The Heaven of Animals: Stories by David James Poissant Page B

don’t watch TV.”
    He shook his head. “Who are you?”
    “Just a girl,” she sang, “just an ordinary girl.” She laughed at the ceiling.
    He wanted to tell her to knock it off. He wanted to say: For one second, be serious . But he also wanted to be inside of her. Or, he thought he did. Was he scared? He guessed he was. It wasn’t that it had been so long, though it had been. And it wasn’t that she was so young, though she was. It was something to do with the fact that the only woman he’d been with was Kate. The measuring stick of his love life came down to Kate, and sleeping with Lily meant doubling that count. Maybe he should have started sleeping with women right after the divorce, but that wasn’t the way he’d been raised. No matter that he no longer believed in the way he’d been raised—some things you couldn’t shake. And say he did it? Say he slept with Lily? How many women would he have to sleep with before each time didn’t feel like it meant so damned much?
    “You want to know who I am?” she asked.
    He did.
    “I started out a gymnast, and now I’m a diver. I’m an A student. I like birds, and I’ve kept the ticket stub to every movie I’ve ever seen: a hundred and forty-two—a hundred and thirty if you don’t count the ones I saw more than once. My parents are Baptist. They voted for Bush. Twice . They try to get everyone to convert. But, wherever they go, Brazil or Belize or wherever, they bring food, books and maps, crayons for the kids, so that’s cool. Sometimes people go along with it just for the food at the end. You can tell.”
    Brig’s parents had been strict, but not mission-oriented. Either you were Mormon or you weren’t, and God have mercy on those who were not—that was their position.
    “My parents actually worry about them,” she said, “about the ones who play along, then go back to worshiping the river gods, or whatever. One time I said, ‘So what?’ I meant it as in ‘At least you’re helping them out.’ But my parents don’t think that way. They don’t care about saving lives. They care about saving souls. I got a month in my room for that one.”
    “They lock you in your room?”
    “Not literally. I just mean they grounded me for a month. No phone, no friends.”
    She pushed her hair out of her face, let her hand fall on his leg and rest there.
    “But you know what that’s like,” she said. “You must.”
    He couldn’t deny it. On the more absurd end of the spectrum, he’d once been grounded two weeks for trying Coke at a friend’s party.
    “You’ve done coke?” Her eyes widened at the ceiling. She looked so impressed, he almost let it go, but he couldn’t.
    “Coca-Cola,” Brig said. “Soda.”
    “Mormons don’t drink soda?”
    “Or coffee, or tea. Tequila’s right out.”
    Lily laughed. “Holy shit.” Her hand moved up his thigh.
    “And your tattoo?” he asked.
    “They’ve never seen it,” she said.
    “How is that possible?”
    “Speedo covers it. Plus, we don’t show much skin in my family.”
    Brig’s either. His parents had been big on modesty, pants for Dad and high necklines for Mom. First time he’d brought Kate home, she’d worn a blouse that made good use of her cleavage. They’d said nothing, his folks, but he’d sensed the disapproval in their thin smiles.
    “Your parents,” he said, “if they knew you were here?”
    “Oh, they’d shoot you,” she said. “I mean Thou shalt not kill, sure, but let’s be honest. They’d shoot you dead.”
    “And what about you?” he said.
    “What about me?”
    “You buy into it, all the God stuff?”
    Lily seemed to think on this. Her hand worked its way up his leg until her fingers found the drawstring of his shorts.
    “I do,” she said. “Not the way my parents do, but I do. It all just seems too big for there not to be one.”
    She pulled, and the bow he’d tied came undone at his waist.
    “I mean, just because my parents have this kind of messed-up take