Wes and Toren (28 page)

210

J. M. Colail

I GLANCED at my co-worker Jeanine, then at the man sitting on a stool in front of me. He had tattoos covering both arms and the back of his neck and a piercing in his eyebrow and lip. He was young, probably 24

or 25, and cute in an eclectic kind of way. He held my tongue out with a clamp, basically a pair of glorified tongs, and marked the middle of my tongue with blue ink.

“All right, you’re gonna feel some pressure, but it shouldn’t hurt and it’ll be over in a sec, okay?” he said.

“O-pay,” I managed, nodding slightly.

The man picked up a sterilized needle from a tray on the table beside him and I tried to swallow, unsuccessfully. He looked at me with the needle in his right hand and smiled.

“I’m gonna count to three and on three, I want you to exhale,” he explained.

“O-pay,” I answered, nodding again.

He counted slowly and I glanced at Jeanine and then balled my hands into fists. I exhaled deeply on three and the needle punctured my tongue quickly and cleanly. Fortunately, my tongue and jaw were numb and I only felt a lot of pressure and a dull ache. The man removed the piercing tool and screwed the ball onto the post of the stud. Carefully he removed the tongs and I pulled my tongue back into my mouth. He smiled again and handed me a small, round mirror. I stuck my tongue Wes & Toren

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out, looked at the silver metal ball atop my tongue and grinned. Jeanine stood in front of me and nodded with a thumbs-up.

“It looks great, Tor!” she said and stuck out her own tongue. “Now we match!”

The man that did the piercing smiled lightly then explained how to care for and clean it, accompanied by a badly copied square of paper with the same information. I thanked him and gave him thirty dollars, twenty-five for the piercing and a five-dollar tip. Then Jeanine and I went out to her car.

“Let me see it again,” she said, turning on the interior light after she started the car. I stuck my tongue out and she squealed the way only girls could. “That’s so cool! And with your innocent face, no one would even suspect that you had your tongue pierced!”

I glanced at her sideways then laughed, picking up the grocery bag with the bottle of Biotene in it. I smiled, feeling the metal ball on the roof of my mouth. The numbness was fading and was replaced with a dull ache.

Jeanine drove me home and then asked to see it again as she idled in front of my apartment building. “It looks great, Toren. Wes’s gonna love it, for sure,” she said, nodding her head affirmatively.

“Thanks so much for going with me. And taking me,” I said, laying the grocery bag on my lap.

“No problem! When do you work next?”

“Not ’til Friday,” I answered. I only worked Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays since I had school Monday through Thursday.

“Well, you should be pretty used to it by then. It might be uncomfortable sometimes, but just use the mouthwash three times a day, eat soft foods, and trust me,
no straws
!”

“Thanks so much for going with me,” I said again and Jeanine shook her head. “I’ll see you Friday.”

“All right. Call if you have any questions or whatever.”

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I nodded, said goodbye, and shut the door. She left as I was walking up the stairs to the third floor. Wesley was home; I saw his car in the parking lot. The piercing was his birthday present and I knew there was no way to hide it from him for a week.

It had all started at work. Jeanine had laughed and I saw flash of silver in her mouth. As it turned out, she had her tongue pierced before we even met and I never noticed. I asked her why she had it and she answered that it was because it was neat…and her boyfriend loved it.

Since I had been wracking my brain for a birthday present for Wesley, it seemed obvious. I asked Jeanine where she had it done and the conversation led to Wesley’s birthday in a week. She explained that I should get it done soon if I wanted to “use” it on his birthday since it took about a week to heal and get used to. So after work, we went to a crumbling little storefront with a neon “tattoo” sign in the window. It was surprisingly clean and sterile inside despite its outward appearance.

And now, I had a hole in my tongue.

“Hi, I’m home,” I announced, walking in the front door. Wesley was in the kitchen, staring into the fridge.

“Hey, how ya doin’?” he asked, closing the refrigerator door.

