Diverse Voices Quarterly Issue 1 & 2

“Too bad.”
Sarah brought her lower lip to the highest ridge of tissue on my scarred chest. My
disfigured flesh was the only memorial we had of our dead son. I gathered her brown skirt
in both hands and felt a tear fall on my collarbone as I held the fabric against her thighs.
Sarah sat up slowly, pulled her hair behind her shoulders, unbuttoned then unzipped
my pants. She said, “I want you to tell me why you do it.”
“It helps my anxiety.”
I dropped her skirt and slid my jeans down.
“To be on the mountain?” she asked.
“To look for Junior.”
Sarah reached beneath her skirt, put me inside her, then asked, “Why is it so hard to
tell me when you’ll be home?”
“I don’t know.”
Sarah closed her eyes. She was already close. I kissed her neck until she came.
A minute passed before she said, “Yes, you do.”
“I don’t know when I’ll see him.”
“And you want to stay until you do?”
“But he’s not there anymore.”
That was as far as words could take us. The kids opened the backdoor. We could hear
them chattering as they took off their boots. Sarah moved her hips forcefully, rubbing her
clitoris through my pubic hair. She interlaced her fingers in mine. I arched my back to lift
my pubic bone. Sarah drove her clitoris into the bone. Her breasts were brushing my scar.
Sarah closed her eyes as she came again and mouthed for me to go.
I asked her to look at me.
We heard the nylon swishing on the kids’ snowsuits as they walked together down the
hall. Sarah was standing on the oak floor, buttoning her blouse; the white cotton bra was
hanging from the dresser when the kids entered Annie’s bedroom.
Annie was frozen in the doorway. Jack pushed past her as she admired the soft light
of the butterflies.
Diverse Voices Quarterly, Vol. 1, Issue 1 & 2
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