Bubble and Boil Oh Magic Brew

"Tell him," I say. "I'm sure he'll forgive you."

She sighs and puts down her coffee. "I don't need him to forgive me, Liz." We both stare at the steam floating out of the cup. She scratches the label.

"He really loves you." She wraps her hands around the cup. "I know," she says.

"Then why did you-" "I felt like it at that time." "Is this payback for what he did three years ago? You have to-" "It's not." She sips. "I just felt like it at that time."

"You do love him?" And even I knew it wasn't really a question. She breathes the vapor in before taking another sip. "Then tell him," I say. "It was a one time thing, after all. It doesn't really matter."

She smiles into the contents of her cup. "If it doesn't matter, then why are you so persistent I tell him?" "Because I'm your friend." She doesn't look up; she seems far gone into the dark concoction.

"It matters, Liz. Mistakes, no matter how little, matter."

"Then tell him. And he'll forgive you because you took the risk; you told the truth even if it could mean he'll never forgive you. And if he really loves you, he will forgive you. Tell him."

She finally looks up. "I made that mistake because I knew I could. It doesn't worry me; so why should I worry him by talking about it? I'm not hurting and if, eventually, I do hurt and feel the need to share my misery... well, I still wouldn't tell him. That's my punishment - I'll suffer alone." She takes one last sip. "I don't need him to forgive me."

She puts down her cup.

The line...

parting Selfishness and Selflessness is too thin.

Embers

The cigarette rests long and slim between her fingers. She touches the filter with the tip of her thumb, her thoughts far away. She brings it close to her parted lips; she stops.

A smile kisses her mouth and then it is gone.

The cigarette takes its place; she puffs. She inhales, deeply, as if taking so much of it in could keep it there forever - she even holds her breath for a while. The smoke lazily flirts with her cheek as she, just as lazily, breathes it out. Her eyes, tinged scarlet from lack of sleep and, perhaps, from the smoke's caress, find themselves fixated on the burning tip of the Marlboro Black. Just a few more sips, she thinks, and then it'll be over.

She takes another puff, a little hurriedly, as if anytime the whole thing would evaporate into a hazy gray of smoke and regrets that would sting her eyes just as would reality. It'll be over. And the teasing smoke frames her face as her eyebrows furrow, as if it takes pleasure in her confusion. He probably does.

She flicks the cigarette away and a few burnt, dried bits of tobacco leaves scatter as it hits the ground. She doesn't dare look back to see if the smoldering remains have been put out.

MinsShine Finest Quality Milk Tea

I bought MineShine today. The tiny print near the bottom of the bottle still spells MinsShine and I smile a little at the memory of you smiling a little when I pointed this out the last time we hung out.

The Last Time We Hung Out. That doesn't sound... nice. At all.

BUT. That day isn't the last time we'll ever get to be with each other. I know you'll be back in a few months. I know you'll call me first thing when that happens - me first, me before anyone else, you said so yourself. You might even show up on my doorstep as if 8 long months were just yesterday. You'll squint a little at the sun's glare, you'll say it's too bright, but you'll never say it's stuffy, not even when sweat is running down that little scar on your left eyebrow, not even when i say outright that it is fucking stuffy what the hell global warming. You'll squint to hide your awkward grin at my awkward attempt to fight the awkwardness of my surprise/happiness/shock at your suddenly being here.

BUT. Right now, you're not here.

So. I bought MineShine today. I finished all 600mL in just 4 hours when it took us all night to finish one bottle the last time we hung out. And I'm still craving for MineShine even when my brain says I'm full, because I'm not, I can't be, not until I touch that awkward grin without my waking up stupidly choking your pet name in my stuffy room.

I bought MineShine today and sure enough it tasted just like you.





*A May 12 flashback. A "longing-driven productivity," according to my sisbro.

Cherry

Fragile fingers press on rosy lips; you whisper

____Your way into my core, burning my skin scarlet and I

Think of strawberries - how the saccharine juices flow

____Only when the ripe flesh is wounded. I drink

The glow of dusk as it edges towards the sea

Staining the waters crimson, the bittersweet tang of blood

I muse on how perfumes are conceived - Crushing

____The red out of the reddest of roses, while

Vermillion fills the entire room - the color of burning blood

And the sheets turn into cherries

____And the rouge insides of watermelons, fiery flesh meeting

Fiery flesh, your lips pressing unto mine

Hansel vs. Gretel

I drift away as she chokes on a piece of meat. She makes an awful gagging noise, the kind cats make when they swallow one too many rat parts and the rat parts strike back. I can't look at the mashed potatoes and roast pork on my plate as I might spew out mashed potatoes and roast pork on my plate; so I look past them, and drift away into memories of you.

You’re not eating well, are you, if you’re eating at all. But that’s what’s keeping you alive, and you know that, don’t you Hansel? You know why, instead of giving you all those sweets, or that juicy chicken leg, or yesterday’s blueberry pie – that was particularly scrumptious by the way – you know the reason why I ate them myself and gave you a piece of stale bread instead, was because I love you, Hansel. You understand, don’t you?

Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. She wants to fatten you up, make you plump as a pumpkin and then she’ll bite into your flesh, Hansel, and she’ll keep biting until there’s no more of Gretel’s little brother left… But I won’t let that happen, Hansel.

Which is why I took those sweets, those meats, that delicious blueberry pie. Which is why I’m the one who’s fattened up, who’s plump as a pumpkin. I took one for you, Hansel, I took – what are you doing. How did you get those keys. How did you – stay back, Hansel. Get back in there. She’ll see you, brother, she’ll eat you up! Get back. I’ll give you a piece of chocolate next time, I promise I – no no brother, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it I was hungry –

I’m hungry. She isn’t making the choking noise anymore. “It’s such a shame Gretel had to go away. It would have been nice if she at least left a note…” And she looks a little sad and for a while I forget that she makes retching sounds as attractive as maggots on cheese. She brightens up and tells me, “Oh but eat up, dearie! It’s a miracle you finally came out of that room. Your sister told me you were too upset to see anyone else but her, what with your father leaving you in the woods like that, poor dears. Oh but if only she at least left a note…” And I nod and take a mouthful of meat because remembering how I took your life makes me hungry.

This roast pork sure reminds me of you, sister.

Taking Off

It was dark.

I stood on the dock, surveying the blackness of the lake, the eerie, captivating reflection of the moon on its vast surface. And he stood behind me.

My wings were hidden in the shadows, frozen. Those wings were the only way I could get to the center of the lake to save someone, but they were no more than fragile, sleeping carvings on my back. I couldn't make them work. I just couldn't.

So I stood there, on the wooden, rickety excuse for a pier, regally draped in pure white – radiant, hopeless. But he stood behind me, and he was of the shadows. It was only his silhouette that I could see, but I knew I knew him – and he knew me. He was one with me. As if to confirm this insane thought, he whispered gently – and I flew. Just like that.

I spread my wings and the feathers were stained glass and they glittered on the icy face of the waters, leaving trails of tiny crystals in the air, like a spill of shimmering grains of sand. The wind rushed to my grinning face as I dived and glided, incessantly glancing to my side at the vivid streaks of light – trickles of little diamonds – that surged and glistened with each wave of my wings. I felt those powerful wings from my shoulder blades, felt every beat, every flex, felt each sinew within contract and expand as I soared closer to my goal: I knew I could save whoever needed saving now. I turned towards the dock to thank him. But he wasn't there. He had done his job.

The moon shone even brighter overhead.