They found us in the hot tub. Naked. Yulia had the place to herself. They left for the weekend but her mom got sick and they came home early. It was late and the lights downtown stood like burning pimples and the hills were big and black and ragged. They gnawed at the sky. Summer was coming, dry and gritty. Poplars reached up along the streets into the arcing sky. It was drinking season and we were more than a little drunk. There was a moon. Heavy and bright.
They lived on the good side of town which wasn’t all that different from the bad side of town except the houses were painted and the lawns were deep and green. Her parents owned the pizza place downtown. Mom used to work there but now she worked at the Eagles out by the fairgrounds. Better tips. More hours. The men at the Eagles liked Mom. She was friendly. For the most part. But she knew how to deal with the drunks when they got too loud and too grabby. “You can get away with anything,” she used to say. “If you do it with a smile.”
Her mom turned on the lights. “Oh dear,” she said. I tried to smile but it felt wrong. Too many teeth.
“Really?” her mom asked. How do you answer that?
We were friends from school. It was a small town. Everyone knew everyone. Her parents even knew my name. We’d met once or twice. Mostly when Mom and I stopped in for dinner. Her mom’s mouth went round, like a balloon mouth, a tiny O. Her dad, on the other hand, his face folded up like a wallet. Dark and hard. His hands turned to fists, but he kept them in his pockets. “You,” he said. “Get dressed.” I tried to act tough but couldn’t. All my bones went water and I felt sick.
They called Mom. “Jesus,” Mom said. They threatened to call the cops but Mom talked them out of it. It was a small town. People did things for others. Sometimes. People liked Mom. They felt sorry for her. Everyone knew she worked hard. Everyone knew I was a problem. They couldn’t blame her. They knew my dad too and sometimes there’s nothing you could do about how things turned out. “Go home,” Mom said. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” They held the door for me. Yulia sat on the couch trying not to cry. “Go home,” her dad said.
The worst part, the shameful part, was that I didn’t say anything. Yulia, who was pretty and kind and didn’t mean any harm, had to explain. She had to look at her parents. She had to eat breakfast with them. I got to go home. I got to walk away. Getting smaller and smaller with every step.
William Alton earned his MFA from Pacific University in 2007. His poetry has appeared in various magazines, such as Chicago Quarterly, Houston Literary Review and Amarillo Bay. Alton's novel, Flesh and Bone, was nominated for a Stonewall Award.