sugar

It would be just like that, you see. He holding on to me. Something in China would have fallen off a shelf so that I bumped into him on the bus. The old woman with the walker was cursing under her breath. Full of vinegar. Bottled up bottle rocket. But him. He went down like sugar. The tattoos on his arm remind me of a girl from a lifetime ago. He was nothing much more than right that second. Slipping me peppermints and a thank you. Showing him the door. The other one. Mixed up novel of who dunnit and who cares. Murky like the ocean he thinks. Dirty like a city puddle, I do. But her, when she opens her mouth daffodiles fall out. Sometimes I gather them neat and lay them at her feet. There is charm in the other. Southern drawl, southern slow. She bats her eyes at him and he finds himeself wanting more. But for me.

The movie theatre was pin drop quiet.

Painting her oddness on like fingernail polish, she leaves the house for the store. Mismatched socks and derby hats. She walks in sandles made before she was born. How did she reconize him so fast so quick. Like it was. Like it was. Ah. Like it was a movie. “Do you want me to tell it like boy meets girl and the rest is history or do you want it like a murder mystery? Awww, I’m gonna tell it like a come back story.” Because when I hit this city I was high on fumes. And the boy next to me just was.

Young.

Circling words in magazines and underlining the unimportant parts. Cutting the letter solid pages into strips for paper mache. Making sure to keep the good side up. The good side up. The good. The flour and water make my hands age before my eyes. Smoothing down each strip until it’s hidden. Now we wait for it to dry. I’m making a hot air balloon. She’s making it up as she goes along. Hey, wait. Aren’t we all?

My hair is chocolate brown, he says. And it smells like summer, he whispers.

Who are you anyway? Sometimes I picture his face and wonder how I ever got so lucky. Has it happened already? I think that an airplane just went by. Crawling out my window and drinking coffee on the ledge. We played a game of chinese checkers where I’m pretty sure he let me win. Shared a dougnut (we both wished we had gotten two.) Licking the sugar off our fingers and squinting in the 8am sun. Maybe this is all just a dream. And I’m on that plane really. Going home to say good bye to the boy that saved me.

Like an easter mass. Or like a two dollar bill.

That was a decade ago. Like 6 months or more. Now I’m undressing my soul and watching him look away. I’m sometimes like a car accident. I’m sometimes like an autopsy. I’m sometimes like the best thing that’s ever come his way. When she inhales slow and points her head up to the sky to let it all out I can see her when she was 15. I can see her when she was 51. But sometimes, it’s hard to see her at 35. It’s like time hit her all at once. And everything I said was a lie. An untruth. It was every little insecurity seeping out through my finger tips. Hollow. If you read it twice you would have heard the echo. would have heard the echo. I think i mentioned that before. But the thing is. Here is the thing. It’s like hearts slamming into each other. It’s like a bad science fiction movie. it’s like tapioca pudding. and he thinks it’s all to quiet some part of me that I’m tired of listenting to. Tired of listening. Tired. And there isn’t anything I can say to that no matter how loud i yell the nothing. my words hit his ears like butterflies in fog.

Hold my hand while I take these pills. Let the water trickle from your mouth to mine. Always know your lips always taste best when covered in the happy of me.