FORGET ME NOT.

closed starter         fitness republic         @fcrgetme

Something that had grown to be one of her favorite past times, had been the occasional hour she’d spend with Sol with gloves on. He was a busy person, and she tried not to take up too much of his time, so when time permitted, she ensured she made the most of it. Following the intention of using her time wisely, she always aimed to be prepared upon his arrival. After a much-needed stretch, she made sure she wrapped her hands — another thing she’d learned from him. With one leg tucked beneath her, and the other extended, she held one end of the wrap between her teeth. Keziah was mindful of the intricacies of guaranteeing that her hands were protected at all costs; they’d be the ones most at risk, should anything happen.

It took several tries, but eventually, she managed to cover both of her hands on her own — which, happened to be perfect timing, as the man of the hour came shuffling through the doors of her studio. A kindling of anticipation sparked, fingers itching to curl inward and spar with him. Of all the things that could excite her, she was astonished that it’d been this — boxing. It was a welcome distraction — an ample opportunity to unleash whatever demons lurked on the outer tresses of her mind; ones she’d fought so hard to subdue. “I know I say this every time, but thank you,” she greeted, a smile laden on peach-tinted lips, “You’ve probably got, like, a hundred better things to do, so I appreciate it.”

    THERE’S  BLOOD  BEHIND  HIM  .  yet  so  close  behind  he  can  still  taste  it  .  because  this  violence  was  where  he  lived  .  where  he  thrived  .  even  as  solomon  strayed  from  the  ways  of  his  youth  with  an  unmatched  abandon  ,  this  was  something  learned  in  his  bones  .  brawling  days  were  far  behind  but  this  violence  was  perpetual  .  if  putting  on  the  gloves  every  now  and  then  itched  that  scratch  and  sol  got  to  aid  someone  along  the  way  ,  so  be  it  .  “  nah  ,  don’t  worry  ‘bout  it  .  ”  this  wasn’t  just  an  effort  made  to  instill  kez  with  self  defenses  ,  but  also  a  manner  to  disarm  himself  in  a  way  .  they’d  learned  along  the  way  ,  consider  this  a  double - edged  rehabilitation  .  he  shakes  his  head  with  a  brief  chuckle  ,  “  in  this  fuckin’  town  ...  ?  ”  there  wasn’t  many  devices  left  in  an  ever  changing  place  slowly  turning  away  from  something  it  wasn’t  at  the  outskirts  :  where  dust  settled  against  your  skin  if  you  stood  in  one  place  for  too  long  .  “  i  should  be  the  one  thanking  you  ,  you’re  doin’  a  good  job  of  keepin’  an  old  man  on  his  toes  .  ”  solomon  makes  haste  in  retrieving  what’s  needed  from  the  bag  saddled  on  his  shoulder  ,  gesturing  for  her  to  lead  him  onward  .  “  shall  we  ?  ”

does it? 

“did it ever, sol?”

it’s the kind of thing you say when you’re a decade removed from heartbreak and an hour remote from his hands on the midpoint of your thighs and a single long pull away from finishing a drink  you haven’t been keeping track of. babe means it, as much as she can in the moment, when she can’t even be sure what it is the man at her side is trying to say; details weigh less than core truths, and so high speed has a way of whipping nuance out the window. she either wants it to be apathetic or carefree, cutting or assuaging. 

“we were kids. — speaking of, remember that race out at delbrook?”

    SOLOMON  WAS  USED  TO  DOING  everything  wrong  .  so  used  to  destroying  everything  supple  in  his  palm  ,  turning  it  asunder  because  that’s  all  he  knew  .  breaking  what  they  had  better  because  solomon  knew  what  she  deserved  and  it  wasn’t  him  .  not  when  she  was  so  tangible  in  a  way  something  could  be  had  and  lost  .  in  a  way  he  could  damage  .  did  it  ever  truly  matter  ?  ask  him  any  other  time  and  he  might  attest  otherwise  .  sol  couldn’t  tell  if  it  was  the  cheap  beer  coursing  through  his  system  or  the  manic  high  of  whizzing  through  backroads  with  nothing  but  the  wind  in  his  ears  and  that  thumping  in  his  chest  to  guide  him  but  it  mattered  .  this  all  mattered  and  it  was  devastating  .  “  clear  as  day  ,  ”  recollections  of  past  races  were  the  few  memories  that  went  untouched  by  time  ,  still  hard - lined  in  his  mind  .  boot  is  laid  heavier  on  the  gas  pedal  ,  hand  moving  for  the  shift  stick  .  “  d’you  remember  how  i  won  ?  ”

