In A Handbasket

In A Handbasket

"In a Handbasket" was featured in BWE2010, edited by Violet Blue. Ashley Lister said, "Alison Tyler’s “In a Handbasket” is a witty tale of ostensibly mismatched lovers finally finding
each other."


“Why do you think we’re going to hell?” I asked innocently as we walked away.

“It might have something to do with your shirt,” Caleb said, kindly.

I looked down. I was wearing one of my favorite tees. I’d forgotten completely. The tight-fitting baby-doll white one with SINNER in bold red across my small breasts.

“But you’re not wearing a SINNER shirt,” I pointed out.

Caleb grinned at me. “Wouldn’t fit.”

"What fellowship hath light with darkness?" the preacher’s voice sailed after us.

“I was wondering when he’d get there,” Caleb sighed. I looked up at him, as I always was doing. Up and up and up. “You know, 2 Corinthians has got fuck all to do with interracial relationships. It’s about believers and non-believers.”

My eyes widened. “Which are you?” Religion had never come up with us before. We’d talked politics. We’d talked favorite TV shows from the 80s. And which band was better, Parliament or Three Dog Night. But religion? Not on our agenda, until he said the words:

“A believer.”

I swallowed hard, but then Caleb turned me around so that I could see our reflection in the window of Vagrants.

“You can’t be a lapsed Catholic without first being a practicing Catholic. I know my Scripture.”

“But you said—“

“Now, I’m a believer in what you and I could do together.”

“Do?” my heart hammered in my chest.

“You know…” his big hands tracing my shoulders, then down to my arms, so that his flesh touched mine. “What fellowship hath light with darkness?” he murmured in my ear. We looked good together. No doubt about it. And I was wet, at his touch and at his words.

Once again, I thought I understood. Not why we were going to hell, but why we were getting those looks. Because it was difficult to look at us and not imagine how we might fuck, how Caleb might toss me up in the air, or pin me against the wall, like a butterfly for his collection. From the expression on Caleb’s face, he seemed to be thinking the exact same thing.

“We could make it work,” he said, and his huge hands wandered over my chest, thumb tracing the letters. Slow on the S-I-N, making my nipples harden instantly.

By Alison Tyler
Photo: Riendo