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Something disquieting. Now
that I think about it, I can taste
it too, lingering on his tongue.
It’s not quite sweet, and reminds
me of how the chem lab smells.
Crystal. He uses sometimes,
has offered it to me, though
not since we’ve been together.
“You buzzed?” The thought
half horrifies, half excites me.
Nah. At my disbelieving look,
he admits, Not really. Just did
a little. I don’t react, and that
makes him kind of twitchy.
Why, you want to try some?
Always before, I just said no,
left it solidly there. I waver
now. I want to share everything
with Kyle. Want to know what he
knows, feel what he feels, share
the same space he’s in. I almost
say what the hell. In fact, I open
my mouth to do so. But what comes
out is, “N-not today.” I hope he thinks
it has to do with Thanksgiving.
Instead he says, Chicken?
Rather than argue or explain,
I simply tell him he’s right.
No need for lengthy stories
about Mom and predisposition.
