fall 2008; add and eve are both sophomores

I wake up first with a start, recoiling from the person I’m sleeping with. Where am I? What happened last night? Who is it this time? Slowly my surroundings fade in: our dorm, the tipped box of condoms obscuring the 8 AM alarm clock, clothes and dust on the floor (and everywhere else), a Swiffer in the corner in mint condition. Oh, I think with realization, this is all right.

I turn, slightly, to my side to face Add, who had been a stranger moments ago but is now just a gently sleeping boy. He looks different so close up. I’m trying to think of the word his face, all big and sleepy, reminds me of. Kinder, I think, but I brush the thought away and I brush the dirty-blonde hair out of his eyes. Now I can see what he is dreaming of. I should get dressed. I should study. I should tell him about the handful of flings I had in the semester we were apart. But I kiss his lips instead and he stirs. My insides pray for forgiveness; time grant me reprieve.

Something low in the evolutionary ladder swings his arm around me and unconsciously but firmly pulls me close until his nose and chest are touching mine. I smile but quietly turn around so that we are respectably spooning, so that I can fall asleep again without breathing in his carbon dioxide.

But the creature stirs now against my thigh, peeking and then insistent. All thoughts of sleep are displaced by one singular thought now. And I slide up gently on bed until my head touches the headboard, part my legs, and slide down care … carefully.

And we miss class.

Later, many naps later, Add is lower down in the bed resting his face against my breasts, and we are happy and quiet and bright with the sun of 10 AM, a gregarious and generous version of the 8 AM one. For some reason we are not cold and though this thought has not sunk in our consciousnesses yet, our spines are more fluid and our bodies more nebulous. Add lazily traces my skin, my flaws, all my invisible flaws I have shown to him and no one else. By now I know Add and how, given his playfulness, he must’ve been some sort of otter spirit in a past life, and I am waiting for it with wetness and anticipation and it happens. He glances up at me. Sweet boy, I think, I have no advice for you right now, and I shove his head back into my chest with more force than necessary. It ends in the right amount of time.

And then I unstupefy myself and reach out for him from my self-spun cocoon of happiness and warmth but he is not there. Reluctant, I open my eyes and he has put on pajamas and thrown open the window to let the air in.

“What are you doing?” I say, feeling the wind against my sex and sweat and shivering slightly.

He turns back and smiles. “Spring is here.”

“No, it isn’t,” I say, throwing the sheets to the ground and arranging myself for him. “No, it isn’t,” he agrees, disrobing and closing the windows fast enough to clear the courtyard of crows. Our spines melt against the spring.