Page 72 of Sicken of the Calm
I trace his smile with my lipsand memorize its feel and its joy, wanting to keep it with me forever.
**********
When I tell Iva, she throws herhands up in the air, shouting a hallelujah. I don’t know if the rant that comesafter is more annoyance about how long it’s taken, or happiness that it finallyhappened. I ask her why she didn’t tell me anything, and she scoffs at me,asking me what she could have told me, really, that I didn’t already know, thatcould have convinced the delusions I was under. When I ask her about hertelling Ezra about my teammates in high school she throws her hands in the airagain.
“See? I couldn’t have been moreobvious in telling him that you liked him withoutactuallytelling himand…you guys are clueless idiots. Like, seriously. Idiots.”
As if to prove it, next time shesees us she gives us a pair of drawings, one of me for Ezra, one of Ezra forme. They are portraits from the collarbones up. Both of us are looking slightlyto the side, off-screen, and the amount of life she’s managed to put in them isstriking. There’s a clear, almost longing happiness to our expressions, cast inlight around our eyes, tucked in the corner of our lips, in the way we seem tobe tilting forward slightly, as if drawn to whatever it is we are looking at.If put side by side the pictures look at each other and create such an intimatecapsule of lovesick longing that it would be nauseating if I wasn’t so blindlyin the midst of it.
“Woah,” Ezra says, holding hispicture of me, and he has that same expression on his face, bright and wanting,and I have to kiss it right off him and into me.
*****
“My tits are sweating,” Iva saysas we fall onto the shaded grass, Moore and Ezra behind us. Ezra groans as helowers himself between Iva and me, nodding his head.
“Mytits are sweating. Ithink the alternate universe, female version of myself is astral projecting tothis dimension just to sweat on my tits,” he says.
“The female version of you isfucking dedicated and I respect her,” Iva replies and they laugh as we allcollapse fully on the ground.
The depth of spring has brought aparticularly hot week with it, and I let my muscle rest as I look at the canopyof the tree above me, surrounded by the chatting of my friends, by the greenand the smell of the grass. An age ago, I remember, I had been lying on thissame grass with an arm hiding my face from Ezra, thinking him something farbeyond me. Now, even when I close my eyes, I can feel him beside me, like asong I can’t hear but feel the rhythm of deep in my chest. Deep, deeper,leaving a steady beat behind.
There’s so much land yet tocover, I think. There’s so many things we have to go through, so manyexperiences, so many bridges we’ll have to cross. God, there’s so much in frontof us. It swells in my chest, the mere thought of it.
I catch Ezra’s hand and hethreads his fingers through mine immediately, without doubt. I can feel hispulse, a hummingbird in my hand.
I’ll keep it safe, I swear tomyself. I’ll make mistakes, but this goal I’ll never lose. The light, thefluttering beat, the dark eyes and bright smiles and the softness of his soulbehind those metal plates. I’ll be the buffer against wind and salty wave, andwhen I can’t, when life has to be lived with risk and fear, I’ll be the warmhome to come to, the nightlight in the dark.
