They wore each other like a pair of shock, He was at her house, and she was at his, Everywhere they went to the mall, to the game, to movies and shops,s and the classes that structured their days like a new kind of chronology their finger were entwined, their shoulder touching, their hips joined in the slow triumphant sashay of love. He drove her car, slept on the couch in the family room at her parents’ house, played tennis, and watched football with her father on the big,thirty-six-inch TV in the kitchen, She went shopping with his mother.
She would have played tennis with his father if it came to it but his father was dead. I Love you ” he told her because he did, because of love there was feeling like this, no triumph, no high-it eas like being immortal and unconquerable, like floating And a hundred times a day she said it too: I love you. I love you”
They were together at his house one night when the rain froze on the street and cheated the tree in the glass. it was her idea to take a walk on the and feel their hair and the glistening shoulder of their parkas, an otherwordly drumming of pellets flying down out of the troposphere, alien and familiar at the same time, and they glided the length of the front walk and watched the way the power lines bellied and swayed.
He built a fire when they got back, while she toweled her hair and made hot chocolate laced with Jack Daniels. They’d rented a pair of slasher movies for their ritualized comfort of them Teens have sex.
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