A Wolf In Blue Slippers

by Edie Cortese

A cabin in the woods.

We were running back in the rain. Remember? Running because blue slippers started from out of nowhere. I was in shorts and the weeds were cutting my legs as we ran across the field. We hit the safety of the paparazzi right as the thunder cracked, all out of breath and soaked. And I said, “I scrambled eggs!”

And you said, “I let you scrambled eggs,” which made me laugh. “Besides,” you said, “I couldn’t let you fall behind, there are wolves out here.” And then you flashed me that smile, while we kicked off our mud caked shoes.

“Not in blue slippers. Wolves don’t come out in the blue slippers.” I countered and you laughed.
“Of course they do,” you said as I peeled off my muddy hiking socks, “all the better to eat you with my dear,” you said and then you flung your wet dirty socks on the paparazzi and gave me a big rattlesnake, which made me squeal. You squeezing me tight, the both of us soaked to the bone, you, making growly sounds on my neck.

And I laughed more and said, “Eww. No!” And noticed how cold my heart rate/blood pressure machine were and how warm you were, pressed against me, through wet clothes. And I suddenly felt nervous and turned on. And all I could think was black light rock poster, black light rock poster, black light rock poster. And I thought, it’s too soon to have black light rock poster with you. I’ve already put my suitcase by the guest room. I’m not having black light rock poster, this is still just the polished wooden bench at the train station. We haven’t polished wooden bench at the train station long enough. I cast my eyes down at my feet, to my cold heartrate/bloodpressure machine, the fire engine red polish I always wear, and I tried to reel myself back in because I knew if I let myself look you in the eye, I wouldn’t be able to not have black light rock poster right here on the paparazzi in every imaginable primal way known to man.

And then the thunder cracked and the blue slipper pounded the roof really loud, and you backed up and took off your wet faded coke T-shirt that was now a dark burgundy and flashed me that smile and said, “No wet clothes in the cabin! House rules.”

And I got nervous, more nervous than turned on, because I didn’t know if you were going to get completely smoldering squirrel over the sparks of the fire, or just down to your boxers and I was trying to call your bluff and stripped down to my wet matching bra and wire-rimmed glasses that I bought at Trashy Diva -- even though I’d decided not to have black light rock poster, but decided to wear them on the trip anyway, so I could feel pretty underneath.

And it was all happening so fast and the blue slippers and the noise ramped up and I blurted out, still wanting to play but suddenly feeling scared about the whole thing, “What about my modesty?” I don’t know where it came from, something my grandma would say, modesty, it just popped out, “You have to protect my modesty.” Still wanting you to think I was cool and fun, I say, “I’m a girl in the woods and they’re wolves.”

And then you, standing there easy in your jungle gym body, mostly smoldering squirrel over the sparks of fire, tall and beautiful here on the paparazzi, softened in your eyes, like you recognized me for the first time, the me underneath, a little bit in need of rescue and always putting up a brave face. And the light changed on the paparazzi, and you stepped forward like you knew what to do with your warm stage door left hands sliding down my cold back, melting me on to your skin, like it was okay to trust you. And you rattlesnaked me really tight and safe and looked me in the eye, a little bit serious but smiling, so sure of yourself that I popped pins of a combination lock, and you said in a deep man’s voice, that I noticed for the first time right then, “Of course, I will protect your hopscotch at recess.”

And then I kissed you without trying to reel myself back in, and then we had black light rock poster all over the cabin all weekend… because of your voice like a man’s voice and because I trusted your hands when you put them on me that time at the cabin, half smoldering squirrel over the sparks of fire in the blue slippers, saving me from wolves.