Something for Women’s Month.
You were 14, and so very nervous. As he fumbled with the bra you nabbed from your mother’s drawer, your hummingbird heart hoped he would understand that you were sharing your tender, secret spaces. He didn’t answer your calls.
You were 26 and you cursed your tailor for sewing so many buttons and hooks into your wedding dress.
You were 20 and newly liberated. It was a gentleman’s proposal and a lady’s consent, and no one else knew. You passed each other silently in sun-drenched hallways, but in the night, he was the Wolf and you were the Moon.
You were 33. You murmured his name while planning what to cook for breakfast. As he cradled your head, you tried to remember your 9 o’clock appointment. By the fifteenth minute, you had already decided on which heels would match your new blazer. You sighed in relief as he expired.
You were 16 and you made efficient use of the cramped interior of his ride. Years later, the scent of new car leather still puts you on edge.
You were 23. The trippy colors coursed through your veins and you woozily raised your arms to the strobe lights. You couldn’t place a finger on any details but the entire sensation was lovely. You never asked for his name.
You were 31. The sun was in your eyes, so you stirred and woke up. You both instantly realized who the other was. You hastily dressed and signed with silence a contract that you would never speak of or bring up this incident ever again.
