Page 39 of Sicken of the Calm
“You’re here too, aren’t you?”
“That’s because you’re making mecrazy,” I grumble.
“Stop complaining. I’m savingyour life from creepy pervert evil spirits,” he says and grabs my hand before Ican protest. We’re both wearing gloves, but it shuts me up immediately, mystomach swooping.
There are more people out than Ianticipated. It’s Saturday, I realize, so the drunk singing in the distance andthe groups of people we cross makes sense. It’s strange, after the encapsulatedday with Ezra, to return to the wild, but the scene is otherworldly enough tofit in with the theme of the day. We pass people dressed in costume, peoplelaughing and shouting, all amidst the forest-smelling night. All the while,Ezra’s hand is wrapped around mine, an anchor.
We walk in comfortable silenceuntil we pass two guys, one dressed like Superman, the other like Batman,making out against a building.
“I wonder what Robin thinks ofthat,” I deadpan. Ezra snorts.
“He probably likes to watch,” hesnarks. “Who would you rather, Superman or Batman?” he asks. I glance at him.
“Uh, to have sex with?” Iclarify.
“Yeah. Hunk with mommy issues anda shit-ton of money, or Alien-Dick?” he says. I shake my head, laughing.
“Mmm…” I try to imagine either,but can’t picture it. “I don’t know.”
“You have to pick.”
“Fine – Superman.”
“Why?”
“Because you made me choose one!And Batman seems like an asshole. Why? Who would you choose?”
“Firstly, Batman isn’t anasshole, he’straumatized-”
“What the hell does that mean?Traumatized people are still people, Ezra. They can be assholes too.”
“Yeah, but if you’re an assholebecauseyou’ve been traumatized-”
“Still an asshole. Absolvingpeople of their behaviour due to trauma is just – insulting. Like, you can’tjust diminish them to their traumatizing experience and expect no more fromthem. That’s fucked up. Just because you can explain something doesn’t mean youneed to excuse it. No.”
“Damn. Fair enough. I standcorrected. But I’d still fuck Batman,” Ezra laughs.
“Why?”
“Urgh, because at least he has apersonality! I mean, sure, Batman probably cries after sex, and Superman couldtechnicallyplow you through the mattress, but he won’t! And anyways, you wouldn’t be ableto spank him, unless you do it with, like, kryptonite in your hand and that’sjust wrong ‘cause he gets all like ‘waaaah I’m going to puke’ when it’s near.”
“I’m glad spanking is yourmeasure of how fuckable a superhero is,” I snort.
“Well, it works in your favour atleast, doesn’t it?” he says, smirking. I roll my eyes and he laughs, kissing mycheek. A swell of affection goes through me, warming me to the tip of my coldnose.
When we reach the supermarket,Ezra pulls me toward the vegetable aisle by our still joined hands. We lookaround, but there’s no sage there. We walk around the nearly deserted rowsuntil we hit upon the dried herb aisle.
“Bingo!” Ezra cries, grabbing abottle of dried sage leaves and shaking it in my face. I swat him away,laughing. “Let’s grab some sweets, too,” he suggests, pulling me forward again.I don’t protest. Anything to keep that smile on his face.
By the time we’re done, Ezra hasimpulse-bought a whole bag worth of chocolate, sweets, and some special-editionCaptain Crunch. I’m just along for the ride, basking in his child-like energy,the feel of his wide grin every time he turns it toward me.
This is exactly what I want forthe rest of my life, I think terrifyingly. Someone who will drag me out at onein the morning and gets this excited by a box of cereal.
Ezra chatters away on our walkback. Our hands, having been separated to carry the goods without a basket andfor the buying transaction, are pressed together again. As I listen to himtalk, I take a deep breath. The night is open all around us, filled with an almostunbearable amount of potential.
When we get home, Ezra dumps allthe sweets on the floor by the pillows, puts the cereal in one of my cupboards,and opens the bottle of sage.
“We need to put this in a bowl orsomething, so we can burn it,” he tells me.
