.
                                                  ::

                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls

                                                  ::

The photo booth is yellow and says Photos Instantly across the
top in reddish orange letters, and it has an old blue curtain
half-pulled with a dark stain steeped into a bottom corner.
Running down the side it has small photos of people grinning and
mugging for the camera, or looking half-serious. A girl whispers
into a boy's ear, the boy pretending to be shocked. IDs, it says,
in the same reddish orange letters, passports, best friends,
dates. One dollar. It sits at the back corner of an irregularly
shaped hall near a Tibetan import shop and a booth that appears
to sell fudge.

Charley Vanderhook walks up to it and stops and turns in a
hesitant circle all the way about looking up and down the hall
until she's face to face with the booth once more. Blond hair
tied back in a thick ponytail. A thin sundress in a tropical
print of lushly plump orchids and birds-of-paradise sprawling
over a vivid red ties behind her neck and leaves her arms and
back bare, its skirt flouncing down to maybe the middle of her
thighs. Her nervous feet in simple canvas Keds and no socks. In
one hand she holds a piece of paper, folded and folded again.

Behind her up comes Edie Sutherland on the escalator. Who seeing
Charley smiles. Red hair held back to one side with a purple
barrette. Pinkish tank top cropped above her navel and a tiny
black leather backpack bouncing on one shoulder as off she steps,
a white miniskirt spangled with little cartoon flowers. Tucked
into the waistband of the skirt in the hollow of her back a piece
of paper, folded and folded again. Her feet in white sandals with
wide straps. She isn't smiling. Taking a deep breath she blows it
out and plucks the piece of paper from her skirt, holding it
tightly in one hand before her. Charley?

Charley turns, slowly. Eyes widening as she sees Edie and she
sees the piece of paper Edie's holding. Her own hand with her own
piece coming up before her. Edie? It's you?

Edie nods. I guess so.

Oh God, says Charley.

Let's get this over with, says Edie. Reaching past Charley for
the curtain. Charley jumps at the scrape of rings on rod. After
you, says Edie.

What are you, says Charley, as she steps into the booth.

Does it matter? says Edie. Scoot in some more. In the booth
there's a blue stool that Charley edges past so Edie can slide in
beside her. Edie shuts the curtain with a jerk.

I mean, Charley's saying, they said I cheated on Hannigan's
final.

Did you?

Well, yeah. Would I do this if - well, I mean -

If they didn't have something on you?

Well. Yeah.

Let's get this over with, says Edie again. You have a couple of
bucks?

I, uh, says Charley, hands fluttering around the skirt of her
sundress, which has no pockets.

Shit, says Edie, unshouldering her backpack.

Well, fuck, I'm sorry.

Yeah. Setting the backpack on the stool between them and
unbuckling it open.

I'll pay you back.

Don't put yourself out. Fishing out a couple of dollar bills, and
then a third one, and a fourth.

I'm serious. Look. Charley's hand on Edie's arm then, fingernails
cut close, speckled with the flecked remains of cherry red polish
by the cuticle of her index finger, her pinkie. Edie's eyes
flicking up to meet Charley's then, Charley's face intent, eyes
focussed, blinking once, twice, Edie's face still and calm and
cool. We have to stick together, says Charley. We have to, we -

What, says Edie, quietly. Still bent over her backpack.

Stick together, says Charley. For each other.

Edie swallows.

Against them, says Charley. Lifting her hand from Edie's arm.
Edie straightens up, money in her hand. It's not, says Charley,
it's not just Hannigan's test. Cheating. I mean -

That's not all.

That's not all, says Charley. I. They made me - I. They have
pictures. They emailed me. Me, in my room. I had to buy a. This
magazine. And -

You remember how Addison and me had Dean for gym last semester?
says Edie. Quietly.

I, uh. And. Yeah. Charley nods. Yeah.

We had this system rigged up to skip out and still get credit. We
went to gym maybe twice last semester.

And they know.

And they know, yeah.

What else - is there, I mean, anything else?

Well, says Edie. There'll be these pictures, I guess.

Yeah, says Charley. Yeah. She swallows.

Edie says, Are you ready?

Charley says, Sure.

