Chapter 25
Oscar woke up with his head laying on Ramona’s chest. He could feel the warm raising and lowering of her body as she breathed, and spread his tentacles across her chest and torso, watching his them coil and suction her skin in soft caresses. Unsure of whether he was in a dream or not, his eyelids felt heavy and weighed down by the soft press of a few sunbeams peeking through the curtains, when suddenly, the clearness of Ramona’s voice sliced through the cloudy morning haze.
“I just remembered,” she started, tracing the back of a single finger along Oscar’s back “the first girl I ever had a crush on.”
Oscar stopped his tentacles, as if to indicate he was listening, without saying any words himself. Ramona was speaking as if they had already started the conversation hours ago, and she was merely picking up a new story to continue.
“I had a friend growing up –I forgot his name – who was very close to the family. He lived right down the street from us in a huge house and I would always be over on play dates.”
Oscar felt her raise her hand, and based off the motions of the body, could only imagine she was slowly waving her hands expressively, as if to conjure up an old memory.
“But more than anything, I remember his older sister who was always so nice to me. And I remember feeling something about her that I had never felt before.”
“Was she hot?” Oscar asked.
He could feel her head nod in response. “Yeah! Are you kidding me? So hot.”
Oscar smiled at her answer, making him feel as if he asked a stupid, obvious question.
“Continue.”
“She was at least six years older than us and had a boyfriend who was also always over the house. And whenever I was around, she would always find a way to make me feel... special, no matter what the situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like imagine I’m watching TV in their living room; she would come up to me individually, crouch on the floor beside me, and whisper in my ear that she was planning on sneaking out with her boyfriend that night, or breaking any other rule, as if telling me some deep dark secret that was just between the two of us.” Ramona sat up in bed, continuing to move her hands. “Even if her boyfriend was there, she would always ask me to help her try on outfits before she went out. And me, a stupid young little kid, with a crush on her, was excited to go along with her.”
“I remember one time, she asked me to help zip up and unbutton her clothes as she tried on some dresses she had bought, and I was having such a hard time because on top of being nervous and shaky, my beak wouldn’t stop chattering.”
“Does your beak still chatter like that when you get nervous?”
“No, it only happened when I was little. It’s like god said ‘Yeah, it’s not enough that she’s insane. Let’s also give her a shaky bird beak.”
“Were you always self-conscious about the shaking?”
“Oscar don’t get hung up on the details. Let me finish the story.”
Oscar just shook his head, smiling as Ramona laughed at his questions.
“Okay, continue.”
“Well, there’s not really much else to say. I was a kid who had a crush, and I think she liked the attention I was giving her. You know that stupid little puppy-dog face you give someone, where your mouth is a little open the whole time.”
Oscar turned his head to look up at her through squinted eyes.
“Yeah, I know it’s weird and lowkey predatory, but nothing happened and honestly I never knew what happened to her after that.”
“What’s her name?”
“I don’t even remember that either. I never looked her up again. I just know she was hot and as strange as it sounds liked being admired by a young little girl.”
They laughed together, still caught in the dreamy state of the morning, when Oscar’s own childhood memories started brewing up.
As always, Ramona caught him by surprise, once again slicing through the quiet moment, grabbing his shoulder, and turning him towards her. She grabbed his face from below the tentacles and drew him up for a kiss. The first was long and heavy, and Oscar took the opportunity to wrap his tentacles around her head. He noticed the stark contrast between the coral flames of his tentacles and her smooth, pale skin, knotting with her brown curly hair. It was in this moment that Oscar remembered his own first kiss, and every little detail his mind could fathom along the way. He recounted his history to Ramona in between kisses of their own.
Her name was Sydney Thomas, Little Oscar’s first kiss at only five years old. His tentacles were short and taut curly-cues, red and pointed up towards his plump, round head. She had blue eyes and sun-bleached hair, and she chased him down in the playground every day. One day, she finally caught him, and they rolled and laid down on the grass near the swings.
“Close your eyes.”, she said, and Little Oscar followed suit, not knowing what to expect. Suddenly, he felt a warm peck from her on his beak. The kiss was weightless, for they didn’t know anything about love or marriage; she only copied what she saw her parents do so lovingly to each other at home. It was cute, and it was sweet; two little angels in the grass and sun at recess. Oscar always remembered how she taught him to pull apart the flowers in the garden and taste the nectar in the stem.
A few formative years passed by, and Little Oscar was in his third-grade science class when he opened a paper note from Emily Ulmbach. The paper was folded diagonally and hamburger-hotdog style many times over until it became a dense wad. In it, the question: “Do you like Oscar?” was crudely written over two buttons that said “Yes” and “No”. Upon opening, Oscar’s eyes raced to find that neither button was circled. Turning pink as his eyes scrolled further down the blue-inked lines, he found a third button, titled “Ew”. His little heart cracked a bit. It was circled multiple times. He looked a further down the page. “Freak” was written with a bright-green letters, followed by an anatomically incorrect drawing of an octopus-headed kid. Little Oscar looked up and saw Emily Ulmbach and her friends laugh at him from across the sea of desks and heads. His young, fairly innocent, heart had finished breaking.
