One & Only

One and Only

By Jake Greenberg

“Tonight, I just want to hold you,” he said; so, that’s what we did. I slept inside his built arms, he slept in mine. The light peeking through the white curtains woke first me, then he.

The birds chirped. His muscular body pressed up against me. My hand rested on the small of his back, his on my hip. I smiled at his beauty.

His ebony eyes, eyebrows, and hair accentuated his rosy lips. Stunning. Awake now, his neck bent forward and his eyes closed again. I knew what was near.

His soft, perfect lips made contact with mine, pace escalating within seconds. All of my insecurities vanished when we moved as one. I followed his lead like a Swan Lake flawless duet, and for once it was easy, right.

His tight embrace provided me comfort, and his touch made the skin on my back electric. I wished to look at him for eternity and peck every inch of his beautiful body. I did not want to leave that bed, our private paradise.

I wondered if what I experienced—those overwhelming sensations down my spine, legs, and hands each time his extensions danced across and in my pale skin—was only my virgin body reacting to a man, sole sexual attraction.

After that morning the answer came when we parted, when I felt meaningless and empty without him.

I realized, after one night, I only belonged in his arms. Our constructed architectures, that complement one another like puzzle pieces, were deliberately designed to be together. I was meant to spend my life with him: my first and only man.

It is the day of the Good Talent Showcase again, and Nora Park is speckled with picnic blankets. You and Brian find Emily and Corinna up one of the cottonwood trees hanging over the arroyo. You don’t know where their parents are this time. They are not sitting near Brian’s parents. You place your hand on the veiny, brown bark and call up to the girls. You’re going to the hills and ask if they want to come with you. They scramble down to the lowest branch and jump the rest of the way to the ground, running across the sand before they’ve even given you an answer. When you make it back to your old wattle tree and rock house, your windbreaker flag is still hanging on its branch, now sun bleached and covered in a thin layer of dust. It looks like it belongs there now, one permanent thing in the desert. Brian and Corinna are trying to scale one of the boulders to see how high they can get, and Emily sits next to you under the shade of the tree. “Can I tell you a secret?” she asks. You say of course she can. “I heard my mom and dad fighting outside in the car port last night,” she says. “She didn’t come home, and dad went out to find her, and when they got back, they were yelling at each other. I heard it outside my window.” You ask if she could hear what they were saying, and she shakes her head no, scratching her pointer finger into the dirt. You place your hand on her back, feel the warmth of her skin through her cotton tee shirt, and tell her that everything will be okay, even though you don’t know when that will be true. Corinna and Brian come back then, and Corinna wants to pretend that you guys have superpowers. You and Emily stand up and decide what each of your super powers will be, and when it is decided that Emily can fly, and you can be invisible, and Brian has super sight, and Corinna has super hearing, you set off through the hills. You lose track of time and lose count of how many hills back you are. Somewhere around five, most likely. Ahead of you, Emily is flapping her arms and galloping, pretending she is airborne. Behind you, you think you can hear the faintest yell. Emily looks back at you, and she hasn’t heard what you have heard. She smiles and waves her arm forward, telling you to keep up, to keep going. Your heart is twisting in your chest, and you feel guilty again. She doesn’t really know or understand what is happening. She doesn’t know what your mother said about her mother at the table. To your left, Brian is looking back. He has heard the yell too. Someone has shouted his name. You keep moving forward into the desert, following Emily. She is purposeful, flying. You want to shout to her, to say I see you. You think you hear your father’s voice call your name. What good would it do to say it? You are moving to Washington with your family in less than a year, and then you won’t know her anymore. Mr. Wilson’s voice calls out for Emily and Corinna. Your parents are searching for you. You keep following Emily. In less than a year, you won’t see Emily anymore. But right now, in this moment, yes, you see her. Brian calls out to them, to tell them you are here. I see you, I see you, I see you.

Jake Greenberg

he, him, his

College of Arts & Sciences

Class of 2022, Psychology & Women, Gender, and Sexualities Studies minor

Jake is a student athlete on the UVA Swim and Dive Team. He has always loved poetry and writing to express himself during times of hardship and stress. However, he was finally able to take a poetry class during his second semester in college, when he wrote these pieces. During this time, he explored his sexuality and feelings about his first relationship with a man. He took another poetry class last fall, and cannot wait to continue to develop his writing skills.

"I wanted to explore my feelings about my current relationship with a man. Although I enjoy my vulnerability, I am more proud of my writing in this poem. This poem was revised for 6 months to reach its final product."