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My wife had apparently found her mom voice again. I cringed and attempted to intervene before this escalated. Liz had a way of getting under my wife’s skin in a hurry. ‘Honey, that make up belongs to your mother. Also…’ I said. I was just about to go into the ‘jump off a bridge’ lecture that had been so ineffectual on me as a kid, but somehow I felt would hit home with my eleven year old, when words I had been dreading for a long time spewed forth into the kitchen. ‘It’s not like she’s even my real mother!’ Liz spat out, with the voice only those in the venomous onset of puberty can muster. My skin froze against my flesh and my hairs stood on end. I glanced at my wife and she had lost all of her color, leaving her pallid and sick-looking. It was quickly replaced with an angry flush however. I stepped up before she could say something which would make both of them feel worse. ‘Liz,’ I said in a quiet voice that brooked no discussion, ‘go up to your room. Stop at the bathroom. When we finished dinner, Taylor whispered to me: “Lets dine and dash!” Surprisingly, I agreed. We slyly walked out the front entrance, past the limo and into the city streets. It was a fascinating experience, one that I had never felt before. Taylor’s wanderlust led us into the throngs of people leading normal lives yet enjoying ourselves. Extraordinarily, Taylor and I ended up back at the stadium where Taylor had performed a few hours earlier. Now, it was void of extreme noise and light. The once deafening roar was a fading memory. We walked onstage and admired the enormity of the stadium. As I stared out into the open, I felt a hand brush my cheek. Turning my head, I saw Taylor’s face drawing closer to mine. Our lips met, sending an electric shock through my body. My eyes stared wide open in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is happening!” Our bodies drew closer, embracing one another, slowly descending to the floor. I cradled her slender body, sliding my hands over the curves.
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