@fcrgetme​

Location: Fellow’s Garage

“Well, what’s wrong with it?” Sawyer asked, as she looked down at Solomon, with half his body underneath the red Porsche. The blonde hadn’t been in the shop for no more than 20 minutes, but of course was already pestering him for information behind the noise she heard while driving. “It went like bam… I don’t know it’s hard to describe. It happened after I ran over the curb.” Sawyer had never been the best driver, and that fact hadn’t changed since she was now in her early thirties. Still unable to avoid the curb every now and then, but the Porsche was like her baby. Although, she had tried to be careful the inevitable still happened. “To be fair, it was either the curb or the rabbit. I should have run that fucking thing over. This is what I get for trying to be a good person.”

    “  WHAT’S  WRONG  WITH  IT  ?  ”  sol  parroted  from  beneath  the  bed  of  the  vehicle  ,  a  brief  chuckle  tailing  the  retortion  .  it  didn’t  take  long  for  sawyer  to  become  something  of  a  regular  at  fellow’s  .  if  she  wasn’t  there  for  something  minute  like  changing  the  oil  or  fixing  the  flat  ,  it  was  merely  to  pester  him  .  solomon  slithers  from  beneath  the  car  ,  sitting  up  from  the  hour  wheel  creeper  before  gaining  his  footing  .  palms  are  swiped  against  a  rag  retrieved  from  his  back  pocket  .  “  what’s  wrong  is  you  busted  your  oil  pan  .  ”  she  should  have  just  hit  the  damn  rabbit  .  “  you’re  a  good  person  ,  sully  .  no  amount  of  rabbit  populations  decimated  at  your  hand  could  change  that  .  ”  the  cogs  in  sol’s  head  finally  get  to  turning  ,  a  moment  in  assess  of  the  damage  done  .  “  you’re  damn  lucky  you  got  here  when  you  did  .  if  you  waited  any  longer  the  engine  would  have  seized  up  .  ”  you’d  think  more  care  would  be  shown  for  the  candy  paint  sport’s  car  ,  but  with  sawyer  behind  the  wheel  this  expected  tentativeness  had  been  riddled  nonexistent  .  not  when  she  could  just  haul  the  car  back  to  fellow’s  when  something  happened  to  it  .  “  it’s  gonna’  be  about  ...  400  for  the  service  .  ”

an inconsequential morning. / @fcrgetme​

there’s a certain kind of trust in the way delilah leans all the way into the handle on the door, never once bracing herself for a lock and instead pushing all the way through, putting all her weight into the blind hope that the person on the other side had remembered to open themselves up to her.

it’s a stupid, stupid way for a woman to live.

but on solomon’s door, she slips right through without a bruise.

“¡mañana!” delilah calls into the expanse of the house, the sing-song of her voice curling through the rooms with the breeze of her perfume. the sound of shoes kicked off at the entryway punctuate her greeting before she trots barefoot across the living room, bending over to exaggeratedly loud kiss to the top of curls she finds hiding away on the couch.

“for you.” presented first in extended hand: a blue paper cup with black coffee. venti.

“they didn’t have a breakfast sandwich. well, they did, but i got you something different. it looked better. you’ll like it better.” the second gift, lifted toward solomon with a girlish excitement unsuited to unasked for breakfasts or her brother’s hangover. like a child, she can only stomach withholding surprise long enough for him to take the package, unable to wait for it to be unwrapped. “it’s a quiche!”

    TWO  TYPES  OF  THE  SAME  FOOL  .  one  strewn  upon  the  couch  and  the  other  a  foot  in  the  door  by  the  time  she’s  paid  any  mind  .  that’s  how  it  always  was  .  del  always  trotting  a  step  behind  her  elder  brother  ,  always  looking  out  for  him  even  when  she  hadn’t  been  able  to  watch  him  .  she  looked  out  for  him  when  they  were  kids  ,  put  money  on  his  books  when  their  mother  didn’t  oblige  .  and  even  today  ,  arriving  upon  him  unwarranted  .     as  it  happened  ,  cross  fading  took  a  different  toll  on  the  body  twenty  years  later  .  solomon  would  be  the  first  to  attest  to  that  .  a  beer  with  the  boys  after  work  turned  into  five  beers  and  five  beers  turned  into  two  rounds  of  shots  .  before  he  knew  he’s  stumbling  back  into  his  jeans  and  in  the  comfort  of  his  own  bed  before  sunrise  .       he’s  mounted  to  pale  linen  like  some  ancient  relic  ,  cemented  in  a  shifty  final  resting  place  composed  of  feathered  pillows  his  sister  coaxed  him  into  purchasing  and  a  throw  of  blankets  he’d  kicked  off  throughout  the  two  hours  of  rest  he  did  in  fact  muster  before  she  called  .  he  knew  of  her  arrival  and  yet  couldn’t  be  assed  to  return  the  gesture  in  greeting  when  she  planted  the  kiss  atop  of  untamed  curls  .  too  light  on  her  feet  for  her  own  good  ,  sol’s  hardly  aware  of  her  presence  ‘till  then  .  “  i  gotta’  put  a  bell  on  you  .  ” 

