excerpt from a novel-length work i've been working on for a while. this is Chapter 4
On Sunday, Tom dressed a bit nicer than he usually did. He wore a tie with his collared shirt this time and black slacks instead of his usual khaki work pants. He even wore a cologne his mother had gotten him years ago for Christmas. It was a little strong for him, but he spritzed it on in hopes that Sally would find it alluring. He got to church early to claim his seat even though it was never occupied even if he was running late. The congregation recognized it as "Tom's seat," and they never took it from him. He checked his watch every few minutes. When it was 5 'til 11, his mouth grew dry, and he wondered if she was even coming. She said she would. What time had she gotten there last week? Tom couldn't remember. He looked around the sanctuary to see if she had come in but sat down in a different seat, but there was no sign of her. When the organ started playing the procession music, Tom feared Sally wasn't coming, but suddenly, there she was. She came in the left side of the pew and practically stumbled into the seat beside him. Tom squeezed his hands together in his lap and smiled shyly at her.
"I made it, thank God," she said with that smile of hers.
"Traffic?" he asked.
She shook her head and removed her cardigan. She wore a white button up blouse made from a similar material that her blue dress was from last week. It hung off of her nicely. It was long sleeved and semi-sheer on the arms while being solid on the torso. Tom tried to look away from her chest, but his eyes were pulled down when she turned to her purse to get her Bible out. The coolness of the sanctuary had made her nipples more prominent. They hardened under her blouse, and Tom could see their outlines beneath the thin material. He crossed his hands over his laps, and his cheeks burned. When she opened her Bible on her lap and looked up, he quickly snapped his face back to the front. He wondered if Sally saw the redness that crept from his neck up to his ears.
"Is something wrong?" she asked, almost slyly. Tom wondered if he interpreted her tone correctly. Was she flirting? Tom couldn't remember the last time a girl had payed that kind of attention to him, much less a girl that looked like Sally.
He shook his head and looked down at his hands, which still covered the center of his lap.
The service started and several times, Tom caught himself thinking about Sally's breasts under the shirt. By the time the Holy Communion started, he had no idea what the sermon had been about. He couldn't recall last week either. He took the Communion and almost asked the pastor for extra to cleanse his sinful thoughts.
By the end of the service, he had the urge to run out the side door like he did last week, but he lingered briefly in hopes that Sally would talk to him again, but just like last week, too many people surrounded her. Defeated, Tom walked out the side door, skipped the luncheon, and went home. He made his parents sandwiches and soup again. They were pleasantly surprised.
"How is your little lady friend?" his mother asked.
Tom thought about the men surrounded her at church and the man that had stopped her in the grocery store parking lot. Then he thought about her smile and the way her blouse hung off of her and the way the navy blue dress fell from her hips and the way he could see the outline of her nipples today.
"She's doin' great," Tom answered, trying to keep his voice neutral.
"When can I meet her?"
"Oh, I don't know about that, Mama. We ain't even been on our first date yet."
"Well hurry up, Tommy! I ain't gettin' any younger in case you haven't noticed." She laughed at herself which broke into a cough. She coughed into a hanky that she kept by her bed. It was spotted with blood. Tom winced and grabbed his mother's free hand until she finished. "Oh I'm fine, Tommy," she said.
Tom nodded, but he didn't let go of her hand. He knew she didn't have long now. He looked over at his father who gazed at the ceiling as if he saw the universe painted there.
"Mama, I know you don't like to talk about these things, but you need to write your funeral arrangements into your will," Tom said quietly, looking at his hand clutched around his mother's.
She waved him off. "There's still plenty of time for that yet."
Tom looked up at her face, and there were tears in her eyes. He didn't know if they were from her coughing fit or from the fact that even she had to know that what she said was completely false.
"I'm gonna call up the lawyer tomorrow morning, okay?"
His mother patted his hand, trying to keep the smile on her face. "You're a good boy, Tommy. You always will be," she told him hoarsely.
Tom kissed her hand. It had been a while since he had thought about the reality of losing his parents, especially his mother. His father had been a good man, but they had never had enough in common to be close. His mother had been the person to always be there for Tom and to care for him throughout his life. Now, he was returning the favor. He wondered if they knew how grateful he was to them.
"I love you, Mama," Tom whispered and kissed her hand again.
That night, Tom's mind wandered everywhere. He had trouble falling asleep. In the room beside him, he heard his mother go into one of her coughing fits. He could usually ignore them, but tonight, it reminded him of how frail she was and how little time she had left. When her coughing fits calmed down, he thought about Sally. Several times, his hand slipped into his briefs. It started with imagining the things he had already seen about her-- her curves, her collarbone, her pretty smile, her neck, her breasts beneath the clothing. Then his imagination painted different pictures. She sat beside him in church, the very lower part of her thigh visible. Her porcelain skin created a stark contrast to the red velvet pew. He imagined his hand touching her knee and slowly lifting her skirt as he ran his hand along the inner part of her thigh until he felt the warmth between her legs.
But then his mother would go into one of her coughing fits again, and he found it too difficult to concentrate on these things. For the first time in many nights, he did not satisfy himself, nor did he really sleep.
