Lexi, 2B

You told me that you didn’t get as high as you’d used to and at very first, I took that personally. I assumed it meant that the company, our time spent together, disembodied and hanging like selfish, gluttonous clouds above our heads wasn’t enough for you anymore. Much like you though, you were ready for me when I came back down to talk me straight. Much like you, you gave all the cues. And much like me, I always waited for you to give them.

“It’s not that man, I’ve been on one lately. It’s probably the Kevin shit, it’s probably the work shit.”

You said, kicking your shoes to the corner and belly flopping onto the stiff harring-bone pattern cushions of the rotting loveseat in your roommates basement.

“You don’t have a job though, so, It’s probably not like, that though.” I smugged, joining you on the arm of the couch.

“Well, that’s the job thing then, isn’t it?”, you gleemed, “Smart-ass”. “You’re Moving-On-Up, you tell me what I have to do.”

“You gotta like, apply to a bunch of places. My brother told me that he got stoned when he was like 20 and applied to every restraunt and bar on the drag in a day and got like, three calls back that night.” I tried to be optimistic knowing the outcome.

“He said he would walk in and ask for a manager and then ask the manager for an application and say “Look, I see that cook back there on his phone not doing shit, I’ll replace him tomorrow and be here an hour earlier"."

She laughed, “And what’s he doing now?”

“Well, he’s a head cook now and - “

“He’s a head-line cook now on the drag.” She interrupted.

“Yeah, but he’s got a job and carries good shit, so, like, what are you on about?”

She sat up from her belly and perched, knees to her chin and held them there at the corner of the two person couch.

“Like, I know I could serve people, or like shake my tits for dudes at lunch for tips but, like, I’m not supposed to be doing that. I’m supposed to being doing something. Like painting. Like something, but you can’t do any of that shit without the money to lift you off.”

“You’re doing that mural for the Co-Op, aren’t you?” I slid from the arm to the seat next to her. “That’s gonna pay out, they can’t just like, paint over that shit. It’s protected by like, the city ordinance as art.”

“That fell through man.” She confessed begrudginly, it seemed. “Kev got me lifted the night before the meeting we were all supposed to have and I didn’t get there in time. Which is bullshit really because I was doing them a favor and they gave it to some asshole who was there with a friend. It was like an hour and they just ditch on artists, it's a fucking racket.”

“Fuck man,” was my condolence, “There’ll be another, whatever man, it’ll come.”

She dropped her legs down from the seat and shot up.

“Whatever, I wanna lift, are you coming with me?”

She made her way to the busted armoire in the corner with the box television atop it and opened the drawer. She pulled out a wooden box, decorated in stickers from Lisa Frank coloring booklets, etchings of names from the few people who had ever slipped their hands in to fish out its curious contents and a few small photos of us, taken and cut out from shopping mall photo booths and attached with scotch-tape.

I stood up too, “I do but I wanted to show you something, put that down.”

She placed it on top of the dresser and waited, one arm crooked on her hip and the other pushing her long green hair behind her head. “What have you got then?”

I did my best strut across the stained basement floor to a bag hung on the coat rack and reached inside, pulling out a sandwich baggie and cupping it in my closed hand as I strode over to her.

She tilted her head downward and smiled, “What do you got and why didn’t you tell me sooner?” She pushed through her pressed lips.

I leaned in and gently pressed my lips to her forehead and felt her skin get warm against mine. Opening my hands in front of her, she squealed with excitement.

“Oh my GOD, look at it.” She threw her arms around my neck and planted her face on mine and kissed me deeply. “Can I see it?” She asked impatiently.

“Yeah, go ahead, that's what that's Head-Line-Cook money gets you.” I jested.

She pinched the baggie with her fore-fingers and lifted it upward for examination. “God-damn.” She said slowly. The contents were soft with the light white and yellow of coffee stained teeth but in the moment, suspended and spinning in its thin plastic bodybag, shone like diamond and it was hard to avert the eyes from its draw.

