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whistly, staccato breaths. Inhuman breaths. Then a final heave out, nearly a whimper, and his mother’s voice: “I can’t do this.”
For many more minutes there was only silence. Peter kept his hand on the knob, to prevent her from coming in and finding him lurking in the dark of her bathroom.
Then he heard the bedroom door shut. He relaxed his grip, deciding to wait a few seconds before escaping.
“Hey.” It was Tom’s whisper, playfully loud and exaggerated. “What’re you doing in the dark?”
“I thought I’d get out of this dress.”
“Oh no you don’t. I’ve been waiting all day to take this dress off myself.”
Please no. Peter looked around for another exit from this room. His bathroom at his old house had had three different doors. This one didn’t even have a closet, and the window was too high and too small. He’d make a racket just hoisting himself up. Maybe he should at least hide behind the shower curtain.
“You look so serious.” Tom’s voice was closer now, on the bed with her, only a few feet from where Peter stood.
“Marriage is serious.”
“Not all the time.”
“It’s like teaching a class. You have to make all the right choices at the beginning or it’s a wash.”
“Trial and error.”
“No, no errors.”
He laughed. “Maybe not on your part, but I’m going to make some.” Peter heard the beetlelike buzz of the long zipper of his mother’s dress. “But not tonight. I’m not going to make one mistake tonight.”
“Maybe I should go say good-night to Peter first.”
“Not yet.” His voice was muffled.
“Quickly, I promise.”
The zipper went back up, the door opened and closed. He had to go now. His mother would call the police when she couldn’t findhim. But Tom was pulling off his shoes. Item by item his clothes fell to the floor. Now he was going to come into the bathroom. Peter held the knob firmly, readying himself for the fight he would surely lose with one shoulder shove from Tom.
Instead, his mother returned.
“How is he?” Tom asked.
“Better.”
Better?
“What’s he up to?”
“They’re all still glued to the tube.”
“Where’d you find that?”
“In the fridge.”
“Must be vinegar by now. Now let’s get this thing off and see what’s going on under there.”
“One sec.” A pause, then a glass being set on the bedside table.
The dress was unzipped all the way down this time. Peter heard it rustle to the floor. He moved in swift silence to the other side of the room and stepped into the tub. His shoes squeaked but the sound was drowned out by Tom, whom he could still, unfortunately, hear clearly. “God, you are beautiful. So long and smooth. You’re like an oboe. I’m finally going to learn to play an instrument.” After a while he said, “Do you know how long I’ve waited to have you, have all of you? God, we’ve been living like teenagers.”
At first Peter tried to fight the great and horrifying waves of words, but soon he surrendered and let them crash over him. At least he could hear none of his mother’s responses, and it became easy, after a while, to imagine she had left the room. The problem was, once he got his mother out of the room his disgust abated, and other feelings began to creep in.
“God I want to fuck you.” Tom started laughing, then said in a wholly different, tender voice, “Oh, Vida, you are the first thing I’ve wanted in so long.” He said other things, some vulgar, some tender,and suddenly Peter understood the word juxtaposition, a term Miss Rezo had introduced recently. Juxtaposition of words, of tone, of mood. He understood it all now. He felt it in his body.
“Are you ready now, Vida? Are you ready for me?” There was shifting, rustling, Tom laughing. “I can’t quite. Let’s … Is this hurting? Am I hurting you? Let’s try a different.” More shifting and swishing. “Oh Vida you are so. I just want. I can’t seem. Let’s try.”
Peter didn’t know it was so complicated.
“Let’s try some