By Matthew Wittenstein
Detail from
"Embrace" by Edward Clay Wright
"Nothing. Nothing."
His hands were behind his back, as if he was hiding something, but the hands were empty. Nothing in them. But she didn't know that, and she was used to presents. So, "What you got?" Nothing was no answer. There had to be something. There was always something.
And his body was against hers now, with only her dress between them. Buttons. He knew how to undo buttons and he knew he could, if he used his hands. His hands so full of nothing, it was too late now. If he had walked through the door with his hands open and before him there would be no question. Her body would be against his and there would be no cloth. Sometimes he tallies up his mistakes on a yellow piece of paper. Then he memorizes them so he won't make them again, and the paper he tosses into the fire. That's how much he loves her. So much he'll burn his mistakes for her. He would write this one down, but his hands, they are behind his back and she is waiting for them to open. "Tell me what is is, baby. I know you got me something good."
"Baby, it's nothing," but it's too late for nothing. Without opening his fingers he moves his arms around her, pulls her closer to him, till he can feel her nipples against his stomach. They are hard and the room is not cold, so they are hard just for him. He kisses her hair. She smells like flowers. "You been gardening, baby?"
"You know I have. Show me..."
"You smell so good. Let's just be like this. Can't we just be like this? I just want to smell you forever." His hands are closed tight now. He hasn't clipped his finger nails in weeks, like when he was young and played guitar. They're digging into his palms, these long nails, but he hasn't felt them yet. He raises his leg a bit and pushes up her dress. His knee against her thigh. She pushes into him in that way that only she can. She knew she would stay with him forever the first time he lifted his leg like this, and she pushed against him like this, and he did not lose his balance. They could stand like this forever. They had before. They could stand like this until he could no longer smell her hair. Until his hands opened.
He did not know how she would react when she found out he had nothing for her. It was not that he had always brought her something, but rather that he had always had something when she thought he did. She had never been wrong before, but of course, she was only wrong because he had tricked her. Stupid man. Leave the hands out when they are empty. Clasped behind your back because the door was already open. Now her dress is buttoned closed and you will have no chance to open it until after she has seen you have nothing. Until it is too late. Stupid man.
She is moving now, against him. He can lift his leg no farther, but she can bend and she is low to begin with so his knee is in all the places he wishes he could be. Jealous of his own knee. On another day he would have worn shorts, but today it was chilly, a storm had just passed through, so he wore pants down to his shoes. His chest kept away from hers by her white dress. His knee kept away from her by his brown pants. Still, he was jealous of his knee. "What you got?" Her broken English came out most in moments like this. Moments of expectation. Any other time she could talk circles around him. He had spoken the language all his life, but she had taken the time to learn the rules. Still, in moments like this, all the rules were forgotten. It was like the first time, when he kissed her, she so fresh off the boat, and she had said, "What a kiss? This is not easy, love." He'd just been a dock worker. All he was supposed to do was lift.
His knee was still but she kept moving, and now parts of him were moving too. His hands were tighter. He could feel his nails, and he might have been bleeding. That might just be sweat. There was only one way to tell, but he wasn't there yet. "What if I had nothing, baby? What if these hands were empty? Would that be ok?"
"You always have something." She pulled away a bit. Maybe she knew. Too late. Keep going.
"Yeah, but what if my hands were empty? What if I just had me?" His leg up and bent. Sometimes she said he looked like a stork. "Would that be enough for you? Baby?"
She stood up a bit straighter. His knee was by her thigh again, and she drew her chest away a bit. He could no longer feel her breasts against him. "Don't be silly, love. You know you'll always be enough for me." But she'd stood up. She'd pulled away. Her words had changed.
He pulled her back by pushing forward. "Oh baby, you know I got something for you. You know I've always got something for you. I love it when you smell like this. I've told you that? You smell like I just pulled you from the earth. Like you grew in our garden just for me. Baby, you know. You know I've got something for you."
She pulled away some more, but this time her hands came up and she began to unbutton. She drew close again. There was no mistaking her against him. His hands still tight. He was certainly bleeding now. Her hands moved down and the two of them moved to the wall, still standing, his hands now behind her. He lowered them just enough and she sat down on them, and his mouth went to her neck. "I always have something for you, baby. You know I do."
And he knew he did. He knew he had something, though, his mouth again against her flesh, he could not for anything remember what it was.