The Complete Collection. William Wharton

expecting we’re going to have one of those great conversations which start with ‘Don’t you like me?’ or ‘Why is it you don’t like me?’ I’ve already had several of those. There’s practically no answer you can give that isn’t either insulting or a lie. I’m all ready to lie for the illusion of the great Junior Prom but I don’t have to. Doris starts humming to the music and somehow she’s leaning on me, rocking back and forth as if we’re dancing; dancing in a Buick Dynaflow! I put my arms around her and try to keep up my end. Maybe if I fuck Doris it’ll help the dream with Perta. The dream is made out of things I know.

      Doris lifts her face and we start kissing. We get to kissing along and I’m having a hard time keeping my nose out of the way. Then, she starts opening her lips so I open mine too. I’m doing my best. Next, she’s breathing into my mouth and sucking in! I feel the air being pulled in through my nostrils! Holy God! Is this kissing or is good old Doris Robinson some kind of vampire who gets you by stealing your breath. I’m thinking this when, suddenly, she sticks her whole tongue into my mouth! It’s like sucking a bubble gum wad in. I can’t breathe at all except through my nose. And, I can’t believe it; I’m getting a hard-on! All this crazy stuff and it goes straight to the old dong. I try to cross my legs, to hide it, maybe to crank it down, but there’s no fooling Doris. She’s shoving her stomach right into it! She moans and pushes her tongue in deeper. She takes her arms from around me and I think maybe we’ve done our share for the Prom and it’s all over, but she’s pulling down the top of that dress and those tits pop out. They stick more to the outside now that they’re loose. They look better than the ones in the National Geographic.

      She leans back and I stare at them. There aren’t any freckles on them, at least not by the dash light.

      It’s then I know I could do it. I not only could, I want to do it. I want to fuck Doris. At the same time, I start thinking of Perta. I want to do it the first time with Perta. I want to do it the first time with my wife, not with Doris. Doris could never be a wife to me, all I’d be doing is fucking Doris’s tits, her tongue, her cunt.

      Doris keeps trying but I’m finished. I go on kissing her and I hold her tits in my hands, and stroke them a bit. Doris breathes hard and cries but we don’t say anything. At last, she sits up, and tucks the tits back into her dress. It’s getting on to two o’clock. We’ve been kissing away for almost an hour.

      We have one hell of a time turning that car around. I get out to direct her. There’s no room, and Doris isn’t much good at backing up. We get stuck twice before we get out. We drive up her driveway at two-thirty. Was that pale, gray man going to shoot me for almost fucking his daughter and keeping her out late? The car is probably all scratched up from brambles and branches, too.

      We kiss an ordinary non-vampire good-night kiss before we get out of the car. Doris asks ‘if she’ll see me again’. I say, ‘Sure. I’ll see you at school.’ I see her every day there. We’re in the same geometry class.

      She has a key and lets herself in. Her mother is still up and says she’ll drive me home. All the streetcars and buses are shut down. I tell her I don’t live far and I’ll walk home. She doesn’t insist too much. She wants to get all the details from Doris. I wonder how much Doris tells her. You never know with rich people like that.

      I’m glad to have the four-mile walk. It gives me time to think. I hope I didn’t hurt Doris’s feelings, but I’m glad I didn’t fuck her. I want to get into my dream with Perta. I sneak up the back stairs without waking anybody. It’s four o’clock when I last look at the clock by my bed.

      When I come into the dream, it’s late. The sun is setting. Perta is flying from one of the two middle perches to the other. I watch her a minute, then fly down to her.

      ‘I’ve been looking for you, Birdy. Where have you been? How is it you are here sometimes and sometimes you are not? I do not understand. Do you go outside the cage? Do you fly alone out there? Aren’t you afraid? Couldn’t you take me with you?’

      ‘No, Perta. I do not fly out there.’

      I can’t answer the rest of her questions. She looks so beautiful to me. She’s against the light so I see the lovely curve of her breast and back. Inside myself, I can feel the restlessness arising.

      I approach and Perta squats on the perch and starts peep-peep-peeping to me. Her wings are fluttering in expectation. It’s time for me to feed her. I’m the same as Alfonso; I can’t do it. I want to, but I can’t bring food up into my mouth. I’ve always hated to vomit. The boy is getting in the way of the bird.

      Perta stays there, patiently waiting to be fed. I try once more and it comes. The bird gains control and it’s as easy as flying or singing. I give her food and Perta is happy. She peep-peep-peeps some more. I give her more food. I sing and approach her. She squats down further. I’m not ready yet. I feed her again. Partly it’s wanting to make it last as long as possible. Perta doesn’t say anything and we fly together all the night long. I sing and feed her till the morning when I wake up.

      The next day, I’m tired from being out so late. My mother keeps asking questions but I don’t tell her much. I’m cleaning the cages when Al comes over. I’ve put twelve more young birds in the other flight cage. I still haven’t lost any of the young ones. The breeding cages are in full swing. With the sound of babies hollering to be fed, and the males singing, it makes quite a racket. Perta is flying back and forth alone in the flight cage.

      Al starts pumping me about how it was with Doris. I tell him I didn’t fuck her, but he won’t believe me. He says Doris is one of the hottest firecrackers in the whole school; she’d fuck a horse if she could get it to stand still. I tell him I believe it but she didn’t fuck me.

      My father testifies to my mother that I danced every dance. My mother wants to know where we went after the dance. I tell her we went to Don’s in Yeadon; that’s a milk-shake bar, the kind of place my mother would like me to go after a dance. I tell her I had a good time. My mother goes over the tux and brushes it off. I pulled all the leaves and stickers out of it before I went to bed. She’d really flip if she found jit smeared along the inside of the pants.

      Al looks the birds over but he doesn’t have much interest in canaries. What he does understand is that I’ve got a regular bird factory going. He asks me about feed costs and how many birds per nest and works out how much money I can make.

      ‘Jesus, Birdy, you’re going to be a fucking millionaire! King of the Canaries. You’ll be voted most likely to suck seed.’

      Al thinks that’s funny. He manages to get it in the year-book under my picture. There’s nothing else there; no clubs, no honor rolls, no sports, no offices. It just says ‘Nickname Birdy’. ‘Voted most likely to suck seed.’

      Al notices Perta flying all alone in the flight cage and asks about her. He wonders why I don’t put some of the young birds in there. I tell him she’s a special pet of mine. She’s a spare female.

      ‘Don’t tell me she’s like the pigeon witch we used to have.’

      I tell him, ‘Yeah, she’s something like that, only she doesn’t bring back any fancy birds.’

      ‘Does she eat out of your mouth the way the freaky witch did?’

      For a minute I have the feeling Al can see into the dream. If anybody could, it would be Al. Then I remember. I laugh and tell him that canaries are harder to train than pigeons.

      We go out and throw the discus for a while, then Al goes home. I go to the aviary and watch Perta with my binoculars. I’m trying to decide how to tell her what I am. I’m trying to decide what I am, too.

      That night, in the dream, I know I must tell Perta about myself. As boy, I’ve decided this and it’s come through to me as Birdy in the dream.

      First, Perta and I fly together in a new dance. In the dance, we fly over each other, then drop on the other side, so the first flies over the one who has dropped. It’s beautiful, but hard to do in the small space of the cage. It would be so terrific if we could fly free.

      When