CHANGELING
First you were a vision, no more real than many I have conjured. You leaned against the counter by the sink, wrapped in a pink towel. The kitchen light picked up the blonde highlights in your hair. You flicked the corner of the towel with your left hand, back and forth like a cat lashing her tail. I was sure that Mia had whispered to you to go out in the towel to meet me.
Mia and I left you standing at the front door, silhouetted in your towel, light flaring around you and up the vee of your dancer's legs to the hem of the towel.
At dinner Mia blamed you for her house being a mess, and for the bills being late, for not paying your share. She said she wanted you out by the first of May. Between bites of her rib-eye she said, I just don't like her lifestyle, and when I asked what that meant she said, she's a stripper.
Back at the house, Mia held her keys in one hand at the front door and reached up with the other to ruffle my hair. She whispered, despite the fact that we were still outside, give her a backrub, that's all it'll take. They're like that.
Next you were a woman, real and warm under my hands as I gave you the backrub sitting on some pillows in front of the couch. Your hips touched the insides of my thighs as I leaned into the work. There were hot points of contact where your stretch tights rubbed against my Levi's.
Mia went and changed into a loose sweatshirt thing and bustled around between the couch and the television, picking up magazines. I watched her as I worked on your back through your red sweater. She looked at the television, and the couch, and the magazine in her hand, but she wouldn't make eye contact with me as I worked my way down to the small of your back. You snuggled closer, pressing into my legs and arching your back as I lifted the sweater and rubbed the soft place where your hips flared. When you made a little sound like a moan, Mia's lips pressed together and she took the magazines into the other room. I finished the backrub at the limit of my ability to pretend it wasn't foreplay, and got up to leave. Mia came out of her room and gave me a small goodbye hug, turning to one side to avoid holding me close, and disappeared back into the bedroom. The door shut with a small careful click.
You walked me out to the car and leaned half on the side of the car and half against my chest, and you said next time we should do a full body one, and of course I said you bet. You pressed against me for a moment. I felt your breath against my neck and we almost kissed but I turned away.
And Saturday you were an hour late getting to my house, and I walked out every fifteen minutes to stand on the curb, checking the cars coming up from the freeway the way I used to hurry the cocaine dealers, and finally your faded Jeep rolled up and parked. You looked different in the daylight, sleek in a black satin tee shirt and white shorts with little cuffs on them. You wore glasses, which you hadn't at Mia's, but you had already changed into a woman so I didn't care. I asked how Mia was, just to have something to say, and you said let's not talk about Mia. She had it in for you, you said, always complaining and making innuendos. Let's not talk about Mia, I said.
I followed you into my house and you dropped your oversized bag on the floor by the wooden end table. You turned before I got fully inside and gave me a warm close hug. Your cheek was still cold from the wind off the ocean. You kissed me lightly and then a little harder, and broke away and looked around my small apartment, pausing as you looked at the big Ansel Adams poster. Moon and Half Dome, you said, one of my favorites. You pulled me inside with your hands on my elbows, and kicked the door shut with one foot. Lifting your satin shirt over your head in one easy motion, you became an angel.
BRUCE MOSIER