Tangerine Skirt: A Prose Piece - Poem by s./j. goldner
My roommate comes in and complains about the Comcast bill and I nod in acknowledgment. Nothing can bother me on such a beautiful day. Watching the leaves rustle in the breeze distracts me from her carping. I get up from my bed and stroll out to the balcony. The sky is a brilliant baby blue and thoughts are unfolding like the songs of the robins on the rooftops. Jim comes and I can tell he got some color on his Irish skin from his yacht trip to Anapolis Harbor.
We leave to get a case of American Ice for his swimming buddies. On any numbered summer afternoon you can walk by 257 Atwood and join in on a game of beer pong. The boys take turns supplying the house by way of the distributor up the street where they are welcome costumers compared to the scoffing fraternity brothers. Jim and I face off with Chad and Tommy—a genuine pair whose friendship is rooted in the most simple affection. We play well into the evening and just as the sun ducks below the horizon, a flash of orange illuminates my tangerine skirt.
I tell Jim I have class in the early morn, that I must be getting back. Jim always drinks too much. He’s in denial of his low tolerance. Being 6’2 and of strong build, he can’t understand why it takes so little for him to get tanked. He insists on walking me home, though i feel as if I'm the one being chivalrous.
We get to kissing on the couch. He uses my cocktail waitressing test as an excuse. I answer correctly according to the notecards and, like a mother giving a treat to an obedient child, he meets my face where he pleases. Jim is an excellent kisser so I don’t mind. He takes my lower lip and draws it over his—a move unique to a nurturer. In a ricocheting wave pattern of sexual attraction—we become immersed in the mouths of one another and I don’t stop to notice the notecards have scattered on the wood floor, mixing in with the Comcast cable bill.
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