Legacies leave things behind. The left-behinds transform to the lost. None would know how Christ looked had the villagers not run to their huts inspired. Darwin patterns decorate more than exotic animals. The Toyota Camry slowly morphs to the more luxury look of the Lexus. A prominent Cadillac grill copied on a new Ford. Is this the same thing that gets daughters like mothers? Nowadays, teens are texting their picks for natural selection.
Are Jesus paintings covers of Jesus paintings? Or of Jesus? One can argue all portraits as covers, sunsets covers too, a day a cover of the last, a year, a century. The USA a cover of England. Football a cover of war. This links everything to a repetitive tradition. Lightning bolts assisted in this game of improvement. Saints no longer hoard ecstasy. iPod nanos spark bedrooms on fire. As Jimi Hendrix writes on a postcard home:
Belief comes through electricity. We’re playing for our sound to go inside of the soul. You’re not going to find it in church. A lot of kids don’t find nothing in church. I remember I got thrown out of church because I had the improper clothes on. I had tennis shoes and a suit.
DREAM HOUSE
They were so in love that JP switched all his afternoon classes to Missy’s schedule. Missy had tried to switch hers, but she had the mean guidance counselor. Everyday JP quickly changed into gym clothes to be the first one waiting outside the girls’ locker room. Tying her hair with an elastic, Missy would stroll out with a calmness that had to do with dating JP. In CVS, Missy looked at sex tips in Cosmo, trying to become a more adventurous lover. It was always the same tips. “It doesn’t feel good there,” JP said kindly as she tried to find it again, between the testicles and the anus, the spot magazine people swore by.
Walking down Main Street, it was beautiful weather. “This is the season with most beautiful weather!” JP announced. “All seasons have beautiful weather!” sang Missy and JP did not disagree. Again JP brought up the plans for their dream house. Recently, they had added a new room, the live butterfly room, inspired by the exhibit at the Natural History Museum. Missy bought an ice cream and they sat on the park bench trading licks. In the vacant lot where the gas station used to be, the middle-school skater kids had set up some jumps and a poorly constructed half-pipe. “How about a planetarium?”
“Yes!” JP took a big lick, blending the chocolate with the vanilla. “Wait, no,” he poked Missy in a ticklish place, “now its starting to sound too much like the museum!” She laughed. The skateboards made a nice sound of wheels running over rough ground. The skater kids weren’t any older than 5th grade. One of them must have been in elementary school. He wore enormous JNCO cords over his puny legs.
“Do you still think our parents should live underground?” Missy wrinkled her forehead, “Or was that just part of the old plan?” JP put his arm around Missy’s shoulder, his hand reaching to brush against her boob.
“Not underground! Their houses will be above-ground, but attached to ours with an underground tunnel!” Missy hoped someone might see the hand on her boob. It wasn’t supposed to be there. One of the 5th grade skaters didn’t have enough money for pizza so he started to propose dare-devil stunts. “If I skate up that board, then ollie in the air, grab on that bar and do a flip, you have to give me a dollar.” Missy discreetly moved her hand to JP’s erection, pushing it through his jeans. She stared at the elementary-school skater without seeing him. “Should they live in the same house, or different houses?” She murmured, unsure of what she was saying. JP squeezed her nipple through her shirt, “The same house,” he whispered in her ear, then squeezing it once more, “different houses I mean.” A cool wind blew on their faces.
The 5th grader did the stunt and landed. No one would give him any dollars. One kid took a penny and threw it at his forehead. The elementary-school skater laughed a silly high-pitched laugh. The laugh echoed in Missy’s ears as she stuck her tongue in JP’s mouth. JP’s mouth was the best place she’d ever been. It was like falling asleep and waking up. Could there be a room in the dream house that would feel like JP’s mouth? Oh wait, she could just kiss JP in any of the rooms. Again the calmness filled her body. JP’s erection got bigger and with a muscle he had, he made it twitch, butting through his jeans against Missy’s hand.
“I bet you can’t do that, douchebag!” The 5th grader challenged the elementary-school skater, pushing him into a brick wall. Missy had her finger on the tiny gold zipper that could unzip JP’s fly. JP’s tongue shoved wildly in her mouth, which she endured, disapproving his methods but relishing his enthusiasm. Once, she had read in the Guinness Book of World Records that two people had once kissed for 3 days straight. Did they sleep with their tongues in each other’s mouths? How did they eat? JP’s hand held Missy’s boob. She had wanted a four-poster bed, but JP had suggested a loft bed because they were cool. One time Missy had seen a movie about a young artist who slept in a loft bed and bathed in a bathtub that was in the center of her apartment. Her apartment was one big room. For curtains the artist had stapled up her wedding dress. She had run out on her wedding to move to New York City. The dream house wasn’t going to be in New York City though. There wouldn’t be enough space. It wouldn’t be feasible.
“Let’s add a stain-glass window,” Missy said with his tongue in her mouth. She opened one eye and he opened one and they stared at each other like bugs. His finger returned to her nipple and she forgot about the dream house. The elementary-school skater skated up the ramp gaining speed, then tried to jump to the bar, over-shot it, hit his head with a crack, skidding his knees and elbows on the pavement. There was blood on his corduroy JNCOs. The boys crowded around. JP looked at the commotion and Missy felt her mouth empty again, wonderful-JP-tongue having left. JP turned back and was struck by the glazed look of Missy’s face. “Of course stain-glass windows, loads of stained glass,” he said into her neck. This time she did pull the zipper down. She wriggled her hand in his boxers and felt through the opening, his bare penis! The first time she had touched his penis, it had reminded her of the rubbery legs of barbies. Then she got used to it. Now she thought it felt smooth. Smooth like a baby. Eww, not like a baby! Adults had run over and a man knelt beside the fallen skater. The dare-devil 5th grader was crying. Missy paused her hand to watch this crying. Crying was beautiful too. Especially in the season of good-feeling weather. Crying was like waterfalls. No, not like waterfalls, but it looked like, what did it look like? Crying felt like tired-after-dancing. The elementary-school skater had a bloody face with gravel stuck in it. A part of his head was wet with blood too. The hair was slicked or else missing. “Ewww,” Missy could see it with the one eye she opened. Then more adults blocked her view and she turned back to JP. Somehow a little feather, like one from a baby chick had landed in his hair!
If it wasn’t past 5, then they could stay out a little longer. Maybe at 5 they would get cheese slices. She nibbled on JP’s lip. A siren moaned in the distance. Sirens sounded pretty, like boat language, or like when a plane goes past a rainbow in the sky and makes a special sonic cry. JP took his hand away from her nipple and she remembered again about the house. Maybe if one of the lobbies were open to the winter air, maybe then they could have an ice sculpture. In one of the courtyards. Sometimes, the ice sculpture could be her and JP’s initials, another time, it could be their faces locked in a kiss. There could be an ice man who would re-sculpt it when it got droopy. He could live underground. One time, maybe he could show her how to use the chainsaw. She would like that.