Your Driver Is Waiting

by Priya Guns

“I can’t live like this. Take me now. End my misery!” I am not a saint and I am not a sinner. Casually, I walked to Amma’s mattress, grabbed the pillow beside her, and stuffed it in her face, pushing it deeper until she started to choke. Then I held it three seconds longer before throwing it on the floor.

Once, I had a girlfriend who climaxed really loud and it was getting embarrassing. I had to tell my parents she was my best friend and that when she came over and slept in my bedroom, she had nightmares that she was in a screaming competition.

Amma argued that I was probably a bit gay. (She didn’t always buy into my lies.) My parents loved each other, but they disagreed on a lot of things.

I knew that even before I was better, I’d still been an unforgettable fuck.

Oh! Tell me! Tell me! Toni says you’re cunt-struck—” “What? I could have pussy and cocks lining up outside my front door, if I wanted.”

“There’s something about you that makes me want to know more,” she said, nestling in my passenger seat. “There’s something about you that makes me want to tie you up and do things to you.”

Under the sun she was an ethereal beast; the blond hairs on her arms looked etched on her skin. I knew she wouldn’t mind the hairs on my toes.

Looking back, I think maybe I should’ve trusted my gut here—were we really seeing the world the same? Did I let too much go unsaid?

Men don’t realize just how delicate we are down there. Start slow, caress the lips, don’t hit the button. Take all the time in the world.

She wasn’t afraid of showing me how much she wanted me. She walked around to the front of my car, and bent herself over the hood, before reaching down to touch her pussy. Fuck. Of course I was falling for her. She leaned against the car, my car, with come-get-me eyes.

“You’re fucking sexy,” she whispered. “I’ve got a big heart too.”

“This paramedic said a thing that pissed me off. Have you ever tried to build muscle? It’s like eating cocaine.” “What?” “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” “You say things as though you think that’s what you’re meant to say.”

She had said nightmares were the worst when you woke up in the same shithole situation you were in before bed.

“I told my parents I liked men, but I mainly liked women. My dad said it could be a phase, a stop before gay, or that I was just like him. He hasn’t come out to me, so I don’t know what he meant.” “Queer-baiter.”

“I like people. Cunts and cocks and long walks on the beach.” She made a face so I added, “I like connecting with people.”

When Appa was working overtime one night, I locked the television programming on lesbian porn. Amma called me, crying, and apologized. She had said, “Fine, fine. Do whatever you want, Damani. Just stop the boobies and poonies. What are these women doing?”

I led her up the stairs and back outside and realized she had, in fact, taken off her shoes.

I, uh…normally don’t have sex on the first date, by the way.” She grinned. “I don’t believe you, Jolene.” She pulled me closer. “Besides, it was our second.” My body collapsed against hers and I felt freer than I had in a long time.

I wanted to bite her again. I was wet and in the summer’s gentle breeze I could feel just how moist my pussy was safe in my underwear. “You’re definitely a Scorpio,” she whispered.

“Get off my bus,” he said to me. I leaned towards him, smirking. It was a sunny morning and I could still taste Jolene’s lips. “Sometimes it helps to masturbate,” I said to him before jumping off. “The transport company doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

If Jolene was anything, she was the sun. Perfect at a distance, but up close, she could hurt my skin.

“Don’t waste time you don’t have to give. Know your worth, and demand you receive it.” Basic advice, yes, but Dr. Thelma Hermin Hesse said basic things when I needed to hear them.

He was shorter than Mrs. Patrice, who I realized was quite a tall woman. Amma would describe them as an “if” couple. Travis the short “i,” Mrs. P. the towering “f.”

“He smelled like garlic.” “What? You looked so into him.” “Just because someone has an odor doesn’t mean they can’t be loved. You of all people surely know that. Your car smells good right now, though.” “So what does he do? What’s a date like for old people?” “Experienced people, Damani.”

He sells produce at the market in town. That’s where we met, you know. He’s a gentleman. Garlic breath and all.

He’s just a dreamer. He even asked me if I’d co-host his new video collection.” “You’re going to start vlogging?” “He said my face was so pretty people would watch in flocks just to hear what I had to say. I said yes, because there really is no trouble in being happy. When you live, truly live, you let go. You try new things, and you learn about yourself. There’s no making mistakes.”

“I still got that vibrator if you need it, and some packs of gum for your stinky new stud.”

