a shyness that is criminaly vulgar

She's leaning against the doorjam of her bedroom, wearing my tshirt that she's pulled off the floor and nothing else.  Her long brown hair is tousled and draped over one half of her face, where she's trying to hide a smile.  I'm still pretty dazed by the unlikely fact of my presence here at all, half of my skinny frame tangled in the sheets of her twin bed. Her hippie mom is conveniently out again but there is no doubt she knows what's going on. She's turning a tolerant 60s and 70s eye on us.  This is becoming a habit and one that I'd be more than happy to get used to but there is no chance of it. She's leaving in the fall for Colorado to start college and I'm...well, I'm not going to college.

It is awkward now because neither of us is sure what this is but we are both so hungry for it.  Its most afternoons that we're together now,  stolen time from the end of our senior year in high school.  Neither of us is experienced enough to be certain but I think we both suspect that this has become quite different from hestitant but desparate fumbling in the backseats of cars or teenaged cliche of mediocre sex through a sickly sweet haze of barcardi shots and bartles & james.  Neither of us is particularly skilled or inventive but practice makes perfect and so we're starting to anticipate each other in unspoken ways. We're getting good at each other, an elegant choreography that is surpisingly strong.

It's probably the best lesson that either of us will have learned this year, preparing us for the stream of romantic collisions and one-night stands that essentially just controlled explosions of hormones between two solapsistic college kids. We also both know that this spring will be come summer and then fall when it will all end abruptly. Like opening soulds of Johnny Marr's guitar, you can feel the sweet tension between us, a thrumming chord that's running through us both like an electric current. It's the sound of whats between us.

Neither of us know it yet but she'll have a rough first year in Boulder.  It will end up with her living in a straight-edge punk Washington DC squat when she drops out of school in her second year.   I'll see her a couple of times when she comes home from back east and there will be nothing of the slightly preppy and slighly geeky girl i knew.  She'll come back with a sinuous and decadent walk, decked out in ripped fishnets and combat boots, with a pair of kohl-rimmed eyes that were always pretty unreadable.  I'll never see the natural color of her hair again after that summer.