We should have sex

Conversations On The Morning Train


“I like your sweater.”
It was the first time in 15 days
In over 63 glances
And a few smiles, that she finally said something.
I was supposed to go first.
That is what the honorable lesbian handbook teaches us:
How to be a man
How to be heterosexual
How to be oxymoronic.
“It’s new.”
I left her silence
And she grabbed it with a blank stare.
I smiled.
She grinned.
I’ve had nightmares about falling in love.
What role to play.
I’m too tall not to be the man.
She’s too feminine not to be my wife.
My boo.
My irritating proper noun, who won’t be invited to family dinners.
“I like the colors.”
“Me too. Green is my favorite color. That’s why I bought it.”
She turned her body slightly.
“mine too.”
She lied.
I didn’t care.
Her smile told me the truth.
I like pretty girls.
The ones who wear their attitude in their walk
Fuck your mind
And flirt with the idea of winning your heart.
Chapter 7 teaches you how to be OK with that.
“I work downtown.”
I didn’t ask her.
But her eyes told me I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to do.
“Word. Me too.”
“Maybe we should get lunch sometime,” should be what I say next.
But I didn’t.
I should ask her for her number.
I’ve been waiting for this moment
For 15 days
63 glances
And a few smiles.
I looked down into my hands,
Searching for something clever to say
I remembered chapter 4:
“we should have sex.”



C.L. Jones