I tell Cynthia I have a story similar to that, that I had an experience, at twenty-two, with a thirteen-year-old girl. I ask Cynthia if she wants to hear my story and she says yes, I want to hear it. We both look at Kathy, who still sleeps, legs on Cynthia’s lap, Cynthia still rubbing them, and Cynthia says so what’s your story? I say if I were ever to write this experience down, I would title it -
THE WATCHMEN LEAVE THEIR STATIONS
– but, as I think about it, perhaps the events of this encounter are not as dramatic as my memory would like to give credence to. The girl’s name was Isabelle; a very pretty young girl, and I met her through her mother. Her mother was forty or something. When we’d met in the bar, I thought she was mid-thirties, and she looked good, but it was, you know, dark, and I was kinda drunk. What was this woman’s name, anyway? You recall the daughter, but not the mother. Oh, yes: Margo. Margo the Mother. Needless to say, Margo took me back to this trailer she lived in and there we had this drunken fuck and fell asleep. I woke up before she did, saw that she was older than I was led to believe, and without her make-up… well, she wasn’t that bad, but when it came to older women, I didn’t pick them that old. Thirty-five at most. Oh well. I looked around the trailer. It was quite messy. Saw that Margo was waking up so I pretended I was asleep. I heard her say Christ, I have to get to work and she nudged me and said hey you wake up now. I acted like I just woke up and asked what time it was. She said it was late, she said it was nine o’clock.
I said the world isn’t even alive at nine.
She said not for a vampire like y’all.
We both went oh oh oh.
She said so what do you remember of last night, sweetheart? anythin’?
I said hey sure what kind of guy do you think I am? and although I didn’t want to, I moved to kiss amp;touch her.
She said ahhhhh, now.
I told her I liked doing it in the morn.
Do you now?
Mornings are the best.
Now, lovebird, last night wasn’t so bad.
Yeah, okay.
But I ain’t no mornin’ love-girl.
I should tell you, Cynthia, that she talked with this southern accent, just like I say it.
She said I really have to get mosyin’ to work.
You work?
I don’t exist on nuthin’, sweetpants. I got me a kid to feed.
Kid?
She’s a kid: a youngun, I don’t know where she is, she’s around here somewhere. She’s a good kid. You dint see her last night? She sleeps on the sleepin’ bag on the floor there. But it was dark and you were drunk.
I said you talk funny.
She said you talk funny, dear, but at least you’re all cute.
I said don’t tell me you’re from Georgia.
She said oh Gawd no. I’m from N’Awlins. Grew up there.
I told her (for the hell of it) (and maybe I wanted to) that I felt like fucking.
She said no, not here, we don’t have time, and maybe my kid might come in.
I said then I just wanted to go back to sleep because I had this very bad hangover.