Page 1 of Stroked Long
Prologue
BODI
Bodi at age twelve . . .
“Turn away! Turn away!” my mom screeches as Tom Cruise starts humping a woman on the TV. “Sweet Saturn. Thomas, turn the TV off!”
“I don’t know where the remote is,” my dad says, chuckling to himself while he looks around his recliner, clearly hiding it.
Eva and I giggle from our perched seat on the ground in front of the coffee table. It’s movie night and we are watchingJerry McGuire, a movie my mother apparently didn’t know had a sex scene in it. Eva is four years older than me and despite my younger age of twelve, I know what a sex scene is, thanks to the perverts on my swim team. I’ve seen my fair share of boobs in the boy’s locker room, but my mom doesn’t know that.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” My mom stalks over to the TV cabinet, an old converted jelly cupboard, and swings the door shut, closing off the view of our forty-five-inch tube TV. In forgetting to actually turn the TV off, the moans of the woman echo through the new surround system my dad installed last weekend.
I roll over into my pillow and laugh into the plush softness while my mom freaks out some more and shoves her body in a small crack of the cabinet to turn the TV off. Once the sounds evaporate from our family living space, my mom sighs.
With her hands on her hips, she surveys the room and says, “Midnight aerobics for those two. Interesting way to exercise, wouldn’t you say, Thomas?”
My mom is a firm believer in deniability. She’s mastered her skill.
“Mom, we’re not five; we know what sex is.” Eva huffs and flops down on her pillow next to me.
“They did teach us about ‘midnight aerobics’ at school, but I’ve never seen it standing up before, have you, Eva?” I ask, laughter in my voice.
“No, that was interesting. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“Any position really is possible with an imagination,” my dad cuts in just as my mom glares at him, a scolding about to rip through her.
“Thomas!” We all laugh. “Do not tell your children about creative sex positions.”
My dad holds up his hands in defense. “I thought we were talking about midnight aerobics.”
Rolling her eyes, she grabs the empty bowl of popcorn off the coffee table and walks to the kitchen. With the house’s open concept, she’s able to continue to talk to us from the kitchen that overlooks the family room.
According to my dad, my mom has kept amodesthouse for us to grow up in. Family pictures grace many walls, neutral tones in the furniture, and the honorary apple-print wallpaper in the kitchen. She doesn’t experiment much with color, but what she lacks in hues throughout the house she fills with unconditional love. It’s the perfect house for a family of four. Grandma once told me that we are the all-American family with our two-story home, a boy and a girl, a German Shepherd named Fritz, and a loving family dynamic that keeps us close together during the good times and the bad.I’m not completely sure what family dynamic means, but she assures me it is a good thing.
Although Eva is my older sister, she is one of my best friends. She still sits with me at the dinner table as we complete our homework before Mom pulls out some kind of homemade masterpiece from the oven. Since she got her license, she’s driven me to and from my swim practices, and cheered me on at meets. Our family operates like clockwork. We’re not rich, but we’re not poor. We go on vacation once a year, take family Christmas sweater pictures, and sit around in a circle during the Fourth of July, playing cards until fireworks start to erupt in the sky.
My dad works for an investment firm, and my mom, well, she volunteers at the local Boys and Girls Club and takes care of Eva and me. We’ve had it pretty easy our whole life, little blips here and there, but Mom and Dad give us the best life they can afford. I’m grateful.
“Now, everyone pick up your stuff and go brush your teeth and don’t forget to floss those kernels out. I want another year of a no-cavity report from the dentist.”
“But the movie isn’t over,” Eva points out.
“Yes, well, your father’s movie choice for tonight has been put on hold until I’m able to view the rest of it for myself. We don’t want any more wee-wees and hooeys touching on screen again, now do we?”
“I’m okay with it,” I say, raising my hand for a vote.Renee Zellweger is hot.
“Me too,” Eva chimes in.
“Seems fine to me,” my dad says, right before my mom raises a scary eyebrow at him. My dad clears his throat. “I mean, seems fine to me that movie night is over. Go ahead, kids. Listen to your mother.”
Huffing and grabbing her pillow, Eva says in an annoyed teenager voice, “We’re not kids, Dad.”
“Just because you have your driver’s license doesn’t mean you’re not my little girl still. Now come shake my foot and kiss me goodnight.”
You heard that correctly. My dad shows affection in three ways: kisses, hugs, and shaking his foot. It’s weird, it’s strange, but it’s our family.
Gladly, Eva shakes my dad’s foot, giving it a good hard jolt, before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. Standing in line, waiting to hold his callused toes in my hand, I move in when Eva steps aside. My dad smiles up at me as I grip his foot and then pulls me in for a hug.