“Pretty good. How are you? How was work?” I asked, dropping the bag with the mouthwash by the door.

“It was good. It was work,” he answered. He was still wearing his navy work outfit so he must’ve just gotten home. I took off my coat and hung it on a hook by the front door. He opened the freezer door and looked inside. “Did you eat yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ll make something for us,” I answered, stepping into the kitchen.

“I thought you went out for dinner with that girl from work,” he said, closing the freezer door.

I smiled in spite of myself, pushing the silver ball against the top of my mouth. “No, we did something else,” I answered broadly.

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“Like what? Anything I should be worried about?” he asked with a grin. He knew he could joke about cheating because I’d never do it—and because I was with a girl.

“Nope, just got your birthday present,” I said.

Wesley’s face lit up and he approached me with an excited smile.

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you yet. Except if you try to kiss me,” I said. The numbness in my tongue and jaw were gone and the pain was negligent unless I swallowed hard.

“Well, then, come here.”

“No, you can’t,” I said, blocking his lips with my hands.

“What? I can’t kiss you?”

“No, ’cause it’ll hurt.”

Wesley looked at me with a confused expression and I smiled.

“Why will it hurt?”

“Because,” I said, smiling shyly, “I got something for you.” I blushed, sticking my tongue out. Wesley stared with wide eyes at the metal stud poked through my tongue. I pulled my tongue back in and giggled.

“Show me again,” he said, stepping closer to me.

I stuck my tongue out again and quickly pulled it back in. My cheeks were red and I couldn’t stop giggling playfully.

“You got that…for me?” Wesley asked, still with a look of confusion.

I widened my eyes at him. Could I actually be the more perverted one here? I smiled and bit my lip. “Think about it,” I said, looking in Wesley’s eyes and then dropping my gaze. “Just think about it lower.”

Wesley’s eyes rounded and a great smiled dawned on his face.

“Are you serious?” I laughed at his elated outburst; this was the reaction I was expecting. “I can’t believe it!” I giggled again as I blocked Wesley’s lips. “What, I really can’t kiss you?”

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“No, it’ll hurt. It takes about a week to heal, so that’s why I had to get it today,” I explained. Wesley gave me a mock pout and he looked so cute. “Well, maybe just a light kiss,” I conceded. Wesley’s lips touched mine gently and I closed my eyes. “Happy early birthday.”

IT was November 9, Wesley’s birthday, and I was on my way to Mom and Alycia’s. I had thought about taking the day off work, but Wesley insisted on going in, so I decided not to request the day off. If I couldn’t be with Wesley on his birthday, it was better to earn money.

I left work at 4:00 and got to Mom’s place around 4:30. She wanted to help celebrate Wesley’s birthday and bought all the ingredients for a delicious dinner that I was going to make. Alycia said she would take care of the cake.

I knocked and let myself in. Alycia greeted me at the door and Mom followed her. We said hello and hugged, then got down to business. Wesley got off work at 5:00 and if he didn’t stop at home, he would arrive at around 5:15.

Mom bought chicken, pasta, Parmesan cheese, tomato sauce, salad stuff, and a French baguette. I was making from scratch an Italian meal that I found on the Internet and modified to Wesley’s tastes. I was excited about it because I had never made it and Wesley ordered something like it in a restaurant once and really enjoyed it. From the pantry I got the apron, which I suspected hadn’t been used since I left, and got to work.

Alycia was eager to show me the cake that she and Mom made for Wesley. It was a two-layer yellow cake with chocolate frosting. In the middle, written in white icing, was “Happy Birthday Wesley!” It also had the sugar-pressed decorations sold in stores that come packaged against stiff cardboard. Mom apologized for the yellow flowers around the side of the cake and the larger pink and yellow bouquet on top, below the writing. It was kinda girly, but it strangely suited Wesley, as Alycia pointed out.

