Veronica keeps her bra’s in a plastic garbage can inside her
closet. Lying on her bed after my piano lesson, I inquire what the plastic
receptacle is used for. Quickly she tugs it out of my hands and conceals both
of her limbs around it, as if tucking a football into her chest.
“Veronica, no
I’m serious. What’s in this?” I inquire.
“No!!” She
says again, almost laughing. “There is nothing of your concern. I tackle her. I
tickle her. The sibling rivalry that has always existed between us manifests
itself in giggles and blushes. She is smiling. She knows something I do not
know. There is something she cradles in her arm like a newborn that she does not
want me to see. Something she possesses she does not want me to know about. A
secret. Something that, maybe if I would take her behind her house, where no
one can see us, maybe if I can take her someplace where the two of us would be
all alone. Maybe she would show me. Maybe she would open up; maybe she would
unzip. Maybe she would explain to me how things are, show me how life is a
continuation process; explain to me vital stages of development. Maybe, if I
could just get her alone for a minute. She would show all that to me. It would
be like the dream I had about her in fifth grade; the dream which leads me hard
and sore inside, my torso trying to mount the sheets all on their own. The
dream where the two of us are in her room and she is explaining to me, telling
me that “yes, ok, I will show you but…” disgusted at my query, still
realizing that I need to know. Seeing
her reflection in my thick brown glasses that looks like our own wooden
RCA as she slowly tugs near her waist and peels, showing me everything she
feels that I need to know, even if she disapproves of it; even is she feels
that it is wrongs, she still unbuckles and unzips and wriggles, pointing at her
underwear as she did almost as decade before, she then slides her panties down
to her ankles. She then tells me that I am slowed to do anything I want.
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