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It sounds ominous and I swear it is with the way I’m shaking at just the thought of it. It’s a well type thingy where the bikers start at the bottom, slowly gaining speed as they circle and circle. Until they gain enough momentum to ride parallel to the ground.
It’s supposed to be based on a very simple principle of physics but I wasn’t into science much back in school.
It all feels like magic to me. A magic that can go wrong at any time.
Although, Zach’s been practicing for it for weeks now. I’ve seen him do it and he does it beautifully.
Even so, I’m nervous.
I guess I’ll always be nervous when he goes on stage. He’s the most precious thing in the world to me.
He’s the love of my life.
And I’m waiting for him at the rink, hanging over the railing, getting jostled in the crowd, impatient for him to come out. He’s the last one to go on and it feels like I haven’t seen him for days. When I only saw him a few hours ago at the house we’re staying in for the next few weeks.
We’re in Vegas for the carnival where he’s performing. His friends from New York tipped him off and now, we’re sharing an apartment with them.
They are a good bunch; I met them a couple of days ago when we arrived. Although, Zach gets a little territorial when they talk to me. He’s asked me to stay away from them and be by his side all the time.
I usually roll my eyes at him when he gets this jealous and tell him he isn’t the boss of me. And he proceeds to prove me wrong by playing with my body like he owns it.
He does. I’ve no shame or reservations in admitting that.
I own him too.
And now, I’m getting all sorts of turned on, standing in the middle of the crowd. I can’t wait for him to come out and be done with it so we can go back and be alone.
He gets all sweaty and impatient after one of his shows.
Although, in all fairness, this is only the second one I’ll see him perform for a crowd. Last time was at a carnival like this in New York. That show was wild. We were there for about a week and every night was amazing.
I still can’t believe how popular he is with the crowd. How people chant for him and how girls go crazy.
That, I don’t like and I’m glad he isn’t interested in fame or whatever.
He’s only interested in me.
He shows me that every day. He’s been showing it to me for the past six months, ever since he got down on his knees and asked me to give him a chance.
We decided to stay in Blue Dot because we both love the place. The cold weather, the mountains, the lake. There’s so much sky there and everything is so wide and open and blue.
It feels like freedom.
We live together now, in the same apartment he got through his job at the shop. In the beginning, I thought it would be a little awkward. Moving in together when we’ve never even really dated.
But it wasn’t.
Nothing with Zach is ever awkward. It’s always filled with passion, yes. Intensity and an in-born heat. But it’s never weird. Even when we clash, we clash so gloriously and naturally, like two celestial bodies meant to crash and burn and yet, still somehow orbit around each other.
Anyway for the first few weeks, I took the bedroom and he slept on the couch. We were sort of roommates.
Roommates who were irrevocably in love with each other.
We went on dates, explored the town, made some friends. It was Zach’s way of making me feel cherished, doing the right thing by me. By the end of his courting though, I was bursting out of seams. I wanted his hands on me, his lips, his teeth. I wanted to be able to dive into his arms whenever I wanted and I wanted him to sink into my softness whenever he wanted.
Good thing, he was about to combust, too.
So, we graduated from being roommates to being girlfriend and boyfriend a month after we moved in.
Zach doesn’t like that term: girlfriend and boyfriend. He thinks it’s childish. But whatever. I like it. It makes me think that we’re young and in love and the time we lost fighting and hurting each other wasn’t as long.
In reality thought, it was close to a decade.
A decade of hate and screw ups and misery. When we could’ve been there for each other, through years of bullying.
I could’ve told him that he was amazing when his Dad beat him down and his mom didn’t care enough. And he could’ve made me realize that it didn’t matter that I didn’t possess a society- certified body or if my hair was blue or if I came from the other side of town, I was still beautiful to him.
