Does the Desiring Unbecome Me?

"Does the Desiring Unbecome Me?" by Elizabeth J. Wenger

Issue 3.6 | Fiction

Cover Art: L. Erickson

scrolling thru the usual pit of despair & i find myself again, a pile of imperfections & ardor. lulu is like ‘okie hun, u have GOT to get off that shit’ but i am like ‘i love them all, i love them all.’

it’s tru that this month i have 16 crushes & only one of them knows my name. i am falling for the internet perpetually tho i know there r things in life that cannot love u back like my mattress, the view of the trees outside my apartment window, & every woman i pass in the street who looks at me with something a centimeter above the customary glance of human acknowledgment.

later at the club lulu is like ‘r u just gonna stand there or r u gonna do something?’

i am thinking like ‘do whatttt’ as i gaze out at the flashing lights, the pulsing figures, mannequins come to life, grinding plastic on plastic. there is a Woman here who I Am Pining For. she is sipping a blue drink & in my mind we r already in her apartment, stumbling onto her couch, all fingers & tongues — a wash of dazzling pink.

‘r u on something?’ lulu asks when i don’t answer & i nod, but it isn’t really something just poppers & a few shots of whatever the bartender said was cheap.

sometimes i think loving women is like loving lava as it slides down the slope of the volcano toward u & ur like ‘is this really happening, is this for real?’ & it is & if u don’t move soon u will surely die. but that’s what it is to b queer, right? an infinite wait for the ultimate, perfect, blazing, sexy, get-down-on-ur-knees, moaning, bursting, rolling, call-me-baby, yes, yes, give-it-to-me fire. & then ur singed & ur standing there, burnt to an absolute crisp like ‘i wanna go again.’

& am i even making sense?

lulu is always saying ‘love is like a car bomb’ by this she means: it will get u when u least expect it. only i do nothing but expect it & so am never detonated by its violent glory.

‘go up to her’ lulu says and nudges me toward The Woman I Am Pining For.

‘what am i supposed to say?’ i say, but i am already walking over to her, mouth open like a whale catching plankton. soon, i am beside her & my body feels all wrong. by this i mean: my wanting feels all wrong — all dirty, all cruel & unbecoming & i am now not sure if she is even — like …

~queer ~

could my wanting be wanted at all?

‘hi’ i say & she turns to me. her lips r purple. her hair is silvery. her top is tight. her everything is everything.

‘oh hi’ she says surprised like she didn’t know she’s been standing here all night like some kind of peach leaking sweet juice on the floor & me buzzing like a desperate fly.

(( : i flash back to the middle school cafeteria when the First Girl sat down beside me & our legs touched accidentally/on purpose & she was like ‘do you want a hot cheeto’ & i said ‘yes’ & then she took a bright-red bullet from the bag between her forefinger & thumb & said ‘open up’ & i did & the heat pressed to my waiting tongue & felt like what my cousin said god’s love felt like — so big & full it’s almost a little scary & like all of a sudden this joyful thing is a responsibility too bcuz now there is someone who wants only the best for u & now u must want only the best for urself too. : ))

‘do you want to dance?’ i ask at last.

& The Woman I Am Pining For sits her glass down on the counter & says: ‘yes — i mean — only if you want.’

—

Elizabeth J. Wenger is a queer writer from Tulsa, Oklahoma. Her works have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Anthology. She is the winner of the Baltimore Review Winter Prize in flash nonfiction and was shortlisted for the Breakwater Review Fiction Prize. Her essay collection was selected as a finalist for the Black Lawrence Press Hudson Prose Prize. Wenger earned her MFA at Iowa State University’s program for Creative Writing and Environment. Her website is wengerwrites.com