Free No One Belongs Here More Than You by Miranda July Page B

man would ask for his money back, and I wouldn’t get to take the bus. In a panic, I said all the dirty words I knew in one long curse: Cock-sucking ball - licking bitch whore cunt pussy-licking asshole fucker . I hung up the phone. At least I could say them.
    I sat in the plastic chair for more than three hours. During this time, two different men came into the store. They both peeked at me over the racks of videos, but neither of them walked to the back. After the second man left, Allen yelled out from behind the counter.
    That’s the second one you’ve let go by!
    What?
    You’ve gotta be more aggressive! Can’t just sit on your ass back there!
    Got it!
    Twenty minutes later, a man in a black sweatshirt came in. He peered over a rack of magazines at me, and I rose to my feet and walked toward him. His sweatshirt had a picture of a galaxy on it with an arrow pointing to a tiny dot and the words YOU ARE HERE . The man looked up at me and pretended to be surprised. I imagined him instinctively pulling off his hat in the presence of a lady, but he wasn’t wearing a hat.
    Are you interested in a live fantasy show, sir?
    Yeah. Okay.
    He followed me to the back of the store. We parted for a moment and reunited inside the booth with the curtained glass between us. I heard a Velcro wallet ripping open, twenty dollars fell lightly into the locked plastic box, and the curtain rose. He already had his penis out and the phone in one hand. I lifted the receiver. But as I had feared, I was mute. I stood paralyzed, as if on a rock over a cold lake. I was never good at jumping in, letting go of one element and embracing another. I could stand there all day, letting the other kids go in front of me forever. He was pumping it up and down and it was a strange sight, not something you see every day; in fact, I had never seen this before. He said something into the phone, but I didn’t catch it. Despite how close we were, the reception was not very good.
    Excuse me?
    Can you take off your clothes?
    Oh. Okay.
    From the start, one is trained not to take off your clothes in front of complete strangers. Keeping one’s clothes on is actually the number one rule for civilization. Even a duck or a bear looks civilized when clothed. I pulled down my jean shorts and lifted my shirt over my head. I stood there naked, like a bear or a duck. The man looked at me with grim concentration, my pale breasts, the puff of hair between my legs, back and forth between these poles. He checked occasionally to make sure I was looking at him. I diligently stared at his penis and hoped that this was enough, but after a few seconds, he asked me if I liked what I saw. Again I was on the rock, kids splashed below me yelling Jump! But I knew jumping was like dying, I would have to let go of everything. I considered what I had. She hadn’t called, she wouldn’t call, I was alone, and I was here—not even in some abstract sense, not here on earth or in the universe, but really here , standing naked before this man. I pushed my hand between my legs and said: Your big hard cock is making me so horny.
    At five A.M . I was gliding through the night on a bus. The bus was just a formality, though—actually I was flying, in the air, and I was taller than most people, I was nine or twelve feet tall, and I could fly, I could jump over cars, I could say “cock” ravenously, gently, coyly, demandingly, I could fly. And I had $325 in my pocket. Standing with one foot in the bathtub until she returned wasn’t just a way to stop time, it was also a ritual to bring her back. I would be Gwen until she came home.
    I bought a lime-green negligee, a dildo that I devirginized myself with, and a chestnut-colored wig in a bobbed style called Élan. I hated my job, but I liked that I could do it. I had once believed in a precious inner self, but now I didn’t. I had thought that I was fragile, but I wasn’t. It was like suddenly being good at sports. I didn’t care about football,