Black Lives for Palestine The Fight for Climate Change Is the Fight Against Capitalism Anti-Racism = The End of Exploitative Power F*ck Heteronormativity FUCK the Patriarchy

Dismantle White Supremacy Boycott, Divest and Sanction CAPITALISM Free Assange and All Political Prisoners! ACAB! The Police & Army CANNOT Protect Us Here or There Working-Class People of the World Unite BLACK TRANS LIVES MATTER! Climate Justice Is Gender and Racial Justice! Refugees Are People!

Workers’ Rights for ALL Workers! Drivers Are Tired of Waiting

I grabbed my phone to message Jolene back. I’m not sure about us, I started, but then I quickly deleted that and wrote, I’d like to see you soon too. D xxx

Jolene messaged again: I really can’t stop thinking about you. Maybe we can go to my summer house next weekend? Or meet me for yoga? Whatever you want to do. Tell me where, tell me when, and I will cum. Why did she spell it that way?

I’d take Jo to Doo Wop for a two-dollar coffee that was made over an open flame. She’d save money and I’d kiss her when she realized how good our life could be together. What was I thinking? I couldn’t help it. I knew our lives could be so good together.

Jo dabbed her right tear duct and said, “And when it happened, you were the only one I wanted to tell.”

“Should I be nice to her or should I be normal?” Stephanie tapped her pumps on the mat when she asked. “Be both.”

“My friend has a 3D printer,” said Jolene. “You know someone with a 3D printer?” I asked. “People still own printers?” Stephanie chimed in. Jolene laughed. “I know, right?” She smiled. “I need a fucking printer,” Stephanie mumbled to herself.

Jolene took in the space around her; her pupils grew large then small again, and the blues of her eyes caught the lights above. It was obvious how much she stood out against the browns of the walls, against the posters that were slapped on with tape, how she was a cutout over the paintings where most of us were camouflaged against each brushstroke. By the way she held herself it was clear that Jolene wasn’t used to being a minority.

Steph passed me our version of the Eucharist—the tobacco paper the bread, the cannabis the blood—and I took a puff, a puff, and another puff to the perfect amount of mellow.

“I’m just saying, violence isn’t the answer.” “You asked me a very loaded question,” Shereef fired back. “I’m sorry you felt it was loaded. But you said earlier—” “I’m not going to sit here and talk about violence, who gets to use it and who gets punished for it.”

“My girlfriend is Brown. I mean, of course I get it.” “Brown? Are you kidding me?” said Steph. “Did I say something?” “You think by association you somehow get it? I thought you’d know better.”

Jolene and I had connected and clearly she was imperfect but I could teach her, I could change her!

Looking at Shereef, Jolene continued. “You may not have noticed this, and I understand that you have a lot on your mind, but you’ve interrupted me about five times in this conversation. You even interrupted Damani and Steph. We have ideas too. Community organizing isn’t a one-man show.” “Oh shit,” someone whispered from the table beside us.

“Tell me, when did Shereef interrupt me?” “When you said that—” “If Shereef interrupts me, that’s for me to deal with. Not you. He interrupted you because you’ve gone on about some dangerous shit.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped herself. She leaned closer, licked her lips, and closed her eyes. “I’m not a racist,” she said. “Hey, hey, hey,” I started. A second “Oh shit!” came from the table beside us. “No one said you were,” said Toni.

“I have to get back to some work, but it was lovely meeting you, Jolene,” said Shereef. He looked at me. “We can celebrate later.” “Nice to meet you too,” she said as her hand found my lap again and her nails dug into my knee. “Could you believe that?” she whispered to me softly.

My generation grew up differently, though. We knew love in brief moments: single smiles with a passing stranger on the train, in an exchange of awkward compliments via messages, in consistent likes received on our social media. In our minds we rolled through glades of bluebells in a euphoric awakening from our heavy lives whenever we felt an inkling of attraction and acceptance. As quick as we felt, we acted. We moved on impulse before we changed our minds and of course this was thrilling, but also the worst of all habits. What can we truly know if time hasn’t shaped it? At least, that’s been my experience.

Do not feed animals you do not know by name. Unless they’re starving on the street and you can see pain in their eyes, their ribs exposed on their sides.

I saw her pacing near the parking lot with her phone to her ear. When I walked over, she saw me. I heard her heart drop and fall into her stomach with a sizzle.

“That guy, Sheriff.” “Shereef. What about him?” “He was with this group.” “Drivers.” “They had big sweaters.” “It’s chilly.” “They were smoking.” “Cigarettes, most probably.”

“He has a beard.” “So do I sometimes,” I said, showing off my chin.