The Three Loves

All characters engaging in sex acts are 18 or older.

—

There was a knock on the door. I couldn’t remember the last time I had someone at the door. The ancient house my apartment was in had once been a grand, fancy place. Over time it had been subdivided into tiny pieces. You had to go up an outside staircase around the back of the house to get to my tiny piece of attic. The front door wasn’t even visible from the street.

I don’t know what I had expected. But the woman, or girl really, who stood before was not it. She wore a plaid flannel shirt over a band t-shirt, one I had never heard of. She wore baggy jeans and a studded leather bracelet on her left wrist. There was the hint of a tattoo sneaking out around the neckline of her t-shirt. She had a studded choker matching her bracelet. I could see that she was thin, and her breasts were lost under the baggy t-shirt and flannel shirt she wore. She was about my height.

But her face was what really surprised me. I remember thinking her face would have been pretty if it weren’t for… well everything she had done to it. She had a pierced nose and eyebrow. Her eyes were dark like mine, and her hair, or at least the roots of it, were the same color as mine. She had buzzed her hair around the sides and left it long on top, which was dyed blue. She wore fashionably ugly horn-rimmed glasses. There was something naggingly familiar about her, but I had never met someone with anything approaching her… fashion sense.

She bore a nervous smile, and unconsciously kneaded her hands in front of her. Her face went from nervous to shocked. “It is you, James!” She leapt at me, and I don’t know what I would have done in desperate defense if I hadn’t been so gobsmacked by this “alternative girl” or whatever you could call her at my door. She flung her arms around me, and let out a contented groan. “Oh my God, I found you! I found you!” My arms stuck out awkwardly from my sides, but I was able to bring them in to pat her on the back. I’m not a hugger. At all. And I chafed at her invasion of my personal space. Her body did feel good against mine, but I was neurotically nervous around girls at that age.

She stepped back, leaving a hand on my arm. “James? It’s me.” Then it clicked for me. Those dark eyes like mine, the hair my same color, and the glasses.

“Charlotte?” Could it be my cousin after all these years?

She put both her hands to her mouth. Her eyes got a glassy look and her brow furrowed. “James, it really is you!”

I struggled to speak. She had been as close as I had ever had to a best friend. “How long has it been?”

“Ten years. That’s when… well you know. And our sides of the family stopped seeing each other. That was the last time.”

It took a second for the fog to clear from my brain. I remembered all the times I had begged my parents to get together with my aunt and uncle so I could see Charlotte. My dad was wrathful every time I suggested it, and I learned to ask my mom instead. The answer didn’t change. I wrote her a few letters and she wrote back, but we moved onto other things soon.

But the answer to my wish I had forgotten about was here now, right in front of me. If I looked carefully I could see the nervous girl, all elbows, hair, and glasses in front of me where this unconventional woman stood. “Charlotte, holy shit. I’ve missed you.” This time I came in to hug her. It was a true hug, and I squeezed her hard. She felt nice against me just like before and I caught a whiff of her natural scent.

When I backed away tears were streaming down her face, but she was beaming. “Do you want to come in?”

—

As it was for many kids my age, my grandma’s house was a treat. It was always the same when I came in. Something smelling nice and sweet from the kitchen. And grandma would open the door, her face filled with a thousand mirthful wrinkles. I remember thinking she must have been the oldest woman in the world. She was so skinny she looked like she would blow over in a breeze and her knuckles were knobby and spotted. “There he is! There’s my sugar!” Though I blushed, I loved it every time she called me that.

“Happy birthday, Grandma!” I said through an almost painful grin.

Then grandpa would put his paper down and come to greet us. His back bent and he shuffled, but his grin was just as wide as grandma’s. His hair was stark white, but as full as mine. No doubt plenty of men his age envied it. He wasn’t much for words, but all the same I loved the contented hums he made when he hugged me. “Hi grandpa!” You had to shout to get him to hear you.

They would talk with mom and dad about boring grown-up things. Another great thing about being at grandma and grandpa’s house was that my parents would be on their best behavior. Dad would control his drinking and mouth. Mom would leave him alone and spend time with grandma. I didn’t have to worry like I usually did when they were together.

It was just like Grandma, cooking on her own birthday. She was like that, and people took advantage.

Aunt Sarah and Uncle Johnny and Charlotte and James Jacob weren’t there yet. James was grandpa’s name, and my dad (also James) would always fume about Uncle Johnny “stealing” the name that was rightfully his. James Jacob was a few years older than me and always mean. He got to see grandma and grandpa much more often than I did, as they lived just around the corner and we were all the way in Portland, hours away. He was a jealous boy, and got in trouble with grandpa for the way he treated me.

