“In as much can as you share the same soul she has learned the art of seeing too”
The sky is buttermilk spilt upon sweet blue rivers betwixt mossy boulders. A car alarm is jolting my senses as I lean against the Walgreens and wait for my best friend. My mouth tastes like peppermint creme Gas-X. I am wearing black shorts and a black tanktop. An hour earlier I shared with my mother the depth of anger I hold about one particularly vexing situation and the preternatural ability of people in bringing their suppositions into actuality. She looked deep into me and expounded on intimacy and the importance of having tools and being honest.
“Eey can you buy me some beer?”
These hecklers don’t know that I’ve been to places where heckling is a livelihood and I see all and know all and when fully lucid outshine anyone. I am unnecessarily harsh in my response to them.
He picks me up wearing dark glasses, Adele’s ‘Send My Love’ loud in his speakers. We dance. People stare and people join in. We stop at Sonic and drink lemonade. A small boy knocks on the window.
“My mom wanted me to tell you that she likes your moves.”
At the grocery store a man eating a sandwich takes off his headphones.
“You both have some excellent moves.”
We drive until it all shakes out.
The next day we walk some dogs and play tag in an empty tennis court while singing songs to each other, and later we eat ice cream in a parking lot.