Peaches called me on the phone and told me she was sunbathing in her backyard, if I wanted to join her. Of course I wanted to join her. When you live in a walk-in closet, you take backyards when you can get them.
I called her Peaches because, as I told her that morning for the nth time, her skin was so creamy.
Well, then shouldn’t you be Peaches, she said, seeing as how we go so well together?
Babe, I said, you’re the peaches and the cream.
We were lying on the grass, sharing a joint. The sun was radiant on her face and made her green irises stand out like rings of light projected straight into my brain. I pointed at some long cone-shaped orange flowers that had met their sweet ends on the grass, then at the tree that was their origin, asking in words made of marijuana smoke what they were called. I think those are called weeping walkers, she said as she sprayed shockingly cold suntan lotion on my back.
I told her that didn’t sound like the name of a tree. I told her that if she had a tree in her backyard, it was her responsibility to know its name. I told her that on the first date with my high school girlfriend Lisa we made out on a jungle gym in a playground at midnight and I jumped down and said, triumphantly, I can name every tree in this park! She pointed at one and asked what it was called and I said, That’s a Pacific redbark, and she indicated another and I said, That’s a . . . turgid . . . willow, and she pointed out another and I said, In the native Chinook that one’s name means massive boner, and around then she caught on to that I was joking and punched me real hard in the shoulder. We dated for three years after that.
Peaches trained those ocular searchlights on me and said, That’s not funny.
I kissed her and things advanced from there. While she was on top she sprayed my chest with suntan lotion and the mixture of sun, sex, and cool compressed liquid was almost too much. It got into my eyes, but I didn’t care.
When it was over and I was pulling on my jeans, she said, Look who’s watching. She pointed at a dog in a neighbor’s window, its white breath throbbing against the glass. Should we invite him to join? she asked.