And Edie feeds a dollar bill into the slot. First one, she says.
Faces. They hunker down, bent over, shoulder to shoulder, looking
into the black-eyed window of the booth's camera. A flash goes
off, and again, and again, and again. Edie straightens up, and
puts her hand on the little basket where the photo strip will
drop out in a minute. Charley looks away, putting one hand on the
wall of the booth. Her other hand plucking at her skirt.

There's a whir, and a clunk. A narrow strip of thick glossy paper
drops into the little basket. Four photos one on top of another
of their faces side by side, a handspan between them, unsmiling,
washed out by the flash. Charley's hair dark and shadowy gold,
her dress a deeply saturated red. The curve of one of her tits a
shadow on her skin within the drooping lip of neckline. Edie's
hair a glossy auburned brown, her tank top blown out pale and
white with a highlit sheen of pink. White pinpricks searing from
the pupils of their photographed eyes. Edie's face does not seem
to change from shot to shot. In the next to last, Charley's eyes
are closed suddenly, her lips parting. In the last, her eyes are
open again. Looking down a little, a little to the left. Between
them.

Edie drops the strip onto the blue stool. Ready? she says, and
Charley nods.

Edie plucks up the second dollar bill, her right hand making a
fist, bunching up the material of her short skirt within it.
Charley's hands flatten themselves, her elbows bent, tucked in,
on the fronts of her thighs, brushing the skirt of her dress.
Edie's eyes flick up and over to meet Charley's, and Charley nods
again, and Edie feeds the dollar into the slot. Lifting her
skirt. Charley, lifting her skirt. Both of them, holding their
skirts up, Charley swallowing, as the light flashes again, and
again, and again, and again.

A whir, and a clunk. A second strip of four photographs drops
into the little basket. Upper arms and tits cropped at the top,
and Charley's skirt lifted up, her navel a dark pool in the pale
slice of belly above an ordinary pair of yellow underwear, lacey
scallops about the waistband, bunched a little, wrinkles across
the front where fabric is pinched by her thighs pressed together.
Edie's skirt lifted up and out to the snug waistband, a tiny
black triangle of lace a taut imago of the pubic hair a shadowy
darkness beneath, black strands climbing up from it across her
hips, her skin rich in warmth like butter next to Charley's
chilly blue-veined paleness. In the last photograph, Charley has
let go of her skirt with one hand, drooping down to brush her
thigh again just above the bottom of the frame.

That strip is laid on the stool next to the first, and Charley
looks down at it a long, long moment. Blinks. Looks up to see
Edie looking into her eyes.

That's sexy? says Edie.

I, says Charley.

You were supposed to wear sexy underwear. That's what my note
said.

I, says Charley.

That's supposed to be sexy?

It's - I don't really have any sexy underwear.

Edie looks away.

We should do the next one, says Charley. We should do it and get
it out of the way and not think about it.

Edie nods. Takes a breath and flipping up her skirt again reaches
under it and peels off the lacey black thong, letting it fall
down her legs to the floor. Charley, her hands unmoving on the
skirt of her dress, stares down at it.

It's a thong, says Edie. I have sexy underwear.

Yes, says Charley. But.

It's perfectly comfortable. Edie grins. You'll want to buy one
for yourself. A whole bunch. You'll never wear anything else
again.

Don't say that, says Charley, quietly.

Edie frowns. Well? she says. Bending down awkwardly to pluck up
her thong. Are we?

Charley is peeling off her underwear. Her elbow catches Edie's
head as Edie stands back up again. Oh! says Charley, standing up,
her underwear about her knees. Oh! Putting her hand to Edie's
head where she hit it.

It's, says Edie.

I'm sorry.

It's okay, says Edie. Come on.

I'm, says Charley, and then she stops, her hand hanging in the
air above Edie's head, and then she pulls it back to herself.

Come on, says Edie, after a moment. It'll be easier with them
off.

A sudden shiver, and Charley bends down to finish what she
started, stepping one, two out of her underwear and laying them
on the floor by Edie's, who's taking her finger out of her mouth.
The middle finger of her right hand. You should lick your finger,
says Edie. Trust me. Sticking it back between her lips, swirling
her tongue around it.

Charley swallows.

Go on, says Edie. Do it. For me, I mean. If nothing -

I'm, says Charley, I'm sorry, I - She looks down.

Don't flake on me, says Edie.

I can't, says Charley.

Don't flake on me. We need to do this. If we don't, they're gonna
tell everyone about it anyway, and -

I've never, says Charley.

