GINGERBREAD BOY
by
Cindy Rosmus
Yeah, that was me.
Who that reporter interviewed, before his
car skidded into a tree. Fucking ice. They found his head not far from the deli
where we talked.
Chocolate croissants, I’d smelled. But
. . . “We don’t bake here,” the owner told the police. “Ever!” He looked at me
like I was some freak.
I was. Right before bad stuff
happened, I smelled goodies baking.
Bad meaning “death.”
Around last Christmas that happened. Except
for smelling imaginary baked goods, I had nothing to do with that guy’s death.
But years back . . .
I bet I caused Tommy’s.
Midnight: Flashing lights lit up my
block. Police reds and blues mixed with Christmas reds and greens. On fresh
snow lay the guy. Long-haired, gorgeous, almost god-like, in that “80s” way. Feeling
no cold nor pain. Not with a hole that size in his chest.
Tommy, my cousin Asunta’s boyfriend.
Who I’d lost my virginity to.
Who could blame me? Even dead, I was
still hot for him. Despite Asunta’s sobs, and wails of the nosy old Italian ladies,
I thought, why couldn’t we have fucked just once more before it happened? Why
did he have to die? I could’ve loved him. Maybe I’ve always loved him.
What right did I have to steal Cuz’s guy?
Especially when I lived with her. But she always had a boyfriend. Shaking her tits
all over when we worked at Sucato’s, our family’s pizzeria. We looked a lot
alike, but the guys chose her over me. Just a kid, people saw me as. A dopey,
insecure teen.
“Psycho,” Louie called me. Asunta’s
ex, always looking for a fight. “Your
cuz is nuts, man. Sniffing cookies that ain’t there.”
Louie had heard that, from . . . who? Cos if he’d
been there himself when
I smelled cookies, he’d be . . .
And, from what I’d heard, Louie had a gun.
He’d wind up dead soonest. Him,
or . . .
“Wanna fuck something new?” he asked
Asunta. “How about my gat?”
That scared her enough to dump him. He was banned
from Sucato’s, but I
sensed him sneaking around. A cold draft I felt down my back, though it was hot
inside.
And all I smelled baking was pizza.
By Thanksgiving she’d found Tommy.
In our mobbed house, with kids screeching and
running all over, the smell
of turkey was overwhelming. Too much to do, not enough people helping. “Where’s
Asunta?” Aunt Rosa said, as they came in, arms wrapped around each other.
One look at Tommy, and I burned myself.
He had coal-black eyes. The next look: an intense,
make-no-mistake, “I’m
looking at you, baby!” stare, with a half-smile. He let go of Asunta, but
she held on, tight, like she’d never let go.
But she’s got to, his eyes said.
I stopped helping with dinner. Couldn’t
even eat. Just eyed Tommy like he
was a meal in himself.
He passed on dessert. “What’s wrong,
Tommy?” Asunta whined. “You don’t
like pumpkin pie? Or apple? Or anything?”
“Actually . . .” he said, looking
at me. “I’m into . . . gingerbread.”
If I was only a gingerbread girl. . . .
But when it happened, I bet I’d taste
just as good.
When? I was sick of when. And . . . how?
Like in that song,
“Alone,” by that band I hated. I was going nuts trying to get him alone.
But somehow, I did.
And somehow, we had the house to ourselves. I’d
called out sick, so Asunta
had to work the pizza counter.
Real romantic, with those scented candles burning
somewhere. Maybe the
dining room. Cinnamon, or maybe even gingerbread. Aunt Rosa usually remembered
to blow candles out.
Our tree was huge, with lots of ornaments, and
tinsel. Its branches seemed
to reach out, thrusting Tommy and me together! And, beneath it, foil- wrapped
gifts. But who cared about gifts?
I got what I wanted.
Still,
I was scared. It was my
first time. All I’d ever done was make out. Now here I was, laying there,
naked, with this gorgeous guy, who never stopped staring at me. And we hadn’t
even kissed.
We wouldn’t.
Real fast, we got into it. I’d never seen
a real cock before. Up close, it
was big, and scary, but beautiful. “Oh, baby,” he said, rubbing it all over my
face.
When he shoved it in my mouth, I wanted to suck
it forever. “Stop!” he
said, pulling out. “I’ve got to fuck you.”
Wow, did he. When he first put it in, it hurt.
But he fucked me as fast
and rough as he would Asunta. I wanted him to.
Beneath me, those boxed gifts dug into my back,
and ass, making them hurt.
Above me, he looked exhausted, ready to let go. Tinsel stuck to the hair on his
torso, all the way down to where his cock slid in and out of me.
Suddenly, I sensed something weird. Like we were
being watched. Maybe from
the window.
That overpowering smell of candles was getting
to me.
“Cum hard with me,” Tommy said.
I couldn’t. But when he pulled out, and
came all over my tits and stomach,
that was good.
I couldn’t shake that feeling of having
been watched.
As we got dressed, I wondered . . . Is that the
same way he did it with
Asunta? All over those tits she was always shoving in guys’ faces?
How she shoved her tits at guys used to set Louie
off.
Was that Louie watching from the window?
At Sucato’s, I’d felt that draft on
my back. Lately, I felt it in other
places too. And now, at home. My heart started racing.
In the dining room, Tommy found me looking for
candles. So far, I hadn’t
found any.
He pulled me close. “I’m sorry if
I hurt you.”
“Huh?”
“I could tell,” he said, smiling.
“You know.”
“Gingerbread.” I was really scared
now. “Can you smell it . . . baking?”
He looked confused. “Nah, I wish I did.”
Right before the door closed, he yelled, “Save
me some!”
Then Louie shot him.
THE
END
