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Rage roars into a fire large enough to burn me alive, revealing to me the answer I was anxious to have.
Every human deserves common decency.
And that can be something as simple as calling them by their name.
“First off,” I adjust my backpack strap, “Laka is known as the goddess of beauty, love, fertility, reproduction, and for creating the hula dance, according to some Hawaiian mythology I came across during my stay.”
Her tense shoulders dramatically drop from where they were damn near touching her ears. “Oh.”
“And second, everyone matters.” My words are attached to a harder gaze deep into her eyes. “Everyone has a tale to tell, a voice worthy of being heard, and no one gets to take that right away from you unless you let them.” Seeing her jaw slightly tremble rushes me to soften my tone. My approach. “And I won’t be one of those people who does that to you.” The smile that slips onto my face is almost bashful. “I like your voice. And something tells me I’m gonna like your name too.”
“June.” She extends her open palm outward and takes a step towards me. “June Bai-” is all that finishes coming out of her mouth before she trips over what has to be an invisible rock.
In one swift motion, I manage to catch her before she can completely hit the ground. Having my arms wrapped around her feels oddly right yet tightening them prompts that whisper of Fate to inform me I’m exactly where I belong.
That she’s exactly where she belongs.
That everything that’s meant to be is being, which is my favorite fucking feeling.
It’s the most inspirational.
Most important for creating art that has life.
Meaning.
I offer a playful grin at the same time I state, “Gotta admit. I’ve knocked plenty of women off their feet but not quite like this.”
She giggles during a small headshake. “That was a terrible joke.”
My jaw cracks slightly open in surprise.
“Or pickup line.”
It unconsciously lowers further.
“Or peptalk.” She wiggles out of my grasp, straightens the edge of her white undershirt, and shakes off her embarrassment. “And you didn’t do anything. My body and brain take turns conducting a mutiny. On any given day, at least four times a day, I trip or slip or bump into something. I have to keep my body covered year-round to avoid explaining to people that I’m not in a domestic violence situation, just accident prone.”
The idea of seeing more flesh exposed is a thought I decide to keep to myself rather than risk having her sassily snip at me twice. “You’re like a June bug.”
“Excuse me?!”
“They’re naturally a little clumsier than most bugs.”
Her scowl deepens along with her glare. “Why do I feel like I was just insulted?”
“I don’t know.” A small shrug is wedged between sentences. “That’s a you question. Those are your feelings. You gotta ask yourself why you feel them.”
It’s her turn to drop her jaw in shock.
“Personally? I fucking love June bugs.”
Curiosity gets the better of her. “Why?”
“They taste delicious.”
“What?!” Her face morphs from irritation to horror. “You’ve eaten them?!”
“Yeah. You roast ‘em over a coal fire, get ‘em crispy, give ‘em a little salt, and they taste just like popcorn.” My head briefly bobs back and forth. “Wait. That’s a lie.”
“Obviously that’s a lie! No one eats June bugs!”
“No, I just meant, they taste better than popcorn.”
June makes minor gagging motion and noises that lead to me laughing loudly.
Warmly.
With my whole goddamn body.
“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” I casually suggest.
“Yeah,” she opens the car door she’s standing beside, “but I think I can.”
“You can, but you shouldn’t yuck someone else’s yum.”
The small scolding is followed by her stepping back to let me slide inside. “It sounds like a yuck though.”
“But you never know when something that sounds like a yuck can actually be a yum until you try it.”
Trust me.
Would’ve never thought I’d like having hot wax dribbled down my balls until this chick in Brazil showed me what I was missing.
Contemplation crashes into defeat, pulling out a thoughtful hum as a result.
She shuts my door, saunters around the luxury car – tripping over the sidewalk in the process – and slips into the driver’s seat. Once she’s settled, she turns towards me and defeatedly sighs, “Can we like…start over? I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”
“You can lead on any foot if you’re not afraid to do something different.”
“Why does everything you say sound like you pulled it out of a ‘Yogi Life for Dummies’ manual?”
“Why does everything I say make you so defensive?”
“Because you’re my new job!”
Confusion has me cocking my head to the side in a silent question.
“Pleasing you is the only thing I’m meant for.”
It’s impossible to ignore the way my shaft stirs alive in my jeans; however, I drop my backpack onto my crotch to cut that shit out. “Excuse me?”
