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Livebearers
Rusty Bell's telling me about girls,
what it takes to get them to have babies,
how you get them pregnant. I've been raising
guppies in a fishbowl. One morning I
wake and roll over and look and there swim
fifteen babies, about the size of zits.
I'm not stupid--I know where they came from:
guppies make guppies, not puppies or chicks.
But I'm not sure how--if they have to touch
I've never seen 'em, and they sit right there,
or swim, in the big bowl on my nightstand.
A few days later my only male croaks
but weeks after that there come still more fry.
At the library I do some reading.
Son of a gun, I whistle. (Patrons glare).
Sorry, I say. Seems that male guppies have
something like a pecker to fertilize
the gals. Not only that. This is better
than Shock Theater on late night t.v.:
the gals can store sperm and use it when
there are no guys around at all--they have
youngsters without having to touch again.
Well, whaddayaknow. So in our homeroom
Rusty's going on about penises
and vaginas. he's got an open mind,
however. Stanley says, Sometimes women
just get pregnant. They don't need no man--God
does it. Rusty signs off but says, Wonder
if it feels as good as when folks do it.
If God is on the other end, he says,
either it's tops or she don't feel a thing.
Now it's my turn: when gals have babies,
I say, they only got to do it oncet.
They stare at me. It's true, I say. they do
it oncet. She has a kid. He goes away
and maybe never comes home and two months
later there's another kid. Take guppies:
the momma guppy gets pregnant oncet and
that's really all she needs. Our women, they're
the same way. Well, I dunno about that,
Rusty says. You can't put your quarter in
the Coke machine and get your pop and then
come back a few days later and get one
more for free. I don't think it works that way.
It works any way God wants it to work,
Stanley says. God can do what He pleases.
He creates us so it just makes sense
He can do what He wants when it comes
to getting us to make more of us. That's right,
I say. I don't go to church these days
but it ain't because I don't respect God.
If He wanted to kill me now, He could
--He ought to be able to make babies,
seeing as how He done made their parents
and everything else, including the world.
I slip out of this one pretty easy.
No one laughs out loud. I'm in seventh grade
and only now I know how babies come.
Still hard to believe I was made that way.
I've hardly ever seen my parents kiss,
though otherwise they seem to get along.
Whatever Social Living class was about
I didn't learn sex there--I mean, about
it. In fact, I won't learn for ten years more:
I'll have my head on her lap, looking up
to see her face, partly eclipsed by her
chest, and say, Uh, I want to tell you something,
and she looks down and asks, Are you gay? and
I say, Hell, no--I'm a virgin, if you
don't count my hand. Don't worry about it,
she says. I like to initiate men.
I think that means she likes to lay us--now
it's my turn. When it's over, she says, Now
ain't that better than using your hand. Oh,
sure, I say. Get off, she says. You're squashing
me. Oh, right, I say. Sorry. I roll off.
That wasn't bad, she says. You'll last longer
with time. Right, I say. I love you. She laughs
and trots to the bathroom and returns and
says, Boy, you must have been saving it up.
Like guppies, I think, but in reverse--I
almost say so but she wouldn't get it
unless I told her the whole old story,
but I don't trust her not to laugh at me
and I might have another shot at her
after I get some sleep. I'm a man now
but she's still ahead of me and I'll bet
she'll never let me forget it if I
confess, so I repeat, I love you, which
is true in its way but I don't know what
way that is, exactly. When I do know
I'll be ready to die. I'm not so dumb.
Gale Acuff
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