Limper

There is a man skulking up the side of the road: one leg lift, limp. Leg lift, limp. Leg lift, limp. My finger glides automatically to the power lock– shhh-schick—it’s done. Arms out, legs spaced apart in the effort to move, his hulking size intimidates me; my city roots start the alarm. I am awed that I missed his presence in my walk down the street, can’t believe I wasn’t more aware. Where else have I been so oblivious.

The lights shine on his face as the truck swings out into the road. His mug is ruddy, broken in two by a graying mustache. Bare head in this rain; what is he doing out here, focused on the street in front of him? Lift, limp, lift, limp. I turn my eyes to the road.

The streets are dark, 2 a.m. has ideas that don’t involve light. The borrowed behemoth I am driving swings crazily for a moment, pulling me onto the wrong side of the two lanes. A pothole. I see a couple walking, a brown hooded coat protecting the man. I want to warn them about the strange limper, wonder what they are doing out. Realize the bars just closed, realize the cops are out patrolling the streets.

I focus on the drive, holding the truck steady, holding my eyes steady, keeping alert and maintaining my speed. The heater finally kicks on, blows warmish air after a minute. I turn onto the main road, head out towards my house. A couple walks along the sidewalk from the liquor store, each weighed down with cases of Natural Light and Coors. Headed into the trailer park. After-party.

Hot air begins to blow from the defrost setting, curling around my head after bouncing down from the roof. I feel tired, ready to lay down in my warm bed. I have to let the dogs out, stand in the cold and rain again. Hope there aren’t any lingering bears creeping around in my neighborhood, down from the forest that surrounds it.

I pass by my lover’s house, see his lights are still on. Wonder if he is online, if he can drive over real quick. Something hurried and hot to put me to sleep just right. The truck leans a bit over the line as I round a curve. Focus on the driving. Hope springs eternal in my loins. I drive faster.
Up my driveway the beast shakes my brain awake, the water rivets and holes need to be smoothed out. Dogs start their typical barking, perched in the front window they don’t know it’s me till I mount the stairs. Crazy leaping excitement ensues. My wine-dulled head wants quiet from them. Shhhh-shhhhhhh. Quiet down.

Standing in the cold rain I urge them to hurry. Don’t even go down the stairs with them. They wander through fallen leaves, dead browning grass. Take a shit on the edge of the driveway, it’s brownness blending in with the ground debris. Up the stairs, one by one, my old broken dog takes her time, contemplates each foot’s movement. It’s 2:30 a.m..

In the house they go back to the couch, cover it in more hair, cover it in smelly wet dog smells. I lock the flimsy door lock, the one a child could get into. A motion. Take off my heels, my too-tall black patents. Stand small again. Lights go off from room to room, through the house I shut it all down. Prepare for sleep.

Open my laptop see if he is there. A small indistinct picture that I know by heart tells me he is up, online. I type hello. Ask if he can come over, ask if he wants a strip-tease. No, yes. He looks tired, drained. It could be the bad lighting of online, it could be the strain of his life.

I move into my bedroom, turn on the lights so he can see. Close my curtains so perverts can’t. The wind eeks in through the cracked window. Invigorating. I am brazen tonight, want to show him something that will burn into his brain. Want to entice him to come over again, the afternoon’s event isn’t enough. Need more.

I see him rub his face, his head. He is exhausted, brain is shutting down. I don’t have time for a slow seduction, his interest is barely there. I untie my sweater, slip off my lavender top. He is watching; a voyeur. Shimmy out of jeans, my hair slips in front of my lacy bra, hides my breasts from him. He rubs his eyes.

Flipping my hair back with a toss I reach behind, unclasp my bra. Free my breasts. Standing in turquoise nylon panties I realize I am online, transmitting this image to my lover, to god knows who else. Am I being hacked? I bend down towards the camera, smile at him, at this moment. At the silliness of it.

Out of my panties he is definitely interested now. Turn the camera towards the bed, crawl up on it. Hear my dog sigh out on the couch. Neglected. We all are. I touch, slip my fingers over my curves, create warmth and affection at least for myself while he types nondescript mumblings about his hot lover, his present hardness.

Tiring of me, he types that he must go to sleep. I say goodnight as I reach for a toy; I am going to sleep satisfied tonight. The silver glint catches his eye, he comes back on asks me what it is, what is he about to miss, what am I going to do with it. Interest rebounds.

I am shy with my shiny little friend though, shy with the camera angle; let him sign off and go to sleep. Lay down and work it out on my own, toss around on the crimson printed duvet for a while, lift my leg to the heavens, lift my inner urges. Put the toy away, crawl into the bed now warmed by my solitary wrestling and reach for my book. Listen to the house settle, the dogs snore, the wind circling outside my bubble.

Laying alone in the big bed, I feel the darkness, I feel the forest tapping it’s long arms on my rooftop. The winding drive home, the bottle of wine, the stranger limping up the road. I listen for footsteps outside my window, listen for footsteps coming up my stairs. It’s 3 a.m. now. I turn off my light.