    an  attempt  to  swipe  the  morning  grogginess  away  from  his  visage  ,  legs  kicked  over  the  side  of  the  sofa  before  fixing  tired  eyes  on  his  sister  whom  seemed  all  but  afflicted  by  the  time  of  morning  .  sol  winces  against  the  sunlight  pouring  from  the  living  room  windows  ,  accepting  both  the  coffee  and  the  pre - announced  quiche  .  sol  undoes  the  parchment  wrapping  surrounding  the  miniature  quiche  ,  inspecting  it  as  if  it  were  some  space  matter  fallen  to  earth  .  “  why  does  it  have  piecrust  ...  am  i  just  supposed  to  eat  this  egg  pie  in  good  faith ?  ”

simple as his foot on the pedal, and the world blurs. there was a time babe had thought of sol as something like a god for his ability to do so much with so small little, and for a moment — for a passing glance, a look out the window — the feeling returns again. for just a few seconds, he’s the greatest man she’s ever known.

then he speaks.

“you’re such an asshole.” it comes out with a laugh, all the more genuine meaning to it. he is an asshole, a bastard, no good and a whole lot of fun for it. babe drops her head back against the seat, mouth still molded crescent-moon-wide in a smile. hair whips around her face from wind they make, and her brows quirk in a moment of thought. “so yeah, i guess i am.”

“unless that’s your way of askin’ if i’ve reupholstered too.”

too add gesture to meaning or insult to injury, babe uncrosses her legs. maybe it’s the moonlight or the joke they’re dragging out, but they gleam a little like hardwood flooring with fresh varnish. she balances the beer bottle between her tightened thighs, hands reaching up to card through wild hair and draw it backwards.

    HE’S  A  YOUNG  MAN  CAPABLE  OF  SOMETHING  terrible  all  over  again  .  a  lapse  in  judgement  that  depraved  him  of  what  were  meant  to  be  his  wonder  years  .  sol’s  wind  licked  hair  with  an  old  song  playing  on  the  radio  that  reminds  him  of  nights  of  stolen  keys  and  dirt  kicked  from  beneath  the  wheels  of  his  dad’s  old  bronco  .  just  hardly  able  to  see  over  the  dash  ,  and  yet  he  always  somehow  knew  where  to  go  .  

    this  time  ,  there’s  no  sirens  ,  there’s  no  gaggle  of  officers  awaiting  him  at  the  station  .  it’s  just  him  and  babe  on  the  open  road  .  just  a  man  with  cheap  booze  on  his  backseat  and  enough  gas  in  his  tank  to  carry  him  over  to  day  break  .  everything  else  was  riddled  a  nonfactor  .  not  the  country  tree  line  ,  and  most  certainly  not  the  faint  pang  of  repentance  that  clung  to  him  like  a  bottled  musk  .  

    why  uncover  all  the  sore  details  now  ?  unfinished  or  not  ,  everything  and  everyone  that  occurred  between  or  after  them  was  laid  to  rest  .  “  if  it  was  ,  you’d  know  .  ”  gift - wrapped  truths  weren’t  a  thing  between  them  ,  even  if  the  words  were  harsh  and  bitter  on  his  tongue  they  were  preferred  plainspoken  .  he  knocks  back  another  swig  ,  grasp  slackened  on  the  wheel  .  “  none  of  that  matters  ,  does  it  ?  ”

“el bar va bien,” he spoke with a grateful nod. when matias went to solomon with his ide on opening up a bar kind of out of the way where it would be a safe haven for people like them, he’d hoped solomon would agree to help finance. at whether the bar would be a success or not, matias felt as if solomon trusted him enough to follow through. since then, and since the opening of his beloved Griffith, matias had felt a sense of peace; a sense of belonging. 

truly without solomon, matias didn’t know where he would be in life. 

