Fiction: Hand Against the Doorjamb

By Paul Germano 

 

She takes her sweet time, but eventually her bra comes off; it’s a lacey shade of pale blue, not unlike the color of her eyes. She’s a natural blonde with a slender frame and a warm smile and she lets the bra linger in her delicate grasp for a moment, before hanging it on her bedpost.

He drops his gray plaid boxers down to his ankles in an instant, quickly stepping out of them and kicking them away. The bedroom floor is now a sloppy trail of his complete disrobing, his mud-caked sneakers and dirty athletic socks, a sleeveless gray hoodie with a mustard stain near the pocket, a sweaty long-sleeve maroon-colored t-shirt, a knock-around pair of grass-stained dark-wash jeans with his leather belt still dangling through the loops and now his aforementioned gray plaid boxers.

Her clothes, except for the pale blue bra, are neatly stacked on a dainty white-wooden French Provincial chair that matches the rest of her bedroom furniture.

Her twin sister stands unnoticed by the door, slightly open, her hand against the doorjamb, her green eyes wide with anticipation. She lets herself in and softly shuts the door behind her. They both look over, surprised to see her. He says “what the hell” in a deep voice, but makes no attempt to cover up. The naked twin instinctively covers her breasts with crisscrossing hands, then in a panic, drops her hands lower down beyond her waist and then quickly back up to her breasts again. Her pale blue eyes narrow into a glare. “I thought you went grocery shopping with Mom and Dad,” she says in a soft, but irritable tone.

“Change of plans, they left without me,” the green-eyed twin says matter-of-factly. “I was reading in my bedroom," she says in a casual tone as if she is completely unaware that she is the only one in the room wearing clothes. 

She too, is a natural blonde. Her shoulder-length hair is neatly brushed and she is wearing a loose-fitting cream-colored floral-print dress. She intentionally makes her dress and her hair flutter as she paces her way around the pink-walled room, placing her hands leisurely behind her back. “It’s Steinbeck; can’t remember the exact title, the grapes of something or other,” she says in a casual tone while doing her best to ignore the piercing glare of her sister’s pale blue eyes. “It’s required reading for that American Lit class; it’s not half-bad, the book I mean, well, the class is good too.” 

The naked twin tightens her lips, runs her hand through her hair and increases the narrowness of her gaze. “Get out of here,” she says in an angry whisper. 

“No,” her sister says matter-of-factly. She shifts her green eyes away from her twin sister’s narrow-eyed glare, focusing instead on the proud naked male body standing next to the bed. The bed remains uncompromised, its frilly pink-floral bedspread is fully made; the girlie throw pillows, still arranged in their proper place, are untouched. Proper or not, the stark-naked male also remains uncompromised. He shifts his body weight from side to side in a cocky stance. He glances in his girlfriend’s direction and raises his left eyebrow. He is naked and feels no shame. He stands tall and proud at 6-foot-1. His nude body is lean and muscular, with broad shoulders, large hands and thick calves. He has an angular face, dark brown hair that’s slightly disheveled and light brown eyes. There’s an eagle tattoo on his right bicep and he has a genuine tan that comes from playing high school baseball in the sweltering sun. The green-eyed twin can barely take her eyes off of him, but she forces herself to turn her head and her attention back to her angry sister. The twins glare at each other, two look-a-like blondes with Barbie Doll features and common desires who both favor pink lipstick, floral patterns and citrus-scented perfumes.

“I knew him first; he was in my math class,” says the green-eyed twin, her eyes wide with anticipation. Her hair and cream-colored floral-print dress still flutter intentionally as she glides her way over to where he stands next to the bed and she takes his hand in hers. His hand is big, rough and dry; her hand is slender, lotion-scented and silky smooth. 

“But he’s my boyfriend,” the twin with the pale blue eyes says breathlessly. She steps over his balled-up socks and crumpled jeans, nearly tripping on the leather belt dangling in the loops. She grabs his free hand and whispers breathlessly in his ear. “She knew you first, but I know you b-e-s-t.” She lingers on the word “best” and he knows exactly what she means.

In less than a year, the twins will be going their separate ways, off to colleges in Maine and Arkansas. But at the moment, the only thing separating them is a nude male, standing spread-eagle with the beginnings of a smirk on his angular face. He too, will be off to college in less than a year, with an athletic scholarship for baseball down in Florida.

They are a threesome of high school seniors in waiting, standing side by side, linked together with interlocking hands, like a trio of scissor-cut paper dolls. There’s a genuine hush, like the calm before the storm, in this pink-walled frilly bedroom where the bed is still made and anticipation is rapidly reaching the boiling point. No one is saying a word. 

He cannot disguise his emotions and he doesn’t bother to try; he’s naked and content, extremely and absolutely content. He has no intentions, good or otherwise, of letting go. He squeezes the hands of both sisters, tightening his grip. He is the first to flash a full-on smile, then both sisters join in.

 

 

 

 

 

Paul Germano lives in Syracuse, smack dab in the center of New York State. His friends say he never leaves the Syracuse city limits, which is kind of a joke and kind of true. But his fiction gets around; more than 60 of his stories have been published, in print and online magazines, in the United States, Canada, England, Scotland, Hong Kong and India.