Wesley arrived twenty minutes after 5:00 and we all jumped and shouted “Happy Birthday!” when he opened the door, even though it Wes & Toren

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wasn’t a surprise party. He smiled indulgently, expecting nothing less from my family and we paraded him in with smiles and shouts. Alycia and Mom got to him first and he hugged them, but smiled at me over their shoulders. He was still wearing his navy work clothes and I smiled with a naughty idea floating through my head.

“Man, what are you making? It smells so good in here!” Wesley said, after giving me a tight hug.

“Just wait and see. I hope you’re gonna like it,” I said, turning back to the kitchen. “It’s just about ready.”

Alycia set the table for four while Mom got drinks for us. Wesley went to the bathroom to wash up and then we sat down to eat. And it was a great meal, even with the risk of sounding arrogant. When Wesley went for his third helping, I knew it was a success. We took a long time eating, telling stories and making jokes. Then Alycia reminded us that we still had cake and ice cream to get to. Wesley smiled, blushed just a tinge, and I could tell he was really happy.

We decided to open gifts and allow our stomachs to settle before delving into cake and ice cream. Wesley and I sat on the sofa, Mom in the chair, and Alycia on the floor as Wesley started opening gifts. He started with a prettily wrapped box from Mom that contained two long-sleeved shirts. One was brown with thin blue and tan stripes and the other was solid blue with black sleeves. Both were very cute and very Wesley. Next, he opened a package from Alycia and, tearing off the paper eagerly, he found a kung fu movie and an action movie, both of which I had never heard of. Wesley thanked her giddily; apparently they had discussed their favorite movies at some time, which gave Alycia the inspiration. He opened the gift from me next, obviously not the one in my mouth, and was pleased to find an auto-fit wrench that adjusted at the push of a button. He thanked me with a kiss on the cheek and said he had wanted one for a long time. I thought it was kinda lame, but he seemed genuinely happy with it, so it was okay. Lastly, he opened another box from Mom, a large rectangular one with a red bow on top. Inside was a deep burgundy turtleneck sweater. I almost laughed, but I held it in.

Most men could not pull off wearing any kind of turtleneck and shouldn’t even try. Mom urged him to try it on and he relented, pulling 216

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the ribbed sweater over his head. I was wrong. He looked great in it. It wasn’t a really long turtleneck that bunched up, but a little higher than a mock turtleneck and it really suited him. Even the resident fashion expert, Alycia, commented on how good he looked in it.

Wesley thanked us all with a hug and a kiss and we returned to the kitchen table to set the cake ablaze with nineteen candles. We crooned the happy birthday song, even though my family made it sound like a funeral dirge rather than a jaunty tune. Wesley blew out all the candles in one breath and winked at me and I felt certain that I knew what his wish was. He didn’t say anything about the cake’s decorations other than thank you until Alycia asked him how he liked the floral motif.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Wesley laughed, pulling extinguished candles from the cake. “It’s cute, but it is a little girly.”

“I know! That’s why it’s perfect!” Alycia said, sucking the chocolate frosting from the bottom of the candles.

“You’re cruisin’, kiddo.”

Mom and I laughed at their banter and then took the cake to cut it up. I got four small plates and forks and Alycia got the ice cream. We sat around the table and enjoyed the special dessert that now read: Happy Bi Wes.

It was getting late and Mom and Alycia had work and school, respectively, so Wesley and I packed up his presents and half of the remaining cake and headed home. The light was blinking on the answering machine and, without thinking, I set the tinfoil-covered cake down and pressed the button. A mechanical voice announced that we had two messages and then Mrs. Carroll’s voice came on, saying “Happy birthday, Wes.” It wasn’t a sad greeting, but it wasn’t necessarily happy either. It was dismissive, like a formality. It sounded like the first call I got from Dad after the divorce: a little forced but with an “I’m not really sure what to say” tone. She asked Wesley to call her back and then said happy birthday again and the machine beeped.

“Heh, I’m surprised they remembered,” Wesley said quietly, his mood darkening.