OR AT LEAST THE LAST FEW HOURS. Which, instead of being my entire life, was probably, like, not even one percent of it, mathematically. Who cared about stupid math? What good had that bitch ever done for me? Doesn’t math know I’m trying to be dramatic here?
All I wanted was one night of being reckless, doing something stupid and immature.
“We weren’t being badasses?” I asked Luke. For like the 90thtime.
At first I thought my sweet boyfriend was just trying to make me feel better. Now I thought my sweet boyfriend was a big stupid jerk.
“We were Boy Scouts,” I continued, pacing around my big stupid jerk while he leaned against the wall of the diner.
I’m a Boy Scout. All I needed was a sash and to sell cookies. That was Girl Scouts. That was better anyway. They got a sash and cookies.
“Secret Boy Scouts?” Luke tried.
“That doesn’t make it better. It’s all ruined now.”
My best laid plans went wrong. Probably because they were less best laid and more hairbrained and nonsensical but that was just details. Who cared about details when there was thinking and doing whatever you wanted instead?
“You were being eaten up by guilt,” Luke reminded me.
“Guilt that Ideserved,Luke. Iearnedthat guilt from my tremendously badass actions and now I’m just, ugh, a good person? Like some boring idiot?” There was only one solution. “Now I have to do something even worse like…” I paused, searching for something, and Luke’s posture became less relaxed in anticipation. “I need to rob a bank or go base-jumping. I haven’t decided yet.”
“No, Ryan, don’t,” he implored promptly. Him sounding so horrified was nice, both because he was a lying liar and because he cared about me and didn’t want me to die.
“Or whatever the hell spelunking is,” I continued. I would so do whatever that was if it was insane enough. “I could also get a tattoo from a rusty needle or play Russian Roulette.” Now we were talking.
“Let me take you home,” Luke said or begged.
“Wait. Cockfighting.” I had a front runner.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, chuckling softly.
First fooling me and now not taking me seriously? I was so angry at him!
Not in, like, an actual way, but in a metaphorical way. A way where I could be dramatic and he would have to make it up to me by feeding me grapes and fanning me while he was naked or something… That’s how we should solve all our problems.
That’s howeveryoneshould solve all their problems.
You’re welcome, world.
No, Luke would be busy all the time, always feeding grapes to people. I liked seeing him.
Hold on. Don’t get distracted. My metaphorical anger knows no bounds and it will be reckoned with. There will be hell to pay, until Luke grovels on his knees or I forget what I’m doing, one or the other.
“I wanted to be a criminal, Luke,” I bemoaned. “How dare you not let me a criminal?”
“Yeah, I don’t feel bad about it.” He smiled slightly as he relaxed against the diner again.
How dare he not take my not-serious anger seriously! That made me even not-angrier!
“I’m gonna base-jump,” I muttered petulantly. Possibly while spelunking and playing Russian Roulette, if that was possible. A lot of things I thought of weren’t physically possible. Stupid reality always holding me back.
“I am so base-jumping,” I repeated, informing Luke seriously.
“Or do cockfighting, I heard.” The laughter was back in his voice.
“I totally could.” I stared him down even though he might not be able to see that clearly out here.
“That doesn’t mean what you think it means.” I saw a glimpse of his white teeth as he smiled.
