My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One Night Stands | Page 3

door and explain to

us how to avoid getting smacked, but who knew what kind of high she was on after her nude

pep rally upstairs.

“I heard that men fall asleep after they have sex,” Sloane offered.

“Dad didn't look tired when he was chasing me with his belt,” I told her.

“I don't know if I can wait for Mom to come for us. I'm really hungry.”

I climbed up on the dryer and took a seat. “Mom was wearing a nurse's hat.”

“What?” She seemed concerned.

“When I walked in on them, she was naked and Dad was chasing her on the bed. I saw

his penis.”

“Ew . . .”

“Ew? Ew? You're the pervert who made me do it!”

“I didn't think you'd really do it,” she said.

“You knew I would!”

This was so typical of Sloane. She always backed out of a situation once controversy

found its way into it. My brothers and sisters knew they could get me to do anything, mostly

because I wanted them to like me, but Sloane was a different story. I wasn't sure I liked her.

“You are so double-faced,” I told her. “I hate you.”

“It's two-faced, dummy, and I am not!” she said.

“Oh, really, what about the time with the Feinstein sisters,” I reminded her.

A year earlier when I was in kindergarten and she was in the fifth grade, we would walk to

school together in the morning. One day, two other sisters were on their way to school with

their five-foot-tall Irish wolfhound following closely behind. They were telling their dog to go

back home but the dog wouldn't listen. Sloane was scared because the dog was so big and

kept growling at us. The girls were laughing at my sister for being scared of their dog, but in

reality, this dog was scary. He was huge and mean and looked like he belonged in a wild an-

imal park. He had a large open wound on his hind leg and looked as if he was slowly decom-

posing.

“Stop laughing at my sister, you dumb girls,” I yelled. “Your dog is ugly and belongs in a

shelter.”

“Shut up,” Sloane said through her teeth. “Shut up.”

“Oh, look, Sloane needs her six-year-old sister to defend her,” one of the girls sneered.

“No, she doesn't,” I yelled, then turned to Sloane for some backup—only to see her run-

ning furiously in the direction of the school.

Years later I learned the word “turncoat” in history class. Had I had this kind of ammunition

against her earlier, things might have ended up differently.

“I dropped the camera in Mom's room,” I told her.

“Oh, that's just great.” She stood up with her hands on her hips. “I have pictures on there

of Marsha's sleepover party. We all took our pajamas off and took pictures while playing Truth

or Dare.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because. We felt like it.”

“I'm telling,” I told her.

“Who cares?” she said. “It was only girls.”

“Lesbian!” I yelled.

I knew what a lesbian was because my father's best friend from high school's wife left him

for another woman and my father referred to her only as “the lesbian.”

“I am not a lesbian. Shut up!”

“Yes you are. I knew it.”

“If anyone's a lesbian, it's you,” she said. That shut me up.

“It's better for us just to go upstairs and get it over with,” she said. “At least then we can

eat something. I want a sandwich.”

“How can you think about food at a time like this?” I asked her. “Do you think people at the

Battle of Gettysburg had time for peanut butter and jelly?”

Switching tactics, she reminded me that it was a Thursday night and we would be missing

The Cosby Show if we stayed in the basement. That would have been enough to drive any

level-headed seven-year-old insane.

Even so, I was ready to stay in the basement as long as it took for my dad to forget about

what had happened. I had seen his penis and did not think I would be able to look him in the

eye anytime soon.

I thought about escaping through our one basement window, but then I would only be out-

side and it was cold. Winter was not a good time to run away from home, especially without

an overnight bag.

I wondered if my mother was actually mad at me too. I told my sister I would need more

than the five dollars we had originally agreed on.

“No way! You got caught. That was not part of the deal! I'm not even sure I'm going to give

you the five dollars!”

I smacked her on the back of the head. She tried to hit me, but I ducked. Then she ran to-

ward the stairs.

“No! Don't go!!!” I yelled, but she was already up the stairs and out the door when I ran up

after her to try and pull her back down.

I locked the door just as I heard her get another smack, but this one sounded like it was

on her face. I listened as she started wailing.