Truly, she didn’t. Marsha felt more at home here, in the half hour she’d been in this house, then she often did in the homes of her aunts.

“Marsha, call me Skipper.”

“Skipper?”

“Yes, please. Coming from you, ‘mister’ makes me feel old.”

“Go on,” turning away, “go put shoes and a shirt on!” Scowling at Walter’s request, thinking it ridiculous, going into the kitchen, Myra returned a few seconds later with the lox platter.

                                                       **** 

“You don’t like lox?” Jennie asked, looking at Marsha, who had made a cream cheese, tomato, cucumber and bagel sandwich.

“No, I don’t care for any kind of fish.” Said as kindly as she could say, “I never eat fish.”

“You don’t like lox!” The old lady giggled. “Mitchala, you sure she’s a Jewish girl?”

“I like lox!” Morton piped up and chomped down on the thick sandwich forcing the gloppy contents to ooze out the other side.

“When I was a kid,” stopping, Mitchell chewed and swallowed his mouthful, “my folks sent me to military school,” looking at Marsha, “and one of the things I remembered missing the most was our Sunday morning brunches and lox and bagels.”

“Go on, Mitchie,” sitting to the right of Marsha, leaning forward, Larry looked at his brother, “tell ’em what you told me you used to eat when you got hungry at night.”

Laughing, “No!” remembering the real reason for the toothpaste raids, “I won’t tell, ever!” But knew he would… somewhat.

Putting her sandwich down, “I don’t think I’ve heard this story. Come on, Mitchell,” Myra said, “tell us! What did you eat at night when you got hungry?”

Whining playfully, “Aw, Mom, do I gotta?”

“Yeah,” Larry said, “you gotta!”

“I…” Beginning to laugh his infectious laugh, in moments, even though they had no idea why, Mitchell had everyone laughing along with him, even Jennie, who was giggling into the napkin she held to her mouth. “I used to eat…” barely able to get the word out, “t-toothpaste.”

“Toothpaste? You say you used to eat toothpaste?”

“Well, yeah, Dad,” pretending seriousness, “I got hungry!” as though that explained it. “And you know how I get when I get h…” Unable to continue, refireing everyone’s laughter, he broke up again.

“Yeah, Mitchie,” catching his breath, “we know how you get when you get hungry. You’ll eat anything that don’t eat you first!”

“I wouldn’t talk if I were you, Lawrence! I’ve seen you go through the refrigerator like a tornado.” Laughing again, “And it wasn’t only toothpaste,” he gasped, “toothpowder, too.”

Tears running down her cheeks, “Toothpowder, too?” Marsha asked.

“Well, yeah!” Choking back laughter, “How long can man live on toothpaste alone?” Wiping his eyes with the napkin, “I’d go to the head…” looking at Marsha, “the toilet, at night and swipe everyone’s tooth, uh, teeth cleaning stuff, but mostly I liked that cinnamony red stuff in bottles… Teel.”

Howling from his place at the head of the table, “I remember now!” Walter said. “Every time you wrote, you told us to send you another can of powder, and I remember I told mom that you… Oh, God! That you had to be eating the stuff!”

“The other boys, Mitchell, they never found out on you?”

“No, Pa. I’d only take a little from each of ’em at a time.”

“Mitchala, it’s not nice to steal from your friends.”

“I know, Ma, but if you’re hungry, you’re hungry.”

“Every night?” Myra asked. “You did this every night?”

“Sure, every night! I got hungry every night!” Laughter bursting from him, tears coming to his eyes again, “It’s my fault they don’t serve cookies and milk after taps?”

                                                     **** 

Parked about a half-mile from the house, under a huge oak tree at the dark end of an unfinished street, Marsha moved his left hand from her breast, and holding it, put it on her hip… then, a few minutes later, his right hand.

It wasn’t that the love he felt for Marsha was less than the love he had felt for Susan, or that his respect for Marsha was any less than that of Susan, it was just that when he was with Susan he was a boy of seventeen, and at seventeen, maybe, a boy was supposed to treat the girl he loved differently. But now, two months from his twenty-first birthday he was no longer a boy, he had become a man and, maybe, this was what a man was supposed to do, and besides, Oh, God, he thought, I want to! So he attempted to hold Marsha’s breast again… And again a minute or two later, but….

