Her name, p.1
Her Name, page 1
Her Name
by Alicia Joseph
Copyright © Alicia Joseph, 2014
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This e-book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.
Musa Publishing
4815 Iron Horse Trail
Colorado Springs, CO 80917
www.MusaPublishing.com
Issued by Musa Publishing LLC, July 2014
This e-book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. No part of this e-book can be reproduced or sold by any person or business without the express permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-62713-013-4
Editor: Jeanne De Vita
Artist: Kelly Shorten
Line Editor: Jenny Rarden
Interior Book Design: Cera Smith
Chapter One
I was kneeling, pulling weeds from a garden filled with blossoming tulips, lilies, and daisies, when a spray of cold water splashed the back of my neck. Though it felt soothing against the hot sun, it stunned me.
I turned around and saw a woman, laughing, a hose dangling in her arms. She wore a casual yellow sundress and sandals. Her blond hair flowed over her shoulders, layering smoothly around her oval-shaped face. When she smiled, two full, pink lips pressed against each other.
Even with the sun at my eyes, I could clearly see the woman’s beauty. I’d never heard a more perfect sound than her laughter or seen a more stunning image than her body.
“Are you going to get me now?” the woman asked playfully, but then stopped as I stood up, frowning in confusion. Her smile slowly faded. “Are you mad at me, baby?” Her delicate blue eyes seemed to look right through me.
I forced a smile. “Of course not.”
“Good. You like playing this game,” she said.
I watched her dress blow against the summer breeze as she slowly walked toward me. She slipped off my gardening gloves and placed my hand under her dress. She traced my fingers up her thigh and over her thin lace panties, pressing her lips against my ear and whispering, “This is your favorite part of the game.”
I woke suddenly. A pair of hands pulled at my shirt. “What! What is it?”
My girlfriend stood over me with a pissed-off look on her face. She wore it well.
“Becca, what’s wrong?” I asked as my breathing slowly returned to normal.
She let out a sigh of disbelief, as though the mere question annoyed her. I was baffled until she held it out: a hand towel.
“This,” she replied with a tone.
I looked at the towel. “Are you serious?”
“How many times have I asked you to hang the towel back up when you’re done using it?” she asked very slowly in a crazed, Joan Crawford-like voice. “Is that too difficult? I don’t think so!” she yelled and threw the towel in my face.
Anger swept over me, but I refused to let it get the best of me. The clock on the wall read three thirty-eight a.m. It was way too late/early to deal with this.
Actually, I was sure there was no time of morning, day, or night that I’d want to deal with this. So without uttering a single word, I rushed through the apartment, threw my things in a backpack, and slung it over my shoulder. I brushed past her, ignoring her pleas for me to stay and that maybe she had over-reacted. It was partly my fault, she argued. I knew she was OCD.
“I didn’t know OCD stood for bat-shit crazy!” I yelled back.
She followed closely at my heels, but I stormed out, slamming the door in her face. I knew it was a rude thing to do. The neighbors were trying to sleep, but I felt it was necessary to show her I was D-O-N-E. Done.
My apartment was a mess—the neglected consequence of spending too much time at Becca’s place. Dirty dishes crowded the sink, and a bulb that had blown months ago still needed changing.
I walked to my bedroom, exhausted. Collapsing onto my bed, I glanced at the clock on my nightstand, relieved that I had a few more hours to sleep.
I sank into the comfort of my own bed and pulled the covers over my shoulders, grateful that I hadn’t let Becca talk me into giving up my place to move in with her.
I tugged the sheets across my body. There wasn’t any part of me that missed her. I wondered how many other women I had gone to bed with for longer than I should have.
I didn’t miss sleeping with any of them, either.
I closed my eyes, smiling as I drifted to sleep, relieved that I didn’t have to worry where I’d left any of my towels.
When I walked into my apartment, she was standing over the stove making dinner. She smiled. “How was work?”
I dumped my backpack on the nearest chair and went to her. Her hair was pulled back in a casual ponytail. She wore a fitted gray T-shirt and light blue sweatpants with an image of a mermaid swimming across her thigh. I stood behind her and breathed in the fresh scent of her hair. I massaged her neck, her shoulders.
She moaned and leaned her body slightly back. “That feels good,” she whispered while I circled my thumbs and fingers in a rhythmic motion toward the back of her shoulders.
I moved my mouth slowly down her neck and felt her quiver as I pressed my lips against her skin. She reached her arms behind my neck, pulling me deeper into her.
My hands traced down her back, to her waist, as she turned around to face me.
“I missed you today,” she said, her voice coarse. With the tip of my right thumb, I outlined the edges of her lips.