- it's just like a slumber, says Edie, and she stops. Never?

What, says Charley. Like you go around doing that all the time or
something.

Not even at a slumber party back in middle school? says Edie.

No! says Charley. No. She shakes her head, barely.

Well, says Edie. Trust me. You're gonna want to get it wet. I'm
gonna want you to get it wet.

I, uh, says Charley.

Left hand, says Edie. Do your left hand. So you can reach across.

Oh, says Charley. Sorry. Sorry. I, uh. Her hand jerking up to her
mouth, her left hand, as her right hand falls away. Looking away
from Edie as she parts her lips, the tip of her tongue there,
between her teeth.

Ready? says Edie, after a minute.

Charley sighs.

Edie lifts her skirt. Well? Charley? You want me to go first?

Charley takes a deep breath, and sighs again, and nods.

Lift your skirt, says Edie, and Charley nods again, and takes
another deep breath, and does. Shivering. Oh, geeze, she says.

It's okay, says Edie.

Oh, oh geeze.

It's okay. It's okay. Are you? I mean, can you just -

Yeah, says Charley, I'll, uh -

Let me just -

Oh -

Like that, yeah, like that, that's it, just push - ah - oh, shit
-

What?

No, don't! Don't pull it out, it's okay, it's okay, I just -

What? What?

It's okay, Charley. It's okay. The money. We have to -

Oh, the dollar bill -

Just put your finger back, I'll reach across -

I just, I'm sorry -

It's okay, just put it back, I'll use my other - hang on, no, up
a little, up - there - oh, that's it -

Oh, geeze -

It's okay, Charley. It's okay. It's okay. I've got the dollar.
I'll just - and then -

The bill slot grinds.

And then - says Edie. Okay. Okay. It's okay.

Charley nods. It's okay.

Flash, and flash, and flash, and flash.

Licking her finger Edie bends over the basket which whirrs and
clunks. Picking up the strip in her left hand licking her middle
finger one last time she straightens up to see Charley looking
down at the middle finger of her left hand, the tip of glistening
damply sticky. Uh, says Charley, I -

Edie reaches out to take her hand there in the booth. Charley's
eyes widening and looking down to see the strip in Edie's other
hand. Four shots one atop the other. Skirts lifted in suspended
arcs by clenched fists up about the middle of their bellies hips
uncut unmarred unsullied by strips or elastic swooping bare,
brushing warm and cool side by side. Forearms crossing one from
the other. Edie's thumb curled above around the sparse pale blond
nest of Charley's pubic hair, the tip of that thumb nestled in
the softly fleshy groove where Charley's thigh groins into the
very bottom of her belly. Between the palely beige lips of
Charley's cunt has slipped Edie's middle finger the second joint
of which crooks there and does not move, shot to shot to shot to
shot. Charley's thumb tucks along the side of her hand hidden the
tip of it behind her index finger held straight, rigid, her
pinkie curling up and away and pulling her ring finger with it,
away, the shadow of her hand darkening the thicker but more
carefully trimmed patch of Edie's pubic hair. The lips of Edie's
cunt pinker, brightly lightstruck by the flash, lapping around
the very tip of Charley's tightly curled middle finger. Nor does
her hand move from shot, to shot, to shot, to shot.

I, says Charley, again.

Edie pulling Charley's hand a little closer, higher. Charley
closing her eyes as Edie's lips part in a smile. Her tongue
licking out to brush the tip of Charley's finger. Her mouth
opening as her head slips forward to take the glistening tip of
Charley's finger in between her lips. Charley's head tilting
down, away. Edie pulling Charley's limp hand from her mouth to
look at it, pulling it back to lick the tip again.

There, she says. Letting go. Charley shivers. All clean, says
Edie. It's over.

Not, says Charley, not quite.

Yeah, says Edie.

There's one more, says Charley. Kneeling. Scooping up the lacey
black thong.

Could you? says Edie, as Charley hands up her yellow scalloped
underwear.

The fourth strip, then: four shots, again, one atop the other.
Skirts uplifted once again by fists knuckled white by force the
tendons pressed up against the skin there terribly thin and blown
out washed out white by the harsh flash. The lacey black thong
dark against the chilly paleness of Charley's skin unbroken
otherwise from uplifted skirt to the bottom of the frame. A
little small for her, perhaps, the straps of it cutting cruelly a
little up and over the flesh of her hips pressed in by it. The
yellow lace-scalloped underwear  beside her bagging a little,
lateral wrinkles bulging its surface like hidden smiles across
Edie's crotch.

