She came into his room looking for the cat. It was the last place to look and his door was cracked open.
"Edmund?" she said, softly. He was asleep, one cat across his neck, one purring on his chest, a book laying across splayed fingers. His lashes lay dark and heavy on his high cheekbones, his eyes moving under the lids in REM sleep. His lips were red and moist. Out of its usual ponytail, his hair curled softly around his face and neck.
He'd kicked the sheet off his lower body and Naomi's eyes were drawn to his morning hard-on. Not bad for a short guy. It lay against his stomach in a nest of curls, with an interesting bend to it. She tried not to think how it would feel inside her but her own body responded with embarrassing moistness. She wished she'd thought to throw on panties under her nightshirt but it was the first quest out this morning--coffee, pee, cats, and back to bed--her first class didn't start until one and she cherished the extra bedtime for reading, snoozing, cat-petting or if she were lucky, fucking.
So far her housemate Edmund hadn't been a prospect in the sex department. She couldn't figure if he was gay or monkish or a total geek, but he kept to himself, Was he shy or rude? Sometimes he seemed oddly old and self-possessed, other times hopelessly lost and scared like a child. Naomi didn't have time to play games with oddballs. She'd had enough of them in her family. It was a relief when she found she was popular in school and kids thought her family weird.
She felt she could tread water at least in both worlds. It was one of the reasons she'd chosen social work, over her parent's pleas that the degree doomed her to poverty even at the masters level.
"Even schoolteachers do better and have more options," her mother pleaded. Edmund was an education major. Even he thought his classes were a joke but Naomi admired his spirit. It seemed every other guy she knew was going for an MBA or computer science or law school.
A cat jumped to the floor and Edmund stirred. Naomi stood frozen. He opened his dark eyes.
"Spying on me?" Casually he covered himself with a sheet.
"I was looking for the cats," she stammered. She noticed the book he was reading.
Gone With the Wind. "Nice romance."
"We're supposed to find a book to teach history that's not a history book. Only problem is most kids will only see the movie."
"History? Well, I only saw the movie...."
"I'll let you read it when I'm done. It's also a good picture of PTSD."
"From war?"
"Yeah, and terror...Scarlett has it bad and so does Ashley but they manifest it in different ways."
"How do you know?"
He looked down and petted the cat that stayed on the bed. "I'm a cat magnet you know. You can pretty much be sure to find the cats with me whenever they go missing. It's even my name."
"Edmund?"
"Gato. My last name. It's 'cat' in Spanish"
"You're Spanish?"
"Cuban. Half."
"Cool."
"Cold. I'm freezing my nuts off up here."
"Then why don't you wear pajamas?"
"You kidding? You need to let your pores breathe at night. That's why I have a space heater. Only it doesn't heat much more than the space right in front of it. I've almost set myself on fire a couple tines and its only October. What happens when it snows? I've never seen snow."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I'm totally looking forward to it."
"Why did you come here if you hate the cold so much?"
"I didn't know I hated it until I experienced it. And now I'm stuck for a semester at least."
"I have a fireplace in our room. Some of the guys use it as a study. It's really cozy. You could bring your books there."
"What about me?"
"What?"
"You said my books. you didn't say I could come."
"Oh. I'm slow in the morning. You'll have to let me know when you're not being serious."
"If my lips are moving, I'm not being serious."
"Don't you have a warmer blanket?"
"What you see is what I got."
"Can't your parents send you money for warmer stuff?"
"I don't have parents."
"Oh..." she stumbled. She'd lived a non-eventful life and felt that talking about her normal family life to people with troubled backgrounds was rude; it was something she'd need to get over if she were to be a social worker. She blushed at the absurdity. She stiffened her spine. Edmund would be good practice. "why not?"
"Died."
"I'm sorry."
"Why? You didn't know them. Maybe they're better off dead. Everyone says that 'I'm sorry'. Come up with something different."
"Like what?"
Anything! Say 'cream cheese' say 'bullocks fart' say 'so it goes' ANYTHING but sOOrrry. " He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."
"Don't say that!"
"OKAY! Cream cheese."
"Much better. And you can only say "so it goes' if you're Tralfamadorian."
Edmund laughed. "I am one are you?"
"No. I'm dreadfully normal." She noticed his eyes tracing her body, pausing at the top of her legs. She was terrified he could smell her juices. Would they actually wet the inside of her thighs? Was the smell that strong? Did it smell of fish like boys joked? She'd never smelled fish, not even when she and her older cousin played touching and licking games but maybe boys were more sensitive. God she couldn't keep her eyes from drifting to the peak his penis created in the sheet and it felt like she'd sat in a vat of mayonnaise.
