20 & writing

Full Milo piece.

“Come on, take off your shirt.”  

Liv was already almost naked and Milo couldn’t help but remember saying those same words to a girl in college. Several girls. And here in his car, ten years later, a woman was saying them to him. Twenty-something Milo would have had his shirt off and pants around his ankles in seconds flat. But at thirty one, her demands felt empty and car sex felt callow. He wasn’t with his high school girlfriend lying to their mothers and fucking in his station wagon behind Blockbuster. He was an adult, and Liv was beyond a naked girl in a car. 

“Wait, can we just sit here for a minute?”

“Are you sick?”

“No…at least, I don’t think so.”

Milo ran the back of his hand softly down Liv’s cheek, wondering what she was like in high school. If she got straight A’s and made a speech at graduation or if she cut class to smoke joints in the student parking lot. 

“What were you like at sixteen?”

Liv squinted and let out a soft giggle.

“You like younger girls or something?”

“No, I just––I want to know more about you.”

“Huh. I dunno, I was…rebellious. I failed my drivers test twice. Worked at a pizza place, lost my virginity in the break room after hours. You do realize I’m naked right now, right?”

Milo bit his lip and laughed through his nose. He couldn’t believe he still had his shirt on. Something was stopping him; an oracular force he hadn’t felt in years. The fruitless sex and numbers on cocktail napkins disintegrated. But Liv wasn’t the kind of girl you bring home to your mother. And she seemed to like it that way.

“ Were you ever in love?”

“As a teenager? I guess I thought I was.”

“What was his name?”

“Milo, why are you asking me this? I don’t want to talk about this shit.”

“I don’t know, I just wanted to talk.” 

“Yeah, well I didn’t meet you to talk.”

Liv moved her lips to his, aggressively weaving her fingers into his mess of black curls. His mouth remained unopened––rejecting her physical invitation she had be driving at.  

“What the fuck?” 

She grabbed her blouse she had thrown in the passenger’s seat and started working on the buttons. Braless and frustrated, she didn’t look at him. 

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just––maybe I am sick.”

“With what? Erectile disfunction?”

She still wasn’t looking at him, but she snickered under her breath––buttons reaching her chest. 

“Funny. But, honestly I think I’m coming down with something.”

He wasn’t coming down with something. Milo kept antibacterial in his glove compartment and showered twice a day. Sickness was not his forte. And neither was love. 

“Okay. Can you just take me back to my apartment?”

She was oblivious to the deafening explosion of anxiety going off in Milo’s head. He stared blankly at her, desperately wanting to kiss her. Hold her. Love her. All day. Always.

“Yeah. Seatbelt?”