Nina
Going through the attic after my parents died was hard. I knew I
should have done it sooner…but there never seemed to be time. Now the
new owners were going to be here in a week and it was go through the
stuff, or they’d throw it all out.
Most of it was junk, of course. Some of it was funny – the
award-winning macaroni sculpture I made in third grade, for instance.
A lot of it was stuff they had gotten from their parents, and I guess,
hadn’t known what to do with it. I didn’t know, either. I threw away
as much as I could stand to the first day, then went out to a local
bar and got myself thoroughly trashed.
I woke up with a headache, and another full day of sorting through the
artifacts of my life ahead of me. I thought about asking my friends to
help, but I’ve never been good at that kind of thing. My friends were
always complaining about the fact that I never let them closer, but
I’m just not comfortable at being unhappy in front of other people. So
I ate two alka-seltzer for breakfast and grabbed a cup of coffee at
the diner.
The next few hours were dusty, and hot, and tiring. I thought hard
about buying a six-pack to get through it, but I’m not good at that
kind of thing, either. So I just hunkered down and sorted. By the end
of the day about half the attic was cleared and I had a few things I
was planning on taking home with me.
That night, I dropped the boxes in the foyer and practically fell
asleep where I sat. I drifted off to the noise of the TV - but about 2
AM, I found myself awake and restless. I heated some toast and eggs
and had a late dinner/early breakfast. Since I was already awake, I
thought I’d start checking out what I brought home with me.
The first box was mostly photos. I sat and cried for a little while,
reliving memories of my childhood, my parents and my late brother. I
cried some for them, and a lot more for myself. As far as I know, I
don’t have any cousins and now that my parents are gone, I’m it for my
family. It’s a heavy burden sometimes, when I think about it.
Especially as I don’t plan on ever having kids.
The second box was full of what passed for antiques in my family.
Teacups from my grandmother, things like that. The third box seemed to
be filled with nothing but packing material. I dug around in the
filler and finally felt something solid. I lifted the object and
stared in fascination. It was a doll…one I that had been mine as a
child. Nina, I had called her. I smiled as I remembered the way I had
dressed her. I had worn boy’s clothes – she always wore girl’s
clothes. I remembered the day I told my mother that Nina was my
girlfriend and that I would marry her.
My smile faded as I stared at Nina. I must have been no more than
seven, eight years old when I had said that. About three weeks later
Nina had gone missing. I had looked all over the house, but never
found her again. I cried myself to sleep for a month, but eventually I
got over it. Now I looked down at Nina’s porcelain face, her soulful
brown eyes that looked a little sad and far too real, I realized that
I hadn’t lost her at all.
“Damn you.” I whispered to my parents’ lemures. “You hid her.” I
gritted my teeth and thought of all the things left unsaid between
us…things that would never be said now that they were gone. It was
better this way.
Before they got hit by a drunk driver, my parents hadn’t ever accepted
me for who I am. Not from the time I was eight…not ever. Now I didn’t
have to lie anymore. Not that I ever really lied. I remembered their
pinched faces when I told them I was quitting college to join the
military, they way they paled when they visited and I introduced them
to Barb…then Janice…then Karen. They always referred to my lovers as
my “friends” which drove me nuts. All of a sudden I felt exhausted. I
threw myself on my bed and fell asleep almost instantly.
When I woke up, I was clutching Nina, the way I used to when I was a
child. I looked down at her, and smiled. “I can’t have you in bed with
me, sorry.” I told the doll. I stuck her on the headboard shelf.
“You’ll probably break when I roll over.”
Something snapped inside me that night. All the anger, all the
frustration, all the unresolved issues seemed much less important in
the morning when I awoke. I went back to my parents’ house and
finished cleaning out the attic in one spurt. I let the new owners
know that I was done, and that I’d leave the key with a neighbor.
Feeling tired, but refreshed, I returned home.
I dropped the last few boxes and bags on my bed and greeted Nina
jauntily. Her face almost looked like it was smiling. I remembered
that about her. Whoever had painted her had been a genius. When you
were sad, Nina looked sympathetic, when you were happy, she looked
happy for you. The perfect friend.
The next few weeks were busy. My friends wanted small pieces of me –
the way people do when they want to reassure you, let you know that
they care. I didn’t have any grief to share with them, which I think
annoyed them immensely. Sometimes I think that all lesbians are social
workers by nature. At last they stopped trying to console me and I was
able to get my normal life back.
The guys at work were great. They took me out for a few beers and that
was that. No therapy, no processing. Sometimes I like guys better.
Sometimes.
When life got back to normal, though, I found myself lonely. I hadn’t
felt that way in a while. After Karen left I was glad to have my place
to myself, no one ragging at me, or trying to change me. I felt a bit
more like my old self, I found myself telling Nina one day – ready to
go out and meet new people. I thought I saw a sparkle in her eye, but
I knew that was just an illusion.
So out I went. To the local bar, to rap groups, to clubs. But every
woman that I met seemed to lack something, some essential quality I
needed. I ended up eating a lot of potluck, drinking a lot of
overpriced beers and going to sleep alone in my bed.
“You know,” I said to Nina, “if I could find someone like you, I’d
grab her in a moment.” And I laughed. If I squinted, I could see that
Nina was laughing too. Since Nina had come back into my life, I found
myself talking to her more and more often. The way some people do to
their pets - or you might with an old friend. I told her how my day
went, how my nights didn't, and she always listed, just as she had
when I was a child.
I started going to a local club because it was local. The music was
techno, the lights were epileptic fits waiting to happen. I’m the
squarest butch I know – most of them love clubs, with the women cage
dancing in your face, but it gives me a squeamish feeling. I sat by
the bar and waited for someone interesting to wander by.
