Page 38 of Pieces of Heaven

“You might be. I don’t think you know yourself any better than you know me.”

“That’s probably true,” I say and grip his sweaty shirt. “That ought to scare me, but nothing can touch me right now.”

“Because of me?”

“Yes.”

“Or maybe your lust is like a shield.”

“I’ve been attracted to men before,” I say, wondering how I seem to him. “Every time I met a single man, I’d imagine myself married to him. What would our Christmas cards look like? Where would we live? Would our kids have my freckles or his pointy chin?”

Hobo chuckles. “Do a lot of men in Vegas have pointy chins?”

“Quite a few of my potential boyfriends did.”

“Is potential boyfriend what you want me to be?”

“Potential means I never get to kiss you again,” I say while tightening my possessive grip on his T-shirt. “I’d rather you be something else.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I meant what I said about not imagining a future. I don’t know where you go when you leave me. I can’t picture your life. It’s like you drop into a void as soon as you’re out of my sight.”

“You wouldn’t like my life.”

“I don’t know what I like. I’m not sure who I am, remember?”

Hobo considers my words as thunder cracks in the distance. He finally sighs.

“It’s going to roll through here soon.”

“I don’t care.”

“Have you ever been outside during a thunderstorm?” When I shake my head, he sighs again. “It’s like the world is coming to an end. You won’t like it.”

“Do you go inside when it happens?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why not always?”

“Sometimes, I want to remember what the world feels like when it’s ending.”

I consider following up on his comment. Hobo’s secrets are within reach. Maybe he can be mine if I solve the puzzles hiding inside him.

Or I could be wrong again. Life isn’t like a recipe. I can’t just add a little more salt or omit an ingredient to perfect it.

Keeping Hobo might be impossible. Yet knowing him, even a little bit, is attainable. I just need to let go of my assumptions and hopes. For once I’ll accept what I can have rather than forcing what I want.

Hobo sits up suddenly. He seems restless now. I feel like our moment of passion has passed.

“I best get you back,” he says and jams his supplies back into his pack.

“Give me a minute.”

I decide to prove to Hobo and myself how I have the mettle to be an outdoorsy gal like he wants. Stepping into the woods, I find a seemingly safe space to squat. If I can get the hang of relieving myself outside, I could follow Hobo around all the time without passing out.

The entire time I’m peeing, I’m certain a giant spider will lower onto my head. Or a snake will wind around my leg.

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