Jill Bialosky, born April 13, 1957, is an American poet, novelist, essayist and executive book editor.
STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN
Jill Bialosky
My girlfriend and I snuck out
of our houses at midnight
on a Cleveland winter night
and met at the corner of our block.
Our mission was to find the two gas station
attendants we had spotted the night before.
We didn’t know their names,
only their oily hands and dark coats.
Marie had big boobs and soft, Chek lips.
I was a quiet teenager with slight curves
and deep, skirting eyes.
We were a sensible team:
she was the target and I was the protection.
One boy was cuter than the other,
that’s how it always went.
Marie would get in the back seat
and neck with the cute one
and I’d stay in front pressed against
the passenger door talking to the gawky driver
with a scar underneath his eye or bad teeth
above the sound of “Stairway to Heaven” or something
by Fleetwood Mac, until their lips in the back
were bruised and puffy.
Eventually, the driver pulled over
and let us out at the curb.
Marie scribbled her phone number on a matchbook.
For two or three days we’d linger near the phone
until pissed-off and pumped with revenge
“we’d go out again, stalking the night
for the new replacements.
This time was my turn, I decided.
Outside the Sohio
we leaned against the unleaded
and waited for their shift to end.
When we got to the car
I slipped in the back,
ignoring Marie’s tug on my sleeve.
The good one slipped in next.
The tape began: “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds,”
joint lit, and within minutes
we were in the haze of music and drug
until we’d open the door
and let the cold blast of air rescue us.
His name was Randy.
The very minute the words slipped
from his lips I didn’t want to forget him.
Randy, I thought, over and over
as he turned a lock of my hair
in his finger and began his work.
No, I liked the smell of petroleum
on his neck, his nicotine lips.
I could make him up in my mind
for weeks, I thought, without
knowing a single thing about him.
This time we’d wait by my phone
and when it rang I’d say, Randy,
Hello. Two words.
And the long dark dialogue
would begin.