Eveningflow

Baby, the moment you walked into the Quik-Mart last month and smiled at me, I understood at last what people mean by love at first sight. That smile cracked something open inside my chest I had never known was sealed. Remember when you didn’t have enough cash for your Zig-Zags and Purple Mountain Dew? I slipped the money across the counter without a second thought. Who took care of you, baby?

I gave you my number. We hooked up. Then came the day we drove to the seashore, ordered clam cakes and ice cream at that little shingled restaurant, and carried our paper trays to the rocks. We fed the gulls until one dropped a white gift on my new sneakers. You had just lost your job walking dogs, so I paid for everything. I told you then, and I still mean it: my baby will never go hungry.

Later, when the payments on your Dodge Demon fell behind, I sold the Taylor Swift tickets my Nana had given me for my birthday. You know I’ve been a Swiftie since I was six—die-hard, heart-on-sleeve. But I told you the night you first kissed me: I am all about my man. If he is happy, I am happy. I will do anything for him. That is how I was raised—to be the quiet strength behind a man who takes care of me. And I do take care of you, baby. I know that when your career as a !%*@$$ finally breaks wide open, you will take care of me in return. Not that I need anything material from you. Only your constant love. Only your eyes on me.

God, the first time we made love, my heart flew straight to the stars. Your lips moved over my body with such patient reverence that I felt, for the first time in my life, truly seen. You understood me in a way my family and friends never could. They love me, but they do not get me. You own my heart, Eveningflow. Every chamber.

When you suggested I start dancing at the Wolf’s Den to help with the Demon payments, I was stunned. Think about it: when we met, I had only been at the Quik-Mart six months. Before that, fast-food counters and babysitting—nothing more than a girl’s small jobs. Exotic dancing? If my father knew, he would ride the elevator to the top of the tallest building he could find and step off into the night. He has been a deacon at our church for seven years. He does not understand how desire and devotion can live in the same breath the way you taught me they can.

I was just a foolish girl living inside a pastel daydream before you. But I have danced at the Wolf’s Den for a few nights now, and it is not so terrible. I close my eyes and imagine every hungry gaze in the room belongs to you. Only you, Eveningflow. In the dark, under those lights, I dance for my man alone.

*18*