"But you get absorbed in books."
"Yeah. Movies too. Music. I sing."
"Hey, me too. Play guitar. You?"
"Umm, no. I sing opera. I wanted to go to Ithaca College and study music but my parents..."
"Fuck your parents. Do what you want."
"I'm a double-legacy at Cornell. My aunt and my mother. It's bad enough I'm studying social work."
"I should talk. I want to play in a band and I'm studying to teach kids-- is it practical or is it a cop out?"
"Can't you do both?"
"Dunno. I like punk rock. How would that go over in Moosehead granola ville?"
"As well as anything cutting edge. The Moosewood people are very open-minded."
"Open to mosh pits? Maiming for fun and profit?"
"Why not?"
"I'm in if you're in. You sing, right?"
"My trainer would strangle me if I tried to sing punk rock. It would ruin my voice."
"Look at you. You;re a peanut. You'll never have the volume to make it on the big stage."
"How would you know?"
"My mother sang with the NY Opera Company. I have an ear. You're good but not good enough."
"My teachers say..."
"Your teachers are being paid to perpetuate a dream your parents forced on you. That's one good reason why you shouldn't say 'I'm sorry' when I say my parents are dead. One less force of nature to battle against to find your true calling." His face hardened and his eyes turned cold.
His certainty infuriated her. "Fuck. Who the fuck are you?"
"No one. Tell me to piss off. Unless this strikes a chord of truth in your heart you've been hiding from everyone, yourself most of all. "
"I don't have it yet, I may not but if I work at it..."
"You have a beautiful voice. you could do anything. Except opera. You'll only break your heart trying for the top. I'm putting a band together. You'd be perfect in front. You're Chrissy Hines and Pat Benatar and Blondie and something all your own...you'd blow them all away."
"You're nuts. That's not my style"
"Remember you told me about the first time you rode a roller coaster/" He took her hand and drew her closer to his bed. "How scared you were? How for years you refused to even try?" He touched her thigh with his other hand and slowly rubbed his thumb up and down toward the crease between leg and pussy. She gasped when he touched a particularly sensitive spot. He pressed more firmly. "But how you loved it and now it's your favorite ride of all?"
"Stop."
"Really?" He reached his hands up to her chin and gently drew her face to his. His kiss was soft but urgent. She moaned, then pulled back.
"I thought ... you liked... boys."
He sighed. "It seems they like me. And I like sex. Is that so awful? I've always liked girls too."
"It's just...my cousin in San Francisco...didn't you live there? He says there's this gay cancer spread by sex with men."
"You can't catch cancer,"
"I know. It's weird. But he warned me, since I live near New York..."
"Ithaca ain't New York..."
"But you're from San Francisco...you've lived in NYC. You've had sex with men. I mean, I guess..."
"A boy's gotta eat."
"A boy with no parents." She brushed a stray curl off his forehead.
"Look, I don't have cancer or anything. I had the clap when I got here. The student infirmary tested me for everything and that's all they found and they cured it. I haven't had sex since. I just didn't wanna do it here. I wanted to be different, you know?"
"So why do it now?"
"Cuz, well, this is, it's like, different."
"How?"
"Don't make me be a jerk."
"I'm not making you be a jerk, jerk."
He let out a sigh. "Cuz you're different. Well, you're a girl. I do prefer girls. I mean, I'm not gonna be prowling around for dick just to have a dick in my ass, you know, I'm sorry for my language. I'm trying to talk straight."
"I don't want you to be phoney."
"You don't want me the way I was. I'm not the way I was. That's the thing. I start talking like that, acting like that, shit, I'll be back there and I can't go back there. Maybe I am a phoney. Maybe I have no business here. Fucking ivy. I think I'm allergic to ivy."
"You got in. You got a scholarship. You belong here more than a lot of jerks who are only here because their great grandfathers donated a wing or something. Don't let them make you feel inferior."
"But I am inferior. There's so much stuff everyone seems to know like the alphabet that I never heard of. I thought we'd get our first assignment in first class--no--it was posted on some bulletin board I didn't even know existed so day one I'm already a day behind everyone else. All theses secret codes and shit everyone but me knows."
"I can help you with some of it."
"I'm just a dumb conch who never even went to high school. I don't belong here."
'No high school?"
"Home schooled. My mother bopped around in all these different hippie communes. We even stayed with People's Temple for a while. I was lucky I missed the night of the Purple Kool-Aid"
"What? You're serious?"
"No. I'm Never serious."
"You were in People's Temple?"
Edmund said nothing. He dropped his hands and lowered his eyes. "No. I'm sorry I mentioned it."
