Where Are You From&;#063;

A Room

by Ragan Sutterfield

She leaned back against the bed trying to hide the slight rolls of her
stomach. The man stood with his back to her. He fiddled with his tie
and buttons, and pulled off his watch. The room was dim with only a
cheap hotel lamp beside the bed. A small suitcase stood in the corner,
and around it were several changes of shirts and dark slacks. She did
not bring a bag.

Where are you from? She asked, reclining against her hand.

The man glanced back over his shoulder.

I mean originally. Where did you grow up?

The man pulled off his undershirt. His body was pale and thin with long
muscles and a small patch of hair on his stomach. He sat down on the
bed beside her, and began untying his shoes.

I'm from Georgia.

She moved beside him and ran her hands along his back. She felt the
bumps of his skin, the outline of his spine. She leaned down and kissed
his shoulder lightly.

Did you live there long?

Yes, until college.

He pulled his socks off and threw them into the pile of clothes in the
corner. He ran his hand down the inside of her thigh. She lay back
against the bed and he moved over her, kissing her stomach, her face,
and then slid off the bed and undid his pants. She watched him in the
pink glow of the lampshade. He was younger much younger.

You don't have an accent, She said.

No. Never did, really.

Do your parents?

Yes, everyone else in my family does.

He stood in his boxers and came to her. He lay beside her, sideways on
the bed. They kissed and he reached behind her to unfasten her
brassiere. She felt his hands against her back-they were rough and
long. They felt like they did not belong to him.

I want to turn off the light, she said.

Sure, he said.

She stood up and went over to the lamp with her back to him. Her body
seemed to glow, the light moving around it. She turned the switch. In
the dark, she rubbed her hand over her fingers-her left with her right.
She held them; they trembled slightly and she could not stop them. She
looked out at the heavy drapes. Light poured in around the corners. The
noise of the highway came muffled through the glass. In the faint blue
of the streetlight she stood before him. She closed her eyes, and
raised her arms above her head, her hands twisting slightly. She felt
like they reached far, far into the air. She felt like she was
nowhere.