A Sharp Endless Need

by Marisa Crane

For all the queer jocks who have fallen for a teammate

Some people said basketball was like dancing, you needed rhythm, you needed to feel the ball’s desire like you needed your heart to beat right, but we knew, in the deeps of our hips, that basketball was even more erotic than dancing; it was a collaboration, a mutual creation, a way of fucking without touching.

“It’s such a beautiful day, let’s not wreck it with talk of our stupid husbands.” She held up her hand, holding an invisible drink. With her other hand, she removed an invisible olive from what I now realized was a martini and pretended to eat it.

With the ice still pressed to my jaw, she leaned in and kissed me, her lips buttery and soft and dizzying. It was a slow, glacial kiss, our lips barely moving. We tasted the sweetness of the soda on each other. We stayed very still; we didn’t dare break apart. We were married, would stay married for all of eternity, would die together, would have our ashes mixed together. We were afraid. Liv pulled back, lowering the ice, and with a manic smile said, “Happy fortieth anniversary.”

Suddenly, I felt dirty all over. Like the piles of snow pushed to the side of the street by the morning snowplow. “Liv, are you in there?” said her mom. “Yes, Mom.” “I saw a car outside. Who’s here?” “Hold on.”

“Why are you crying?” Liv whispered into my ear. I wondered the same thing, though I didn’t bother wiping away my tears. Together we watched the boys’ lips pick up speed, grow hot with fever. They moved with a new hunger, their fists swinging at random body parts, as if to beat away a more sinister pain. We loved them softly, in the way one can only love a wounded animal, fresh tire marks seared across its face. “Why are you crying?” she said again, this time tightening her grip.

What if one of the girls wasn’t really a girl at all, but something she had no language for?

I want zero regrets. No, I want to marry my regrets. To find a way to adore them for their sharp endless need.