Our date never ended it seemed. The mall where we found sushi at was outdoors, fresh rain pooled by the pavement.
I laughed when you suggested a movie but walked by the theater anyways. You won a toy at those claw machines they had outside—Rafiki from Lion King. It was your first try.
"Here." You tossed the stuffed animal to me.
"For me?"
"Your brother. He likes toys, doesn't he?"
Regret arrested your face. Before you could continue, I shook my head and kept my hands around the soft, synthetic fur of the Disney character. With the conviction in your voice, I almost thought Rafiki had a home other than the isolated spot of my bed. I can't blame you—I forget too. Nights where I'd wake up reaching for someone I don't know or don't have anymore are far too common now.
"We can see the bay if we go up to the roof," I suggested.
It wasn't even a roof, just the top of a three story high building, and my point wasn't made. Opaque smog furled over the landscape. With the night dampening our bones, we wouldn't have seen much anyways. Truly, my focus was on you. Streetlights from below surfaced like fireflies and you found us a ledge to perch on.
"Does astronomy interest you?" You smoothed the fingerprints off the gold zipper of your jacket.
"Not really." I retracted my statement, "Yes, but it's not my main interest. Stars are nice I guess."
"So what's your main interest?"
"Something science. I don't know. I don't really need to make a living," I said. "Sounds bad but I don't even need to stay in one place."
Your shoulders relaxed, letting your head fall back. "So it's true what they say about you, huh?" Swivelling your head, you peered into my eyes. I suspected then that you didn't see me, not really. Your pupils were deep, dark against almond, and you blinked lazily.
"What do they say?" I whispered.
We were treading that border and you were the only person who could toe that line without consequence. I let you—who wouldn't?
"They say a lot of shit. But who cares, you know? You're the only one with any substance in this community," you said. "But if you're wondering, most of them just say you're wasting time. I am too. So you're not on that boat alone."
"Let me guess, they think if I have the means to travel or be a philanthropist, then I should, right?"
By then, I was crying.
"They're just rumors," you consoled me.
I wasn't sad because of our conversation—I wasn't even sad. For months, I'd been deprived of any sort of chance to redeem myself if that makes sense. My friends weren't friends but you stepped up because you didn't know me like they did. If I knew that that would've scrubbed the soot from my hair, I would've sought a discussion in the middle of a supermarket with an unsuspecting shopper.
"What are you wasting time for?" I asked.
"Wasting time with you. I have a twelve-page paper due in a few days which I should get on," you said.
"Don't let me distract you, then." I grinned.
"I wouldn't have sprained an ankle trying to get dinner with you if I didn't want your distraction."
"If I'm not wrong, you did track back then? It was just a simple sprint back to me," I joked.
"Basketball too. I'd go through hoops for you," you flirted.
You teased and I liked it. You made advances you couldn't afford but in turn, I was the one that found myself in debt.
"We should go, shouldn't we?"
As those syllables, with and without accent, left my lips, your eyes drooped lower and again, your head assumed that position on my shoulder. When my mind formed that sentence, it was in a drought—would we do this again? Or is this an armistice?
"Come home," you said finally. "Come home with me."
* * *
Your home was a studio above the bar across the street, and stray lights infiltrated your sheer curtains. Twin headlights shone through and printed silhouettes across the room as I blocked your hand from turning on the lights. To me, right then, forever and still now, you were mortal.
(To die is to be beautiful, no?)
You were a neon photoshoot between two coves on a beach at night. You were a viola suite, viola not violin, played between two bridges. I fell that night.
I saw veins studded with mercury, painted oxblood in the glow, small rivulets of lust spanning your skin. I saw desperation for vulnerability and intimacy but I saw steely certainty.
"Slow, slow. Steady...steady."
You held me delicate until you didn't.
"Slow," you repeated yourself.
We waltzed that slow waltz, three to three, until neon became warm orange and then bright white.
