9. Circles Across The Floor

April 2002

Henry’s arms wrap around my waist, his fingers tapping against my hips, keeping up with the music. We dance slowly across the family room in small circles, hips swaying against each other. We lean into each other and smile, taking our time to get there. There’s no need to rush. We are young and want to dance first. I tuck my head into his chest to smile and breathe him into my lungs. He smells of cedar and smoke from the fire we built in the backyard after we returned from dinner. The house is empty and ours for the night. Both of us are home for a break. My feet are bare as we dance across the family room. I let the pads of them slide across the floor, enjoying the coolness of the wide wooden planks. Henry starts to sing along to the record quietly, serenading me. The song will haunt me as I move through my life – making me smile; making me cry. I feel his breath on my ear, and his tongue draws me closer to him, circling my lobe before he nips. I look up at him and pout before standing on my toes to return the favor. We laugh with our eyes and steer ourselves toward the couch, falling into it together. I cannot stop kissing him.

While we were outside, building the fire, we stood across from each other with matches and lit them, daring each other to hold onto them, a contest to see who would drop theirs first, with ghoulish smiles on our faces. We were stubborn, and both let the flames singe our fingers before dropping them onto the wood.

When we come up for air, the moon is low in the sky. Our clothes are still on because we came back to the house unprepared. We spend time exploring each other with hands and lips, sinking our teeth into each other softly, and discovering skin hidden from sight. We are both pleasantly rumpled and vibrating with tension. The back of my neck is a rip cord. Henry kisses it, and I lean back against his chest, shaking.

“Are you cold?” he asks, hugging me.

“Yes,” I lie, not ready for him to leave.

He pulls a blanket over us and whispers words in my ear that make me laugh as he circles a finger around my navel. I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of a snap button and a zipper. He paints me with his fingers, stroking until I am wet again. I feel him smile against my ear as my breaths turn to moans. I fly until I fall. He kisses my laughs away, and I grow soft and quiet in his arms again.

“Again,” he says. “Again,” I say, then up I soar, crying out for more.

“I should let you sleep,” he murmurs after I’ve returned to the ground.

My hand moves to return the favor, but he stops me, kissing my fingers instead.

“You look like you’re about to slip into a dream, Caroline. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Let’s sleep here instead,” I tell him, turning into him. He hesitates, and I stay quiet, waiting. I watch the change move across his face. A slight transition, but I catch it. A wall is being carefully built.

“I should get home. Don’t want to freak out the parents,” he nudges me, and I stand up, unfolding automatically like an acquiescing marionette. We make a plan to go to dinner the next night. He lingers against the back door.

I want him to pull me upstairs; he wants me to lead him up the stairs. We are both too afraid to make the move. Instead, we grin and shake our heads at each other. I listen to his shoes tap against the limestone steps and hear him hum the song as he descends. We wave at each other until he disappears from sight.

This is how it’s been since we first met: We dance. We fall, run away in opposite directions, and do it again. We will repeat ourselves for years after this night, taking turns bruising our hearts. Who leads. Who follows. Who drops the match first. We’re too afraid to be honest until it’s too late.