Chemistry
I pecked away at the keyboard.
I trained my eyes on a screen
that depicted my worst moments
dusted and polished as noble gestures,
to banish the sadness
of my white trash privilege
as an answer to my vulgar poems.
Tegan, a girl from high school, had no idea I loved her.
I lived on the side of the tracks
that had neighborhoods set in new trailers.
Our beige double-wide had a white picket fence
with shrubs evenly hedged.
Mom spread oak bark along the edge of the place
and a small porcelain waterfall across
near the small maple tree.
I’d swing on the porch swing
on summer nights.
Tegan lived on the side of the tracks
where people bitched over a spilled latte.
Tegan was smart.
She was smarter than I was stupid.
And that’s saying a lot.
Tegan helped me with my sophomore chemistry class.
I passed because of her.
Hell, it’s safe to say that I graduated because of Tegan.
I drew the relaxed version of herself out of herself.
We laughed and made funny faces.
We wore white coats and goggles
to finish assignments.
I lacked the guts to ask her on a date.
What would my friends think?
I fished for excuses to pat myself
on the back and give plausible
deniability to feed my regrets.
Three years after graduation,
At a Safeway,
I drummed my thumbs
along the shopping cart
to the soft pop that played
through the ceiling speakers.
I was looking for something sweet.
I squinted.
It was Tegan.
I approached her before
asking myself whether
it was a good idea.
“Tegan?” I said.
She pushed a cart down the bakery aisle.
She stopped and twisted around. “Yes?” She arched a brow.
“I’m not sure if you remember me.”
Tegan’s eyes softened. “Nathan! How have you been?” She played with her necklace and moved her eyes around as if to see if I was alone. “Did you graduate from college?”
I smiled. “I have a degree in chemistry.”
Tegan playfully punched my stomach. “I passed the bar.”
I pointed and tilted my head. “A lawyer?”
“If you ever need a criminal defense attorney, let me know.”
“Well,” I said. “You’re the person I need to talk to.”
“Is everything okay?” Tegan placed her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m guilty of something.”
“I’m listening.” Tegan looped her arms around her waist.
“I’m guilty of having chemistry with you and never telling you.”
“I’m sure we can work out a plea deal for you,” Tegan said, brushing away a tear.
“Most guys want me for my money.” Tegan sniffled. “But you weren’t like them. You wanted nothing from me.”
“I was sure you’d never give me a chance because I didn’t have money. I am doing well for myself now.” I waved away any concern.
Tegan inched closer, and my heart thumped in my chest.
She pressed her luscious red lips to mine.
A wavelength of passion rushed along the length of my spine.
(© 2024 AC)
(My new poetry collection: Screaming At Anxiety)