“You’re telling me your brother sold you this?” She questions.

“One time only batch, and at a family cost because I told him what you were going through and how you’ve been having a hard time lately and that I’m tired of your bitching and that you’ve been almost on the rag for like, 74 days at this point as far as I’m concerned and - “

She punches lightly on my arm and follows with another hard kiss, “I’m fucking the wrong brother then I guess”. She laughs.

“Yeah, you said that about Kevin’s brother too, so I’m not all that worried.” Teasing with a sting.

“Can we?” She batted her eyes and pouted her lips. “Can we please sir? I want to feel good with you.” Tilting her head down.

“Before or after?” I asked.

“During, if it’s good enough.” She bit her lip and then leaned in and bit mine.

“Alright, get the box.”

The excitement is excruciating, the patience is more so. I sat back down on the love-seat and watched her swing her hips back to the armoire and bring the box back down to the table in front of me.

We both stood together, hip to hip and begun our dance. Back arched, arms dangling down loose to let the blood travel and fill up our veins, bumping into each other and laughing, kissing lightly in our swinging, ritualising more so the rituals to which we pull ourselves even closer.

“Are you ready?” She asks me, hunched over the box and eager.

“I am, but lets take this easy. This is different. I spent because it was different and I want you good.”

She and all that is lovely, smiled at me indirectly, “We’re gonna be good, we’re gonna be better than we’ve ever seen us.” She ran her hand across my chest and to my throat. “I’m gonna be better than when you met me.” And kissed me again and harder.

She heated,

she melted us both,

she held me and spoon fed me a soft and gentle dose

and the rush came over me like the ghost of a tidal wave.

I felt the seven grams leave my body again,

I held suspended over myself and dance in the ether above my flat and boring body.

I sank into endless trenches of broken fabric and dusty space between cushions and watched you heat and treat and spoon yourself, just like you had done me.

I found myself in the past again.

I do sometimes when I'm finally comfortable.

I laid my head back and let go into memory, where I don't have to see things through the scratched lenses I wear now.

I tilt my head to the side and see you doing the same.

I remember kicking you on the playground,

I remember wrestling in the mulch.

I remember asking you to our dance.

I remember answering the phone to you crying when your parents had different plans.

I relived loving you, while you went and loved somebody else.

I remember bus rides and shared headphones,

I remember double dares and long shared minutes at parties in closets, left alone.

I remember birthday plates and melted wax.

I relived the the day I finally asked.

I remember the day you finally said yes.

I remember moving in with each other,

under your roomates house,

putting together your studio from bedsheets in the corner.

I remember the first time we suspended from the ceiling,

tethered by cloth and caution, ambition and ignorance.

I remember the first time I said -

“I love you.” And swung my head to the side.

“Oh fuck.” She said.

“I love you, oh fuck, I love you.” I tried to swing my arm around you but I’m tired.

I see spittle but that must mean you're drooling for me.

“Come here.” And I try to throw my arms to you once more.

"Oh fuck." You told me again

I see foam storming the gates of your lips, but that must mean you’re hungry still.

“Come closer.” I yell down from my hammock.

"Fuck"

I see the glaze in your eyes but that must mean you’re terribly surprised by the gift I’ve given you.

“Let me know what I need to do.” I spewed slowly, and stupidly and tried gainlessly to, for you.

I tried to move but couldn't and watched your face turn more and more blue every time I would blink my eyes and it was a fitting color, it looked beautiful on you.

"Fuck."

I watched you go limp but that must mean that you're finally comfortable and out there somewhere now, in the past.

You told me that you didn’t get as high as you’d used to and at very first, I took that personally. I assumed that it meant that the company, our time together spent disembodied and hanging like gluttonous clouds above our heads, wasn’t enough for you anymore. I wonder who would be there now to talk me straight when I finally come down.