Achimar

once upon a time, say last night, there was this girl. and she was a very funny girl, she was very silly and light, flippant some would say. would they be right? perhaps.. but that's really not the point. anyway, this girl, this day, or night as it were, this night she was drunk. she was roasted. lit. fired. filled to the rim with the richness of brim. she was done. she had gone out for her friend's going away party and instead of taking a ride home, she decided to walk. and honestly, she really liked walking home alone at night, for whatever reason. it wasn't a smart thing to do, she knew that, that hadn't completely missed her, but she liked to do it nonetheless. it gave her a charge, a certain verve. it's weird how you have to be on the edge sometimes to realize how peaceful it is in the middle, you know? does that make sense?

anyway, so this drunk girl walking home late sounds like a story you read in the newspaper underneath the headline, "body found" but joyfully, that's not the way this story ends, though there are moments of doubt. as she walks and weaves this boy comes up behind her, this whistling boy. this whistling boy is walking just over her left shoulder and she's thinking of walking faster, thinking of the headline "body found" because she doesn't know the end of the story yet. she jumps this low stone wall, a move she's always proud of whenever she does it, it just makes her feel happy and atheletic. strong. she jumps the wall in a skirt, no less, a long dark skirt with deep slits down the sides. and she thinks to herself, "i bet he didn't think i'd do that, i bet he didn't think i could do that. i can do anything. i can do everything." because that's how little drunk girls think. and they're not completely wrong.

so the boy behind her keeps whistling and he gives a long whistle when he sees her jump the wall and after the jump he catches up to her and he says, "hello hello" and he has a very thick accent, as it turns out. he's egyptian he says which is fun for the girl because she's never met an egyptian before and at the time she was thinking, "it's weird he's so light," but in retrospect, that's silly because not all people from africa are black and egypt is actually closer to the middle east where the people are not black but tan, light-ish but mostly she just thought it was cool to meet someone who was egyptian. she really liked other countries and meeting people from different countries and she often thought she should learn to speak more languages because she was really good at them.

"hello hello what is your name?" he says first and she laughs to herself because this happens to her often, these people that call out to her on the street. it's weird because the boys she would really like to call out to her never do but the other ones just pipe up all the time, they can't seem to let her past withouth dropping something at her feet some word, a name, a dirty thought that she can't wash off, just anything. but none of it works, generally, and she wonders why they do this, she wonders what they hope will come of these cast lines but then again, maybe each of them have stories like this.

so she laughs and gives her stock false name, "michelle, my name is michelle" which is not her name but is often a name she is mistakenly called. maybe she looks like a michelle, but really she doesn't think she does. "o michelle, how are you doing tonight? where are you going?" he is trying to keep up with her though she's walking very fast. "i'm going home, i've got to get home" she says with a smile and doesn't turn around. "i am going home too" he says "i will walk you, i walk to you, no, with you, i will walk with you" and this endears him to her because she loves helping people and watching people learn and he is learning english so she slows down "i live on oakland" she is looking at him now and enunciating her words, exaggerating her lips so he can see how words are pronounced, so he can read her lips "i live on oakland too, me too, 407" which technically is just a few blocks ahead of her but for some reason he never makes it to 407 oakland which is something we'll talk about later.

he has headphones and a cd player, that's what he was whistling. "it's egyptian music" he says but pronounces it much different, his e's are much longer than hers, she doesn't know why. he puts the headphones on her and pushes play and she listens to egyptian music walking down the dark street with the boy she doesn't know but she likes the music, it's like dance music like house but there is a wailing in the background like... is it indian music where there is wailing in the background? if it is then that's what this was, that's what it sounded like "i like it. it's good, like dance music, it's very good, who is it?" "amour deenib" is what it sounds like he says. she stops and reads the cd he shows her, amar dnab though she thinks she won't remember it later and he says to her, "you drink? you drinking you?" and she smiles and sways "yes, yes, i've been drinking" and he makes a face "drink is bad, is bad to be drinking. muslim" he points to his chest "muslim like me: no drink, drinking very bad, to drink and to pig ermmm pork? is bad, drink and pork bad" and he reduces years of faith, bitter jihads, the pharisees and moses, to two commandments: thou shalt not drink, thou shalt not pork.