Done, says Edie, dropping the strip on the stool by the others,
and done, flipping up her flowered skirt to thumb the scalloped
waistband.

Edie, says Charley, we're supposed to.

What? says Edie, pushing. Kicking one knee a little forward then
the other, wiggling a little, as the yellow underwear slithers
back down and down her legs to the floor.

We're supposed to stay switched, says Charley. That's what the
note said.

Okay, says Edie, stepping one and two out of them. Okay. You can
keep 'em. I've got plenty, I told you.

Yeah, but, says Charley, as Edie scoops up the yellow underwear.

I'll go without, says Edie. They can't possibly complain about
that. Grinning. Flipping up her skirt, her eyes wide with sudden
pretended shock. Sexy, she says.

Edie, says Charley. I'm glad it was you, she says. I mean, I'm
sorry you're in this too, but.

Yeah, says Edie. I know what you mean.

I'm glad it was you, says Charley.

They stand there a moment, not moving. The curtain still pulled
closed. Do you want to take the photos? says Edie. Drop them off?

Charley nods, scooping them up.

Hey, says Edie. Not yet reaching up for the curtain which is
behind her. You know what me and Addison were doing instead of
gym?

What? says Charley.

Think about it, says Edie, jerking the curtain open. Stepping
out. Grinning.

Oh, says Charley. Oh.

See you, says Edie.

You did what? says Addison Cuyahoga into her cell phone, driving
the little red Miata. You fucking did what? Delighted. She wears
a stiff straw cowboy hat folded and creased like a taco shell and
a pair of amber sunglasses with big lenses and tortoiseshell
frames and a black satin bra and big gold hoop earrings. You
licked her finger and she didn't freak. Fuck me. Fuck me.
Spinning the steering wheel with the heel of one hand to turn the
car into the parking lot of an old motel. She is so ready for it.
Jesus. Pulling to a stop next to a spidery cantilevered staircase
all flat planes and thin wrought railings. But not yet, not yet.
No! We've got to pull one more thing on her. Maybe. One more, and
she'll like, totally belong to us. Completely. I gotta admit,
Edie, jerking open the door and climbing out, I gotta admit, this
was a fucking great idea you had. Cowboy boots on her feet and
tight bluejeans hanging dangerously low about her hips, artfully
ragged there a little at the waistline where they were trimmed
below the useless missing beltloops. I really want to see these
photos. Jesus.

Up on the steps. You let her take them? she says into the phone.
Okay, whatever. Makes sense. We can pick them up later.

Just picking up Alexandra. You want me to swing by and grab you
on the way home?

At the top of the stairs now, on the second-floor balcony. Not a
problem. Call your folks, make a night of it. I'm on a low boil
right now, girlfriend. I am going to have to fuck the hell out of
somebody tonight and it might as well be you.

Knocking on a door. Mom? laughs Addison. Well. If you want to.
Ha! I knew it, I totally knew it. You are so crushed out on my
Mom. You little slut.

Well, maybe. If she's home. We could. It could be fun. Jesus.
Come on! Stamping her boot and jerking the doorknob, which
twists, the door popping open.

The room is dark. On the floor between the beds and the dresser
where the dead television sits kneels Alexandra Cuyahoga, naked,
one hand in her lap, the other up, sluicing something wet and
glistening from the corner of one eye. In the light from the
doorway it is clear her face is slathered with it, slick and
greasy, a gobbet of it dangling from her chin and dripping onto
one bare little breast. Between the beds stands Mister Tisdale
shirtless, charcoal slacks unbuttoned open, cock shining wetly in
the darkness.

Oops, says Addison, into her cell phone. Gotta go. Punching it
off.

I thought you locked that door, says Mister Tisdale. Turning away
as Alexandra crumples in upon herself blond hair falling to the
floor like a watery curtain both hands beneath which up to her
face, wiping. Wiping.

Hey, sis, says Addison.

                                                  ::
                                                  
                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls
                                             an object lesson.009
                                                 
                                                          --n.
                                                  ::
                                                  
http://www.asstr.org/~nickurfe/
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
nickurfe@yahoo.com

This story may be freely circulated by anyone, anytime, anywhere.

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