Friday, May 8, 2009

The Little Deaths

Nana's kitchen.
Jackie, Adam, Julia and Stephen.

The cookies on the stove were on fire.
Toxic smoke filling the kitchen.

The Mighty Mighty Bosstones were seeping from my father's old headphones. I was singing along to an old Rise Against song.

(I'm pretty sure the house was on fire at this point.)

I turned my head and Jackie leaned in and kissed me.
I wasn't expecting it and it felt awkward standing there.

"Um, what was that for?"
"No reason."

There was so much I didn't know about you then and I couldn't think of anything else to say. You ended the conversation with a playful shove, a lingering and inviting stare.

I should have considered the implications but the smoke had grown so thick. There was just so much turmoil - we were young, violent and numb, all at once.

And none of it ever amounted up to anything at all.

We were all late for the concert so we quickly collected our things. Nana and Stephen were already standing in the hallway by the door.

Me and Jackie watched silently as they sifted through the ashes, searching for their keys and petticoats. With skin burned thin, eyes charred black, skeletons lay exposed.

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