’t have to be so nosy and suspicious!”

“Please apologize for being sarcastic,” I said.

She hesitated for a few moments. She said, “Fine. I’m sorry. Happy?”

“Yes,” I said. “Me too. I just missed you a lot, that’s all. Did you miss me? You didn’t say you missed me.”

“Yes I did, A.J. I said it five minutes ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. Next time say it louder.”

Maria quickly changed the subject, and began to ask me about Virginia. I told her it was nice, and that I had a good time. There really wasn’t much to say.

“Why don’t you ask me if I flirted with any girls?” I asked her.

“What?”

“You know, I was down there on the beach and all the girls wore bikinis. Weren’t you worried or something?”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“Because I trust you, that’s why!”

“Well, still, it would be nice, you know, to sometimes think that you’re a little jealous.”

“Well, you should be happy that I trust you,” she insisted.

“All right. I guess I am. But still…” And with that I trailed off. It wasn’t the best of conversations. But, then again, we hadn’t seen each other or spoken for a week, so it was a little awkward. As usual, we ended the conversation pleasantly, each with an “I love you,” and said goodbye.