On the other hand, I was always excited to see Charlotte. We were born only a month apart and people used to joke about us being twins as similar as we were. We looked alike and we even had similar interests. We used to make up all kinds of games and fantasies in grandma’s backyard and I was always sad when I had to leave.

The grown-ups hugged and said their hellos. Mom went into the kitchen with grandma to see what smelled so good and dad awkwardly shouted at grandpa about sports. But the screen door slammed behind me and I dashed into the vast wonderland that was grandma and grandpa’s back yard. I was a little too old for the swingset, though Charlotte and I had loved it when we were little. There was a small garden with tomatoes and zucchini, a shed, and a big bird feeder.

What really got me excited was the treehouse that grandpa had built last year. As old as they were, they certainly kept busy. I climbed up the horizontal boards nailed to the big old oak tree and there was a tiny space just big enough for two kids (usually me and Charlotte) to sit down.

I ran around the yard, pretending I was Luke Skywalker or Superman or a t-rex. My body burst with excitement and I frantically described to myself whatever magical thing I was doing at the time.

“James!” Someone shouted from the house, but I didn’t have to turn to see who. When I did turn Charlotte was charging at me, her ponytail swinging back and forth behind her head.

“Charlotte!” We smashed into each other’s embrace and almost fell. She looked different. I don’t think I had ever seen her wear a dress before.

Her face was split in half by her smile, but so was mine. Then I realized what else was different. She had makeup on. She looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

“Hey,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly awkward. I was only eleven and I had not a speck of interest in girls yet. Some of my friends at school had already started talking about girls, and I felt embarrassed and confused at what they said.

Her smile faltered, “Don’t I look pretty?” I guess she did but it never occurred to me. I nodded dumbly.

“Come on,” I shouted, running toward the tree house. “I’m Superman and you’re Wonder Woman!”

She chased after me, “No, I’m Batman! Wait up!”

—

I poured the coffee for Charlotte and brought it to her on the couch. She had taken off her outer flannel shirt, revealing a sleeve tattoo on her left arm. It was decorated with waves and sailors and monsters. We stared at each other as she took the coffee from me. I couldn’t help but try to get a look at her boobs, now that the flannel was off. She was thin, and her boobs small. I wish I could see a bit more of her. I still couldn’t quite believe it was her. Her eyes were still a bit red, but she had regained her composure.

I felt extraordinarily awkward. Why had she come here? I mean I knew that she came to see me. At least I thought that’s why she came. But why now? There were a million questions I wanted to ask her. Where are you living now? What are your plans? Are we still friends? What’s with… your look? Where have you been all these years?

“So…” she began, taking a cautious sip of coffee. “I’m sure you want to know why I’m here.” I nodded and she went on, “Mom and dad, in their words, have tolerated a lot from me over the years. The tattoos, the hair, ‘turning my back on God.’ I’ve been living with them, or at least I was until a week ago.”

“They’ve always been like that. I remember the things uncle Johnny used to say to Dad.” From Uncle Johnny’s perspective the two of them were like Cain and Abel.

“So you know the kind of things they said to me. And you know Dad is never shy about insults. I was ‘Satanic’ for the tattoos. It’s just the Odyssey. I was ‘unladylike’ for my hair. If I’m honest I did do a lot of it to fuck with them, but at the end of the day I like the result.” She laughed, “I know, James. I saw the look on your face when you saw me. I know I don’t look like me. Or at least what you remember. I can’t say you’ve changed all that much though.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” I replied. I didn’t really understand why people would make themselves look like she did. That look wasn’t attractive to guys. I had enough sense not to say so. “And yeah, I guess I haven’t changed much.”

She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “It’s the same me, James. You don’t know how happy I am to see you.” I was happy too, but she left me speechless and I just nodded and smiled.

“Anyway. There’s always a last straw.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a battered wallet. She produced a picture from it. It was a girl, smiling and happy, close to our age. She was dark skinned and had long black hair. She looked Asian, but I couldn’t quite tell. And right next to her, one hand around her shoulder and a cigarette in the other, was Charlotte. Charlotte’s lips were planted firmly on the side of the girl’s pretty face. “Yeah. Exactly what it looks like. I don’t know if they were more pissed that I turned out to be a dyke, or that Shannon was Vietnamese. But like I said, the last straw.” Her eyes were getting teary again. “We aren’t even together anymore. Her parents were just as pissed as mine and shut her away.