I

NAMES


NAMES

We let go of our names together

on the same night.

You sleep over and I play

the portable vinyl player my parents

got me for my seventeenth birthday.

It’s blue and slick like the hood of a retro car.

I only have one record and it’s my dad’s old Beatles album

Yellow Submarine.

We listen for hours on repeat,

talking and talking about summer ending,

and we start listing all the beautiful things we’ll miss:

kissing behind the crooked tombstone in the graveyard at dusk,

cheese fries at the snack shack,

filling Tupperware with fireflies.

You give me a rainbow pin

for my backpack and show me

your own matching one.

You say, “If anyone asks

you can say you just like those colors.”

Even though the door is shut

you’re still shy as you put your arm

around me in my new queen-sized bed.

I miss lying with you in the bunk bed,

now moved to the attic.

The bunk bed was more …

I don’t know …

romantic, maybe.

We don’t want to ruin the sleepovers

by letting anyone know that we’re dating.

We’re talking about getting coffee at

the diner on Main Street and all of

a sudden you say, “The word lesbian

sounds mythical, like a dragon or a siren …

I don’t know how I feel about calling myself that.

The word just feels

wrong for me.”

I say, “I know what you mean.”

You look stunning in your new/not-new jean vest

and red T-shirt with the space rover on it

that we just got from Goodwill.

I put on my pajamas:

a soft white tank top and polka-dot shorts.

You turn over and rest your head

on my chest. You kiss my clavicle.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” I say, scared

that you don’t love me anymore

and that the summer is going to be over

and never ever come back.

“I think I want to buy a chest binder.

You can get them online.

Sometimes for only like thirty bucks.”

You stand up and brush your hands

over your chest.

“They’ll be flat, like

more than a sports bra.”

“How are you going to order it?” I ask.

“I have one of those Visa gift cards

I got from CVS.”

“Oh, okay.”

I’m burning jealous. I didn’t know

until now how much I want one, too.

I’ve read about them on Tumblr

but never seen one in person.

“And I want to send it to your house

because … my parents can’t find it.”

“Of course,” I say, knowing

that my parents never remember to get packages.

“I’ve thought about getting one, too.”


Text copyright © 2022 by Robin Gow