the book of embraces, chapter Delia

She was from Moscow but not Russia. She was prettier than any model ever was. Part of it was she had smart eyes, smart and honest and brown and foxy all at once. She looked like a cheerleader would if a cheerleader from USD could make top marks at Yale Med. She was half Chinese, born in Shanghai, so she had her small pox vaccine on the inside of her thigh. Chinese girls are useless if they have them on their shoulder. [Ed: I don’t understand China either, so don’t write letters of inquiry].

She came to his dorm room one night really drunk. Probably she’d had it out with another boyfriend. They both were dating other people but they were honest so it was fine.

She climbed on his bed with him. She was wearing a yellow mini skirt that made her legs a little too beautiful to look directly at. It was like looking at the moon through a telescope—if the moon were tan and wearing yellow and had one single pock mark—because it could hurt your eyes even though it didn’t seem that bright.

She said, “I’ll probably get sick if we have sex but we could do other things.”

He knew she was too drunk for other things too. He let her go to sleep. That took all of three minutes. He listened to Rage for Order by Queensrÿche on his walkman while glancing at her legs—wrapped around his—just long enough to hurt.

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