Moving his hand, “Mitchie,” pulling her lips from his, “you’ve got more hands than a, uh…” searching for a word, “centipede!”

“Yeah!” He chuckled, and tried again, but…

Moving his hand, “You’d better be a good boy,” she said, “or I’m going to tell your bubby.”

“God, Marcie, I knew it was a mistake introducing you to my family. Pl-ease,” he cried in mock horror, “don’t tell my bubby!” As, nestling his mouth on the soft, warm flesh under her chin, kissing it, he nipped at her neck.

“No hickeys!” Marsha cautioned.

“Don’t worry; I don’t even know how to make a hickey!”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you don’t!”

“No!” Pulling back, he tried to look at her, but could barely see her features in the darkness. “I really don’t know how to make a hickey.”

Mitchell, everyone knows how to make a hickey!”

“Not me! I swear! I do something else when I get really hot.”

“Oh?” Leaning back, attempting to see him, also. Almost afraid to ask, “And what’s that?” she asked. “Besides that!” moving his hand.

The last prolonged kissing session he’d had was in 1953 with Elsa Schmidt on the night before Labor Day, three months short of two years ago, and now, feeling the pressure on his jaw reminded him and, “Well,” he said, “I have this ‘thing’ with my bones.” Holding his hand to her ear, making a fist he twisted his wrist, and his wrist went pop.

“Yaght!” Moving her head away, “That’s disgusting!”

“Yeah.” Holding his other wrist to Marsha’s ear, “I can do it with the other wrist, too.” Twisting that wrist, it went pop too.

“That’s your big trick when you get hot?”

“Nah; that I can do anytime.”

“So, if you can do that anytime, what’s the big deal?”

“This is what happens when I get really hot.” Placing his hands on either side of her face, moving his mouth to hers he kissed her, passionately…

“Mmmm… Yeah, Mitchie, that is a neat trick.”

“No,” placing the side of his face against her ear, “here’s the trick.” Putting internal pressure on his jaw, moving it outward and slightly to the side, his jaw went pop. Moving it back, his jaw went pop.

“Oh, my God! That’s terrible!”

“See,” he said sadly, cracking his jaw again… twice. “That’s what happens when I get real hot.”

Moving his lips to hers, they kissed for a minute, then, pulling back, he, pop, popped one wrist, then the other, then pop, pop, popped his jaw. “Yup!” he said. “It’s all your fault! You make me so hot I snap, crackle and pop.”

“Jeeze, Mitchie! Kind’a like a bowl of Rice Crispies, huh?”

Sighing, “Yeah,” he said mournfully, “and in a couple of minutes I’m gonna lose all control and all my bones are gonna start snappin’ and poppin’ and then I’m gonna kind’a fall apart… So unless you want to see me laying all over the place in little pieces, you better let me touch your boobies!” And, oh, yeah, he reached to Marsha’s breast, again, and…

Moving his hand, again, “Good Lord! Mitchie, that’s just about the best line I’ve ever heard!”

“Ain’t no line! So help me, it’s true . I’ll fall apart!”

“Okay, Mitchie, let me get this straight. What you’re telling me is that unless I let you touch my boobies you’re going to just fall apart, and that you’ll be laying here…” laughing so hard she can barely get the words out, “flopping around in little pieces?”

“Yeah, that’s true !” he said sorrowfully, “I got this, uh, rare, tropical disease, and if I don’t get my daily dose of boobie touching I just go to pieces.”

“Oh,” she crooned sadly, “you poor thing!” Reaching overhead, flicking the switch to the dome light, turning it on, “Can I watch?”

Pretending to pout, “Okay for you!” Turning the light off, “But, Marcie, you know I’m going to keep trying.” For emphasis—his heart, and another part of his body jumping because she allowed it… for about two seconds—Mitchell did cup a breast in the palm of his hand, as…

“And, my little centipede,” she said, allowing his hand there as she said it, “you know I’m going to keep stopping you.” For emphasis, she firmly removed it.

(A "Becoming" Excerpt)