A few more formative years flew by, and Not-So-Little Oscar developed a sense of self-loathing that came from his insecurities, developing an invisible shell around himself. If he could, he would literally have a shell around his face, like a mask. Of course, it would attract attention, he thought, but at least they’ll make fun of the mask and not me.
A few more formative years passed, and pre-pubescence was in bloom. Maybe it was something in the water, or the bees in the air, or hormones in the veins of adolescents that made them want to walk side by side, all sweaty handed. There were new expectations that came towards him from every corner.
“How’s the girlfriend?”, his aunties would ask at family reunions. “Any hotties in your class?”, his father would ask at the dinner table. “Do you have a crush on insert name here, here, and here?” His friends would ask through hushed whispers, as the teacher walked by. Macho Culture was approaching him from behind, ready to sock him dead center with a mollywhop.
A few more formative years passed by, and Not-So-Little Oscar had grown a bit more. His shoes hung large from his lanky body, and his tentacles took their own, wriggled form. It could have been a sudden hit of luck, or a God-propelled sense of swagger that had brought Oscar up to Mikah Owen’s desk in the ninth grade. He asked her out, and she said “Yes”, and he found himself sweaty handed at the ice-cream shop himself, with his own soon-to-be first girlfriend.
Mikah Owen had long black hair and a pronounced roman nose that gave her a particular beauty. She was sweet like sugar, and Oscar walked around with her sweaty- handed for many dates to come.
They were in her bedroom one day, and the lamp lights washed softly over them and Mikah Owen’s light pink wallpaper as the rain pattered softly on the window beside them. They had spent the day talking a lot about nothing, listening to folk music, and eating snacks; his head was on her lap as she caressed him.
“Do you like them?” Asked Mikah Owen.
Oscar opened his eyes and looked up at her green-hazel eyes looking down at his.
“What do you mean?” Asked Oscar.
“These,” Said Mikah Owen, as she picked up a tentacle by one end and laid it softly on her flat, open palm.
Oscar grimaced at the contact, it felt like nails on a chalkboard. He fought a powerful urge to turn his face and push her away.
“Do you like them?” she said once again.
Oscar choked up. A storm of repressed pain was at his throat, and he had to clear his voice before speaking.
“I don’t know.” he said, “I hate them, I— I—” Oscar found it difficult to continue speaking. “I’m sorry you have to look at me with these.”
“No, don’t worry.” said Mikah Owen with reassurance, “I actually think they’re pretty cool.”
The girl examined the tentacle in her hand, and ran her fingers along his suction cups, circling the pads gently with her thumb. Oscar felt embarrassed, but the touch felt so sweet he let it happen. Countless seconds passed, and her fingers kept feeling the details of his strange, fleshy anatomy. It felt good. There was stillness. And unexpectedly, Oscar felt the warm press of Mikah Owen’s lips on his tentacle. There was a rush of fear, and Oscar’s eyes shot open. He saw her head pull away slowly as a suction cup clung to her cheek before popping away. She giggled.
“I love them.” Said Mikah Owen. And the two young lovers looked at each other in a moment of soft tenderness.
“They make you, you.”
For the first time in his short life, Oscar felt the sweet sprout of love emerge from his heart’s virgin shell. It was soft and innocent, much like the first kiss he had with Sydney Thomas at the tender age of five years old, and for the first time, he thought being Oscar wasn’t all too bad.
A few more months passed, and Mikah Owen would be headed out of town for college. Autumn was around the corner, and the pink innocent love between them had dried like the leaves on the branches. Whatever long and fuzzy summer daydream that was going on between them had come to an end. The branches shook, greens turned yellow, and the harps stopped stringing. The bittersweet effluvium of nostalgia filled the air. Things were changing, and Oscar the freshman stood all alone once again. The memory of that summer would remain as something fond and precious to look upon.
Coming back from the memory, as if transitioning between to the half-sleep dream, half-awake morning, and he thought about how different he and Ramona were. There was nothing left to get in his way but the sensual touch of her delicate hands, and the sound of her ever-clear voice, that always came in louder than expected. But when she listened, she was quiet, and there were no pervading thoughts, or piercing eyes, or alluring smiles. When she listened, it was just him and her beating heart. And there was nothing but peace between them and the morning sun slowly rolling over their bodies, as he shared those same memories out loud; Ramona listening silently as Oscar spoke and shared his own experiences with her. She looked at him, and he was swimming within her. They laid together that day, fawning over each other, sharing secrets, and surprisingly, without starting a single argument. The morning’s warmth kept its hold on them, until the Sunday evening rolled around, calling Oscar home, in preparation for another Monday at work.
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