I can vividly remember the first day I saw Connor. He was leaning on Preston’s car and smoking. Preston said something and started laughing. Connor’s smile spread up the right side of his face in amusement. His hair was dark and scraggly, but not dirty. Just messy. He was my type incarnate.
These days, he’s my soul mate. Not in the ‘get married and live in a house full of happy children’ way. It’s more like no matter what I’m talking or thinking about, he always understands. It’s uncanny. I can be uncanny right back, though. Like I said—soul mates.
And we also fuck. Not usually when we’re sober, though. When he’s sober, his type is usually missing a vagina.
Tonight, we ate ice cream cones and walked the train tracks while the sun was setting behind us. We walked away from it because we like the dark. Things happen all around you in the dark, and most people miss them. We don’t miss them. We are them.
As the town around us got darker, we grew calmer and reverent. We sat down under a tree off the side of the tracks and watched as the sun finally disappeared beneath the horizon. The few moments between the sun setting and the day’s light diminishing completely were used to unfold a small strip of paper containing two round hits of acid. One of the little circles stuck to Connor’s finger and was dropped onto my tongue. He mimicked the action for himself and crumpled up the little piece of paper and swallowed it. Leaning against him and sighing, I closed my eyes and smiled.
I could see him clearly in my mind. He was smirking and spinning in circles in the middle of the ocean. I was dancing and laughing; it was glorious. We were standing on the water and playing god. He made the waves into shapes and sent them flying over my head. I reshaped them and sent them back.
I could see him clearly in my mind. He was smirking and spinning in circles in the middle of the ocean. I was dancing and laughing; it was glorious. We were standing on the water and playing god. He made the waves into shapes and sent them flying over my head. I reshaped them and sent them back.
Tulips, guns, pies, horses—back and forth, back and forth. When I remembered that my eyes were closed, I opened them to find Connor in the tree above me.
“What are you making up there? Did you make that tree?”
“I made this tree. I made the birds and the worms. Sugar, I grew the fucking roots into the soil. We are gods of this world.” I giggled. He was glowing blue. I felt spiritual. This was my religion. My world had no deadbeat mothers or frisky boyfriends. It was just me and Connor. And our world of magical possibilities.