well, none of this is going over well with the girl. she really has a problem with authority and she really really has a problem with people telling her what to do and she really really really has a problem with stupid boys who've just met her and think they can attribute they're stupid faiths and traditions to her obviously american, drunk, bent self. "that's good for you" she smiles, slithers "you shouldn't drink, it's bad for you" and she walks away faster. really though she thinks, "who does he think he is telling me what's right and what's not? this from a man who covers his women, who hides them from themselves, why would i ever listen to anything he has to say?" and she asks him, "isn't it weird to see me?" "weird?" he echoes and gestures with his hands in a shrug and she mimes being covered up, wearing a burqa, "i should be covered" she says, "should i be covered?" and he smiles and says, "no it's good not to be covered, it's good to walk, walk down the street" he says "but it's bad to drink" he adds, covering well trod territory "you are christian?" he says and she nods, sure, christian sounds good. she believes in God, maybe that's not entirely the same thing but she can't figure out how she'd mime the difference between religion and spirituality and isn't it just a weird night to be walking down the street having a religious argument with some random egyptian boy who is trying to get her to stop drinking, a feat even her mother can't perform. "good christians, they don't drink. christians don't drink, drink is bad" he says with a smile as if his thoughts are going to change her world "yes" she says and agrees "i am a bad christian" she says with a smile, she says it simply though in truth it makes her sad because she really does believe and she fears often she is going to hell and if she were stronger she probably would stop drinking but she's not.

he reaches for her and strokes her chin kind of like reaching up and picking fruit off a tree, a peach, gently because you don't want to squeeze the juice. no one has touched her in a very long time and no one has ever stroked her chin like that, like she was ripe, like she was smooth and firm and ready. and she likes it. she likes that such intimate things can happen with strangers. "you are not bad" he says and absolves her like a priest "you are not bad" and he starts to walk with her again and he doesn't notice how she tilts her head so the tears run down her far cheek.

"i would to kiss to you" he says on the next block and it was just that sudden. it came out of nowhere. honestly, it had probably been in the air the whole time. it's rare that a boy starts talking to a random girl, drunk, under the cover of night without wanting, waiting to kiss her. but honestly she forgot there was a game in play, she forgot that she had a role here and there was something to be gained or lost. "kiss you here" and he touches her lips "kiss" she says "you can't kiss me" she smiles "good muslims don't kiss girls they don't know" and he stops her and holds her hips "i am bad, kiss me" and it's funny because minutes ago he was a prophet and now he has aligned himself with evil to taste her "no, it's bad to kiss" she says, teasing and funny though part of her is reading tomorrow's headline and beginning to be a little concerned. she moves around him.

"once" he says, dogging her steps, "kiss you once" and she relents because she's... well, many things: bored stupid tired drunk randy thoughtful spiritual ridiculous and she kisses him and really he has very soft lips. it's been a long time between kisses and she's forgotten how soft they are, how they fold and smooth, shape and she uses her lips to encircle his top lip and she sucks at it slightly she pulls on it and then she strokes it with her teeth she nips at it and she's really glad that a) he has a really dry mouth. there are lots of people that are really spitty kissers and b) he's not a bad kisser, he doesn't cram her full of tongue, their teeth don't bump, he doesn't breathe into her mouth though she does notice that he smells lightly like garlic but it's not a bad smell it just smells like he works in a kitchen (which he actually does, this story has been edited for size) and she's always liked kitchens because they're warm. she stops eventually, she stops kissing him in the middle of the sidewalk, three blocks down from her house. she pushes him back and his eyes shine "wait, again" he says like a child with a new toy, "once more" he says and she starts to worry now if this boy is going to follow her all the way home "no, because it's bad" she says but she doesn't really believe that. she thinks it's fun and funny. she thinks it's something that no one else will believe she's done. she's thinks it's funny because she spends each day standing up straight and thinking that people would never think she does the things she does like when she pees in back alleys or not even back alleys but front yards and mailboxes and wherever else she can get to; like when she shoplifts from the store, the eyeliners and the lipsticks and the hand lotions and really these are silly things these are junior high things and why does she like these small stupid things why does she like doing them?

