Riding Twenty  By Tulsa Brown  

�gGet in the car. Get in the car this instant!�h 

The light had long been green, traffic honked behind me. I leaned out the driver�fs door, glaring at the young man on the boulevard. At last he lowered his sign, �eSpare Change,�f sauntered around to the passenger side and swung in. 

He was a loose-limbed gazelle with a mane of tangled curls, naked chest tanned to the color of buckskin. The waistband of his filthy pants hung below his hipbones, insolent. 

�gI can�ft believe you would do this,�h I sputtered. �gI should phone your mother.�h 

Lies. I remembered that bitch, shrilling against my ear at 11 p.m. because her son and mine were still playing pool in my basement. 

Now my son was tucked into university, my ex-husband tucked into his new, younger wife. And this young man still ran free. 

�gRoanna.�h My name was fruit on his tongue. �gIf I don�ft do this now, when do I get to do it? When will I be twenty again?�h 

Twenty for me had been married, pregnant, bent into a toilet, the heel of the world pressing on the back of my neck. The pang softened me. 

�gIf you�fre hungry, I�fll buy you something to eat.�h 

�gWhat I really want,�h he said, �gis a shower.�h Dewy antelope eyes, crumpled smile. 

While the water ran, I locked my credit cards in a drawer, positioned my purse on the table, the crisp spray of bills peeking out. Saving face. He could believe he was a thief. I could believe I�fd been robbed. 

He came out still drizzling, scant towel lifting in a thick, alluring jut. I was already naked. He smiled again, dark, earthy forest secrets. Fleet fucking, my legs locked around his velvet, galloping back, not twenty but riding it, hanging on tight.