Ryan Werner<\/p>\n
College Apartment #3, December 21, 1999<\/em><\/p>\n I just started a KISS tribute band with my friends. We\u2019re going to play our first show on Valentine\u2019s Day: A Kiss with KISS. My car is filled with their discs and I listen to them everywhere I go, trying to revisit the songs and learn them through repetition. The first one I break scraping off my windshield is Psycho Circus<\/em>, which I won\u2019t necessarily miss. There goes Lick It Up<\/em>. Animalize <\/em>is shattered, flakes of the label mixing in with the snow on my gloves. It finally comes down to which disc of Alive! <\/em>will be sacrificed. I decide that the girl will stay, she and I and Jesus Christ to save our issues for later.<\/p>\n House-sitting, July 5-13, 2000<\/em><\/p>\n We kiss for twenty minutes. Not a make-out session, but a kiss, our lips pressed together and held, as if in an embrace.<\/p>\n When we finally pull back from each other, I say, \u201cI could live here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou do live here.\u201d<\/p>\n We spend most of our time unclothed and barely touching, flinching at the slam of a car door or ring of a phone not because of our nakedness, but because of our company. Of all the things we do in secret, the most enjoyable is the idyllic banalities of domesticity: she in a long dress trying to figure out how to make chicken cacciatore and me putting together a bookshelf without any instructions, stripping screws until we laugh and collapse into the couch, a half-built monstrosity on the floor next to us.<\/p>\n The Only Coffee Shop In Town, September 3, 1999<\/em><\/p>\n After running it by her bible study group for a couple months, she decided to break off her engagement to her boyfriend of six years.<\/p>\n \u201cHe doesn\u2019t believe in the Lord,\u201d she tells me, drinking cheap tea and listening to talk radio.<\/p>\n I know him, and I like what little I know about him, his sense of humor and intelligence. \u201cCharming guy, though, from what I can tell.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRight, of course.\u201d She blows over the top of her tea. \u201cWhen I first met him he charmed my pants — \u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLoose, right?\u201d I\u2019m unafraid of how I feel, like having a crush on a lesbian or a supermodel. \u201cHe charmed your pants loose, but not off.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRight,\u201d she says, blushing. \u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n Uh-O, April 18, 2000<\/em><\/p>\n In the amusing way in which people set up their own personal barriers when defining right and wrong, she won\u2019t allow me to bring her to orgasm.<\/p>\n Supermarket Sweep, November 20, 2000<\/em><\/p>\n Using the vernacular of fathers on sitcoms, it\u2019s possible to get enough guys on third base and still get a couple runs. So it\u2019s not the absence of sex. It\u2019s the question of how much longer things can be sustained without having to come to terms with the nature of the relationship, how much longer her upstanding reputation as a good child of the Lord will be more important than the facts of the situation as it exists.<\/p>\n I go, \u201cHow will we ever go about moving in together? What if we want to get married? Will it have to be by a justice of the peace in a remote town in Montana? Will our kids be homeschooled and sleep at the houses of actors we pay to pretend to be their parents?\u201d<\/p>\n She starts crying, softly but immediately. She puts back all the items she was going to buy to make spaghetti, but I buy a Whatchamacallit. She doesn\u2019t go to the car and wait, just stands next to me trying not to make a scene. I want to feel bad, but instead I drop her off at her apartment and then go to mine by myself. Just like that, I know we won\u2019t speak anymore, and like everything else that makes easy sense coming together, I feel as if I had been bracing myself for such a schism from the moment I snapped that first KISS disc against the ice on my windshield: Right. Of course<\/em>.<\/p>\n Monsters, December 29, 1999<\/em><\/p>\n She says she hasn\u2019t been dancing in years, since high school when her ex-fianc\u00e9 and her went to prom. Within an hour my car is stuck in a cornfield. I was trying to find the perfect spot, and when I couldn\u2019t maneuver the car out of the spot I was in, I looked around and saw that the perfect spot had, in a way, found us.<\/p>\n She still has no idea what we\u2019re doing, but she doesn\u2019t press the issue. I leave the car running and turn on the high-beams. I get out and she follows suit. I take her hand about twenty feet in front of the car and for two hours, three hours we dance until the snow beneath us is packed solid and our cheeks are numb. Our shadows stretch off to our sides like monsters. She cranes her neck up to touch our foreheads together and the breath between the kiss is almost more important than the kiss itself.<\/p>\n \u201cMonsters: A Series of Non-Chronological Vignettes\u201d appears in Shake Away These Constant Days<\/em><\/a>, a collection of short stories by Ryan Werner, published by Jersey Devil Press.<\/p>\n RYAN WERNER<\/strong> has got a body built for sin and an appetite for passion. He practices shameless self-promotion at his blog, ryanwernerwritesstuff.com<\/a>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Ryan Werner College Apartment #3, December 21, 1999 I just started a KISS tribute band with my friends. We\u2019re going to play our first show on Valentine\u2019s Day: A Kiss with KISS. My car is filled with their discs and … Continue reading