“I’m here now,” I replied, conviction rising from my chest to my face as I felt—and tried to convey—that I would be there for her, always.
The next morning, I opened my eyes as she slept naked by my side. It was early, but the spread of her legs offered a welcoming feast. I lifted the covers and slid on top of her. I lowered myself down her body and she moved slightly as I roused her from her sleep.
The high-pitched blare of my alarm roared me to consciousness, piercing through me like a runaway train. I sat up, and it took only seconds for the disappointment of reality to kick in.
Chapter Two
Shelly Martin pulled her baseball cap low across her forehead as we sat in a corner booth of the diner. Even after twenty-five years, she was still self-conscious of a scar from a bicycle accident she’d had when she was ten. Sure, it was an ugly scar, but it had become a part of who she was. The more I knew her, the less I saw it. Not unlike that kid in my seventh-grade math class with really bad acne. After a while, I stopped wanting to connect the dots with my favorite colored marker because the zits soon faded into his personality.
Shelly sat across from me wearing a football jersey and baggy jeans. She had the intimidating broad shoulders of a linebacker ready to barrel down his opponent. Though her bark was much worse than her bite, no one was ever curious to find out.
Her composure was the complete opposite of mine. Though my bark wasn’t very loud, my bite stung like a bitch. Jelly-fish didn’t look too imposing, but a person would knock over their grandmother to avoid getting near one.
Luckily, I didn’t bite easily.
Shelly sunk her teeth into a tuna melt. “God, I love this shit,” she said as pieces of her sandwich dropped onto her lap.
“You are a gross slob.” I watched her pick up the fallen bits and pop them into her mouth.
“I guess that means I’ll never get a girl like Lil Miss Cleany Freak.”
I laughed. The thought of Shelly and Becca together was hilariously scary and caused me to almost spit out my own food. “No, that would not be a love match, I’m afraid,” I replied.
“If you ask me, you two weren’t much of a love match, either.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Come on. I’m not even close to the slob you are,” I argued.
Shoving a bunch of chips into her mouth, she said, “I’m not even talking about the OCD thing. I just mean in general. You two had nothing in common.”
I bit my lower lip, knowing what my friend said was true. We’d had no business being together. I had been lonely, very lonely.
Shelly looked at me. “You’re on a quest for true love, and that’s okay. I mean, lots of women want that—not me, of course, but lots. Just don’t be so desperate for it that you miss the signs of a bad relationship.”
I let her words sink in. I knew I was better off alone than with someone for the wrong reasons, but it was easy to compromise those wrong reasons for the security of having a warm body sleeping beside me. I’d turned into that pathetic, dumb woman who was so in love with love that she desperately took it from anyone offering, and that wasn’t who I wanted to be. I laid my sandwich down. “I won’t do that again.”
Embarrassed by my own stupidity and wanting to quickly change the subject, I blurted, “So, last night I had a dream about the most beautiful wo
Shelly chuckled. “Well, move over MLK Jr. Madison just experienced her first wet dream.” She shrugged and reached for her drink. “So what? I dream of beautiful women all the time.”
I smiled. “This was different, smartass. It wasn’t like other dreams. This woman was so real that I woke up expecting her to be there, only instead, I had ole crazy pants throwing a towel in my face.”
“Did you fuck her?”
“What?”
After taking a few deep gulps of her drink, she placed the glass down and said, “This woman in your dreams. Did you fuck her?”
“It wasn’t that kind of a dream. She wasn’t some random hook-up. It seemed like we were in a relationship.”
Shelly rolled her eyes. “Oh God. Even in your dreams you’re monogamous.”
I laughed. “Would you stop? Did you ever have a dream where you woke feeling like it was real?”
Shelly eyed me closely. “Did you orgasm?”
“What? No!”
“Don’t be embarrassed! It happens, and that’ll sure make a dream feel real. One time, I…”
I stopped her. “I don’t want to hear about your sex dreams. This wasn’t a dream about sex.”
“Fine,” she said. “You couldn’t handle my sex dreams anyway, especially if you had the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your own dream and you didn’t even fuck her.”
I hesitated. “Truthfully, I don’t know if I did. I mean, I was touching her and kissing her. Then I took her to the bedroom…”
“And? What happened next?” Shelly asked, leaning closer to me.
“We were lying naked together. So the dream alluded to us having slept together, but I don’t remember actually doing it. Then my alarm went off just as I was about to go down on her.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Shelly interrupted. “Are you telling me that your dream fast-forwarded through the good parts? That is the ultimate suck-skip. How the fuck did you let that happen? I’m sorry”—she wiped her hands on her napkin—“but that’s the worst sex dream I’ve ever heard.”
