Train Wreck Girl by Sean Carswell

chat in the kitchen: a normal sight made bizarre with the nudity and candlelight and hurricane. I closed my eyes and listened to the storm, the whispers, the vague traces of sex in Jennifer’s room.
    When I opened my eyes, Sophie was standing above me. She had a fat, orange candle in one hand and Jennifer’s cassette player in the other. “Let’s clear out, Danny,” she said. I stood and followed her into a bedroom. She shut the door and locked it behind her. I could barely see around the room. Clothes were scattered in lumps and piled on the bed. The candlelight flickered. I looked around three times to make sure, then said, “There are no windows in here, are there?”
    Sophie said, “There’s no closets, either. It’s probably supposed to be, like, a dining room or something.” She handed me the candle. “Maybe you could pick out some music?” She walked away from me and sat Indian style on the middle of the bed. I held the candle up to the cassette racks. The cassettes were arranged alphabetically. I didn’t recognize most of the bands. When I saw the double whammy of New Edition and New Kids on the Block, I gave up my search. I couldn’t imagine liking anything in those racks.
    I walked over to the night stand and set the candle down. “I have a better idea,” I said. “Let’s listen to the storm.”
    Sophie blew out the candle. We lay beside each other on the bed. Destruction surrounded us, muffled through the walls, pounding on the roof. “Are you tired, Danny?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œPromise you won’t fall asleep on me?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen try this,” Sophie said. “Listen real closely. Don’t pay attention to the air on your skin or the beer aftertaste in your mouth or Jennifer’s roommate’s smelly clothes or anything you can see. Just listen.” She stopped talking and took four deep breaths. “What do you hear?”
    â€œYou breathing. Me breathing. The mattress creaking.”
    â€œExactly,” Sophie said. “First, you hear what’s closest to you. Keep listening. What do you hear next?”
    Sophie stopped talking. I listened for about thirty seconds. I said, “Rain on the roof. Bare feet on the hardwood floor. Angry knocking. Marigold must be going after Christian.”
    â€œDon’t worry about them. Stay with me. Listen. Tell me what you hear. Only what you hear.”
    â€œGlass bottles falling… yelling… wind through hollow places… trees breaking up.”
    â€œExactly. Did you notice that you always move from what’s right in front of you to what’s far away? From your head to the world outside as far as you can hear? It’s weird, isn’t it?”
    I nodded. I realized Sophie’s eyes were probably closed, just like mine, so I said, “It is weird.”
    â€œNow come back,” Sophie said. I listened to the screen door crashing. Voices. Jennifer and Marigold yelling. The lid of the cooler slamming. “Come closer,” Sophie said. She exhaled through her nose. My heel scraped the blankets. The bed stand groaned. “Come closer.” To the white noise inside my head. Muscles in my neck straining. Blood flowing. I opened my eyes but still listened. Sophie only breathed.
    â€œOpen your mouth,” she said. I don’t know if she hypnotized me or put me under a spell or what. Whatever it was, I was ready to do whatever Sophie said. I opened my mouth. “Stick out your tongue.” I stuck out my tongue. She placed a tiny scrap of paper on it. It tingled. I braced myself for the trip. What followed flowed naturally, like big wave riding on a longboard: all grace and power.
    We groped for matches and lit the candle and watched the flame. We chatted for a bit about nothing. Sophie nuzzled close to me. Her nipple grazed my bicep. I immediately got an erection. Sophie reached down and grabbed