The beer was watery, but after a few, I felt more like dancing than I
had when I arrived. I asked a few women to dance, one said yes. We
were getting into it when *she* walked in.
I swear it was Nina. Same brown hair falling in soft curls, same deep
brown eyes, same quirky expression. My mouth must have dropped,
because the chick I was with stopped dancing and turned to look where
I was staring. When she didn’t see anything she found remarkable she
tried to get my attention back, but I was already wandering off. Like
I was drawn by a compulsion, I headed across the dance floor,
mesmerized.
I intercepted her about a third of the way into the club. I looked
down into her porcelain face and asked, “Nina?”
She looked up at me with those deep, deep eyes and almost smiled.
Placing her hands on my shoulders, she lifted herself onto the balls
of her feet and kissed me. Her lips were cool, then warm. We separated
and I led her onto the dance floor.
The music came up slow and I held Nina in my arms. Her body was lithe
and lean and she pressed herself close to me, her face against my
neck. I could feel her breath on my ear, had her waist under my hands
and still couldn’t believe it. Was it some kind of magic that had
brought her to life?
When she brought me back to her place, I didn’t even question it.
Although the lights were off in the bedroom, her skin was so pale I
could see her move around the room as she stripped. Her body was
smooth and cool, her limbs finely sculpted. Her body against mine was
more exciting than anything I'd ever felt. I could see she knew that.
Those deep eyes that almost sparkled when I told her...I knew that
look, I'd known it for years.
I'm not a deep person, or a poet. I'm a blue-collar worker, with a
high school education. But the moment Nina laid her lips against mine,
everything changed. I saw all the dreams I had as a child, walking
through fields of flowers holding her hand, riding along on horses
like a prince and princess - all the things that life can never give
us. I burned to feel Nina, her skin on mine, to hear the echoes of
those dreams.
I romanced her, stroking her for long hours until she took my hand and
forced me to enter her. Moving against me, she made no sound, but her
eyes spoke volumes. All those years apart, she said, when I dreamed of
you. All those nights watching you undress, talking to me, all those
nights when I wasn't alive.
She tasted like ambrosia. When I drew my tongue along her cleft and
tased her clit until she should have sung with desire, she was silent.
But she held my face to her, moving me where she would have me and for
hours I let her. She came silently too, but her body thrashed beneath
my hands and my lips, screaming out her pleasure in ways that I
completely understood...
She made love to me in a frenzy, possessively, like a long-separated
lover. Hard thrusts into me, biting, pinching, she felt like a million
small whips across my skin. Her fingers would not be content to fuck
me, but had to taunt me and my need until I came again and again for
her. I lost any understanding of sex after a while, submitting myself
to her commands.
I don't know how long I stayed with her. A few days...a week? I don't
know. The silky sensation of her skin and her lips was my food and my
drink. When I thought I might want to leave, Nina would draw me back
into an embrace, her taught breasts pressed into my mouth, or her pale
legs squeezing my own, until I had no will at all of my own.
It was a dream world, though. I knew in some part of me that it wasn't
real, that it couldn't last. It came to an abrupt end. Nina was
astride me, thrusting into me, dragging herself across me until we
both came from the friction. Although she panted, no sweat dampened
her skin, no sound came from her open mouth. I watched her hair move
around her carved neck and caught the glitter of those dark eyes in
the dim light. She was so beautiful I could hardly breathe. I couldn't
leave her, not now, not ever.
Nina lay next to me, kissed me tenderly and closed my eyes - her way
to tell me to sleep. I did, but only for a short time. When I awoke I
knew, the way you know a phone call brings bad news, that if I didn't
leave tonight, I'd never leave at all.
I slipped out of bed, grabbing my clothes and fled. I pretended not to
see the glimmer of bright eyes from the bed.
I forced my apartment door open past the pile of mail that had built
up in my absence, and closed it, locking and chaining it behind me. I
drew all the curtains closed, locked the windows and stood, huddled
into my coat in my living room, staring at the ceiling. I feared to go
to my bedroom - feared Nina, as if she were some kind of poisonous
snake.
Finally, shivering, I found myself standing outside my room. Pushing
the door open, I noticed my hand was shaking. Not sure of what I would
find, I hardly dared look.
My room was dusty, and needed to be aired out. A musty smell filled
it, the kind of smell that attics and basements create. A smell of
not-quite-death. Of decay. I faced my bed, jaw clenched, hands balled
into fists, daring Nina to bewitch me once again.
She wasn't there. The shelf was empty, as was the bed. Closets,
drawers, all as I had left them, all empty. I sat on the bed, confused
and upset. Had it all been a dream? Had I just returned from my
parents' house with a bag full of memories and unresolved issues? I
started to cry, a wailing tearing cry, until I was facedown on my
pillow, crying like a child.
When I woke up the next morning I pretended everything was all right.
I called work and told them I had been sick, I ate, I sorted mail, I
called worried friends. I lived. I pretended to live, because inside I
was dead. Nina was gone and I was still enslaved.
Last night I went through the photographs from my parents' house once
more. There were photos of myself and my brother together, in days
when we didn't know what life would do to us. Pictures of me as a baby
- all dolled up with bows in my hair. And a photo from my 6th
birthday. I was wearing a red dress, my hair was long and in my arms I
held a doll. She was a cheap plastic doll, with blonde hair and eyes
that stared blindly. I turned the photo over. There in my mother's
neat handwriting was a caption, "Sara - 6th birthday with her new
friend Nina."
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