PJ made me a snack today when I got home. A small bowl of spicy pistachios, his pocket knife with which to open them and a fresh glass of lemonade, made with less sugar than most people like, or so I'm told.
I like you more lately.
See? I told you I'm becoming a better person by working.
No, but by working you're usually too tired now to argue with me about the dinner menu. He winks and then frowns. You sure you won't cut yourself, because Lochlan will murder me if he finds out I gave you that knife to-
Oh my God, PJ. Seriously. I spend all day long around huge butcher knives now.
(They are the only thing that can cut through the moderate-burned pies the cook churns out morning and noon. Seriously.)
Tell him you stole it them. Have my back.
I always have your back. I wink, worried for a microsecond that my eye might be joined by the other one, and that they might both just opt to remain closed for the duration. To my relief they act normally. Thank you for the snack.
See you in a bit, Jellyfish. I am dismissed to carry my dishes out to the orchard to the swing, where I sit in the shadow of the tree to eat and then fly for a little while. Just until I feel like I can answer with a quick-witted reply when they ask how my day was. Otherwise the tears will continue and then everyone is angry and frustrated at me and at themselves.
Where have you been going?
The swing is occupied when I arrive. Jake slows to a lazy circle on the swing, not holding on, squinting at me in the sun. My knees buckle and I almost upset the bowl but he reaches out to steady me. I can see the ocean right through his face, a lone sailboat fighting the current from within his right dimple. His face is a whirlpool and I get sucked right in. I'm drowning and the only thing that will be left of me is this untouched lemonade.
I have a job now.
Yes. Sam told me.
There goes the bowl. And the glass too, for good measure.
He...can see you too?
No, but he prays to me sometimes. To my spirit for guidance.
I think that will be a good explanation to calm the fluttering of my heart and hands but somehow it just makes it worse. Oh. I see. I say it slowly.
You understand this isn't how you have relationships in the real world you're so eager to be a part of.
It's a long story, Jake.
I have time, Princess. Tell it to me.
I drop PJ's open knife on my foot. May as well spill all the bad blood while I'm at it, right?
I like you more lately.
See? I told you I'm becoming a better person by working.
No, but by working you're usually too tired now to argue with me about the dinner menu. He winks and then frowns. You sure you won't cut yourself, because Lochlan will murder me if he finds out I gave you that knife to-
Oh my God, PJ. Seriously. I spend all day long around huge butcher knives now.
(They are the only thing that can cut through the moderate-burned pies the cook churns out morning and noon. Seriously.)
Tell him you stole it them. Have my back.
I always have your back. I wink, worried for a microsecond that my eye might be joined by the other one, and that they might both just opt to remain closed for the duration. To my relief they act normally. Thank you for the snack.
See you in a bit, Jellyfish. I am dismissed to carry my dishes out to the orchard to the swing, where I sit in the shadow of the tree to eat and then fly for a little while. Just until I feel like I can answer with a quick-witted reply when they ask how my day was. Otherwise the tears will continue and then everyone is angry and frustrated at me and at themselves.
Where have you been going?
The swing is occupied when I arrive. Jake slows to a lazy circle on the swing, not holding on, squinting at me in the sun. My knees buckle and I almost upset the bowl but he reaches out to steady me. I can see the ocean right through his face, a lone sailboat fighting the current from within his right dimple. His face is a whirlpool and I get sucked right in. I'm drowning and the only thing that will be left of me is this untouched lemonade.
I have a job now.
Yes. Sam told me.
There goes the bowl. And the glass too, for good measure.
He...can see you too?
No, but he prays to me sometimes. To my spirit for guidance.
I think that will be a good explanation to calm the fluttering of my heart and hands but somehow it just makes it worse. Oh. I see. I say it slowly.
You understand this isn't how you have relationships in the real world you're so eager to be a part of.
It's a long story, Jake.
I have time, Princess. Tell it to me.
I drop PJ's open knife on my foot. May as well spill all the bad blood while I'm at it, right?