Head Over, Part 2

“Lincoln, honey, you’ve got to wear the uniform, it’s required.” Diana cooed at her thoroughly impertinent son.

“No, Mommy, I don’t wanna.”  He stuck his bottom lip out and stamped both feet on the ground, arms crossed and clearly indicating that he intended to stay in the clothes he was wearing.  Diana, not used to being an authoritarian or much of a mother, got up and walked out.

“Christopher, get your son in his fucking school uniform, I have to go to work!”  She called, getting on the elevator to the ground floor, where the rest of the world toiled.  Lincoln walked out of his room, gingerly peering around the corner for traces of his mother or the housemaid.  When he was assured neither were there, he walked to the kitchen in his shorts and red racecar t-shirt that matched his red racecar sneakers.  The sneakers made him feel like he could outrace cheetahs, which he knew were very fast.  He pushed a chair and scaled the fridge, grabbing the cookie jar and nearly falling over.  He snatched three oatmeal chocolate chip, and started strolling to his dad’s office, munching away.  As he hiked up the stairs to his parents floor, he heard his dad’s voice along with another that was neither his mother nor the housemaid.

As Lincoln neared the door, he realized that the voices he heard were forming sounds and words that he didn’t really know or understand.

“Chris…Chris…OH, Chris!” The lady’s voice yelled.  Lincoln stepped into the hallway, chewing his second cookie cautiously.  He heard more heavy breathing sounds and inaudible noises.  The door was cracked and he could see motion, but still had no description for what he was seeing.  Putting the last cookie in his mouth, he looked into the door of his father’s office.

A woman sat on his desk, and they were doing the kissing thing that always grossed him out in the movies, but it was different.  His father was standing up while this woman was on the desk, one leg over his shoulder and one wrapped around his waist.  His dad had his pants part way down, and his shirt and tie were on the floor, and was pushing his mouth on this woman’s neck.  He had seen his mommy and daddy kiss, but never like this.  Their bodies were pressed too close, and they were shifting around, but not going anywhere.  But the moving, the kissing, the nakedness didn’t phase him.  Lincoln’s eyes were locked on the shoes the woman wore.  They were “lady shoes” as his mother had told him.  Black stilettos hung over and around his dad.  Suddenly, the rules changed, as far as Lincoln could see, because the woman had pushed his dad around and slammed him down on the desk.  The heels made her stance fierce, and Lincoln had seen her eyes as they had switched.  They were like fire; sharp and intriguing like the shoes.

            An arm grabbed him and a familiar hand covered his mouth.

            “That’s not for you, mijo.” Myra whispered, walking him back down the stairs.  She got him changed into his uniform, and gushed about how he would be late for school.  But Lincoln wasn’t really listening.  He looked down at his housemaid’s shoes.  They were lady shoes- but not point or scary.  They were squat and steady.  They didn’t amaze him like the other ones.  If my sneakers make me fast, then those shoes must make her be able to make daddy want to do the kissing thing, Lincoln rationalized in his head.  Myra rushed him down the elevator with his back pack and $10 for lunch, per Diana's instructions.  Myra put him in a taxi cab to school, and the day went on as usual.

He thought the kissing thing was gross, but his dad and the lady were different.  Their kissing was like a battle; his daddy was a warrior and so was the lady.  It was then and there that Lincoln promised himself that if he ever did the kissing thing, he wanted it to be a battle, too.

to be continued