she walks away from him now while he is grabbing at her hand and he holds on and comes around front, "please once more" he says, "again" and he holds her arms and she doesn't like that, she doesn't like how he holds her and she starts wondering if she can take him but she's still not really scared because she's a stupid girl two blocks from her house and she's drunk and for some reason she just believes herself invincible and honestly, if God could interject, he would probably say all the same things but maybe he would give reasons for why he's spared her life so often because he has, he's saved her a lot and it doesn't make sense but maybe it doesn't have to so she kisses him again and she still likes the feel of his lips and how he crushes her against him and he has stubble that is scratching at her chin and lower, farther down he is rubbing into her hip, the Him of he, the It, that is growing, that is growling, that is moving on its own and it really is. it must be so weird to have a part of your body that does it's own thing, that you're not really in control of, it's like if for some reason your ears just took to wiggling or your nose just chose to move down your face. really bizarre. i don't know if it's really like that but that's what it seems like but i'm sure this is not what anyone really wants to hear about.

she pushes him away again "bye" she says and keeps walking but he follows her again and maybe this is why he seems so harmless how he follows like a puppy, how he runs after her and waits and hopes and begs and it's interesting how cruel all this makes her sound isn't it? cheap and easy and mean, like cruella daville on spanish fly, like joan crawford in mommie dearest but honestly it didn't feel like that at the time, it was more sort of thrilling without going off the edge, it was walking the line and tipping ever so slightly tipping which is exactly what she was doing walking drunk down the street away from the boy who followed still and said "again again please" as they had become his new favorite english words and it's weird that before they had managed to talk about so many things without him even knowing the language, he had told her about his job and she had told him about hers ("you know computers?" "computers?" blank stare "the internet?" "yes, internet!" "i work with computers" "yes, computers" "a database" "data... " "nevermind") and he had told her about egypt and his family and they had had a whole freakin' argument about faith and now all he could say was "please" and "again" like he was three like it was the only thing he could ever think to say ever again. "how do you say it in egyptian?" she said to buy time and because she does like languages, it's always good to know these things, you'll never know when you'll need them "say it in egyptian: one more" "achimar" he smiles with his shiny eyes "achimar" he says with a tilty head like he's asked for a cookie, like he's asked for allowance. "achimar" she says and holds up a finger so he knows for sure she's said it in her language she's said it in his language she's said it in the universal language (which is math, by the way, not love) "achimar" because she's close to her house now and she's afraid he'll follow her in, follow her in and demand all of it, do something to her roommate and her kitchenware. because if one kiss could make him forget he's a good teetotalling muslim what would two do? what would three do? and come to think of it, she doesn't know his age, she doesn't know has he done this before, has he kissed anyone before? do they allow kisses in egypt? can the women uncover their mouths withouth fear?

and he reaches in for her and his hands crush her back and he bunches up her shirt in his hands which is a shame because she just ironed it and she licks his lips like a cat like ice cream the pointy little parts and if they were anywhere else this would actually be sweet it's sweet to be so wanted so desired that people are chucking out faith that they are tossing mohammed from windows that allah's shoved off the balcony like so much dirt or pine needles or something but she has to remember, she starts to remember that she doesn't know him that she's not special to him that she could be any girl she's just the girl that let a boy she doesn't know kiss her while walking home from the bart station. she licks the inside of his lips she nips with her teeth she presses her lips full against his and she pulls back to quick small pecks before she licks again and presses full and all the while he is pressing, pressing against her pressing into her willing himself inside of her. he touches her skin where her shirt has come up and he sighs and holds on tight.

she crosses her hands in front of her chest and pushes him back and he moves back, he's so easy. it's weird because she's sure someone else would have raped her by now. standing in the forest island that divides her one way street from another she could be taken in back of the tree he could ball his fist and knock her in the eye he could slap her hard so she falls and fall on her then and press her down with his weight rip her skirt drive his knee between her thighs...

"achimar" he says, pleading, he pleads with her he begs "achimar" he says in a whine and his eyes are shining still and she looks at him there under the street lamp and he truly glows he is light and so she says no "no" she says "i am bad and i will make you bad" "achimar" "no" and she walks away from him "please wait" he says standing still for once "wait your number" he says "phone number" he says "michelle" and it's sad because he doesn't know that the thing she likes best is walking away from someone who wants her.

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