I leaned back into my chair and calmly said, “I already told you it wasn’t that kind of a dream. It wasn’t about fucking. We had this thing together. That thing that couples have? And there was this game we’d play with a hose, and she’d spray me, and apparently, it was my favorite game, and…”
Shelly held her hand up. “Wait a minute. So you had this beautiful woman in your dream, and instead of fucking her, you played with a hose?”
I stared at her without saying a word.
“Did you at least do something funky with the hose?” she asked with a sly smile.
“I don’t even want to ask what you mean by that.” I pushed my plate to the side, giving up.
“Hey, don’t get mad at me! I mean, it was your dream! But if you can’t even get laid in your own dreams, well, that’s pretty sad. I’m just sayin’.”
Even I had to laugh at that.
She held me like she knew me as I cried in her arms. We lay on the bed, on top of the covers, as streaks of sunlight peeked through the curtains. She leaned against the headboard and cradled me in her arms, rocking gently. She had a tender, motherly touch, and the harder I cried, the closer she held me.
“Let it out, baby,” she whispered. “Let it out. I’m here.”
I wept freely until, slowly, my cries faded to whimpers, and soon, all I heard was the steady sound of my own heavy breathing. She pressed her lips against my forehead, kissed me, and told me she loved me.
I wrapped my arms tightly around her. “I love you, too.”
I opened my eyes to darkness as I reached my hand to the other side of the bed. It was empty. I quickly sat up and wiped the tears from my eyes, not believing I had dreamed of the same woman and had again woken up looking for her.
Shelly and I walked across the dog park, chatting while Shelly’s pooch ran free.
“Freddy! Stay where Mama can see you!” She turned to me. “Has Becca tried contacting you?”
I shrugged. “A couple calls. Some texts, but I didn’t respond, so I think she got the message.”
“Good.”
We walked for a little while, and then she asked, “So, did you really wake up crying this morning?”
I had told her over the phone earlier that day about my dream. I looked her dead in the eye and nodded. “My pillow was drenched.”
Shelly shook her head. “And you don’t remember what you were crying about?”
I glanced toward the sky and shrugged. “In the first dream, I didn’t know her. She knew me, but I was looking at her for the first time. In the second dream, it seemed like we were living together and we had our own little routine, like I’d come home from work and she’d cook dinner. But in this last dream, the way she held me in her arms as I cried was so personal. I wasn’t afraid to be vulnerable around her. And then she told me she loved me.”
Shelly stopped walking and grabbed my arm. “Wait, she told you she loved you?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Did you say it back?”
“Of course I did.”
My friend threw her hands in the air. “How could you tell her you love her? You don’t even know how long you’ve known her for!”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you fucking with me?” I asked.
She looked at me, and I suspected she was holding a straight face for as long as she could before she burst out in laughter. “Of course I’m fucking with you! This is a fucking dream we’re talking about! She’s not real!” she yelled.
I walked away, but Shelly followed me. “What? You’re mad at me?”
“No, it’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have told you. I’m not even sure why I did.”
“I’m sorry! Please don’t stop telling me! I’m dying to hear more about this amazing fake woman.” She cracked up and wrapped an apologetic arm around my neck. “I’m sorry, really I am, but let me just make sure I’ve got this straight so far. You’ve played games with a hose, you woke up naked with her, you cried, and you told her you loved her, but you haven’t even fucked her yet?”
I pulled away and gave her a hard look.
She laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I just insult your girlfriend? If she’s mad, just apologize for me when you see her tonight.”
“You know what!” I yelled. I started to let her have it, but stopped myself. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected my friend’s reaction to be, because they were only dreams and everyone had them.
The room was cool, despite the crowd of people standing shoulder to shoulder, patiently waiting their turn to pay their last respects and offer their sympathy to my grieving family and me.
I stood between my older sister and younger brother as I accepted embraces from faces I knew, faces I hadn’t seen in a while, and faces I had never known. It didn’t matter, though. They were people whose lives my mother had touched, and though I may not have recognized their faces, I did recognize the sadness in their tear-filled eyes.
“Your mother was a wonderful woman and will be missed,” a man said.
“Heaven has another angel now,” echoed another in a low voice.
I offered what I was sure was a weak, blank smile.
A hand touched my shoulder from behind. I turned around, and she was holding a Styrofoam cup filled with water. “You haven’t had a thing to drink since this morning,” she said, her expression overwhelmed with concern.
I stepped out of the line. “Thanks,” I said in a raspy, dry voice. I took the cup and finished it in two gulps.
“Do you want me to get you some more?” the woman asked.
I shook my head. “No, I’m good.”
She offered me a sweet smile. She knew me so well. “You want to go outside for a little bit?” she asked.