“you really should come down to the bar, i’d love to see your ugly mug more often.” matias lightly patted solomon’s shoulder with a smile. he stopped at a tent where they served alcohol wanting nothing more than an iced cold beer.

    IF  SOLOMON  COULD  NOT  ACHIEVE  HIS  OWN  ,  he  would  live  precariously  through  the  prosperity  of  others  .  similarly  ,  he’d  sponsored  matias  in  his  earlier  years  because  he  could  foresee  the  profit  of  the  bar  ,  it  was  a  good  investment  and  had  been  returned  to  him  ten - fold  .  some  part  of  him  regretted  not  going  as  often  but  with  his  suggestion  ,  that  would  likely  change  .  sol  returned  the  smile  in  jest  ,  something  mischievous  flicking  upward  at  his  expression  .  “  if  you  missed  me  you  can  just  say  that  ,  y’know  ?  i  would  miss  me  too  .  ”  wallet  is  withdrawn  from  his  pocket  ,  pulling  a  bill  from  an  interior  pocket  before  looking  over  to  mat  ,  “  tell  you  what  ,  this  round  is  on  me  .  ”

“no. i want you to drive.”

that’s the honest truth, the full round whole of it, even if it’s a lot more like asking to be fucked than the outsider would have assumed. it’s almost certainly more intimate than what would happen if sol hit the breaks and babe climbed into the rear seats; back there they’d be responsible for each other. here, in the passenger seat, she’d put more than her body in sol’s hands. she’d put destination.

the impala purrs beneath them, and babe can feel the space his wrist might graze her ear if only she’d turn the right away. her head turns the other way, inhaling the scent of sulfur and sugar that calls back from the fairgrounds. her gaze is fixed on a place in the distance the way they teach you to as a child when you spin round and round: pick a spot so you won’t get dizzy. watch so you can see it disappear.

she doesn’t want to see what he’d showed them on the track. she wants to see what he wasn’t allowed to do on it. one palm flattens on the roof.

“show me something.”

     “  SOMETHIN’  OLD  ,  OR  NEW  ?  ”  a  somber  tone  spoke  out  with  fragmented  resonance  ,  after  brief  moment  of  silence  ;  one  which  felt  the  longest  of  all  ,  akin  to  the  final  the  seconds  ticking  before  the  hellfire  of  battle  .  the  moment  was  long  enough  for  his  mind  to  trail  away  ;  like  he  oft  does  nowadays  ,  in  solace  -  if  the  rumbling  engine  and  the  hues  of  trees  aren't  in  account  .  a  whirlwind  of  emotions  stormed  him  ,  and  a  drift  of  the  old  impala  came  with  it  ,  almost  hurtling  off  the  road  into  the  endless  waves  of  pine  .       old  or  new  ?  nearly  as  if  to  inquire  if  she’d  prefer  the  claim  of  land  they’d  made  all  years  ago  beneath  the  starlight  or  perhaps  one  he’d  made  with  another  in  the  time  apart  .  as  if  to  hand  her  a  shard  of  a  memory  she  could  never  recollect  .  just  shut  up  and  drive  .  solomon  floors  it  ,  and  the  pulse  of  being  enmeshed  with  the  leather  cushioning  of  his  seat  springs  forth  a  new  high  .  those  lingering  feelings  and  faint  scent  of  tobacco  go  flying  out  the  window  .  for  now  ,  it’s  just  them  flying  down  the  open  road  .  and  at  last  ,  gaze  lurches  from  the  lay  of  asphalt  before  them  and  settles  on  her  form  .  “  you  feelin’  nostalgic  ?  ”    

“yeah,” she agrees without really agreeing at all. “you could’ve.”

it’s been so long since she’s been in this fucking car that babe has an inebriated urge to close her eyes, to lay her head back against the headrest and press her palms flat into the door and ceiling so that when sol hits the gas pedal, all she’ll have for a moment is wind and velocity and freedom. no man, no memories, no desire for a hand on her thigh. but the rattle of glass, like a warning, draws babe’s head back until curls of hair lick a bare, rounded shoulder. don’t look away.

“that’s a nice place to keep ‘em safe—” she drawls, one hand reaching forward after she’s looked back, a natural one-two step, to pop open the glove compartment. the bottle opener is exactly where her memory left it. “—right about where you fucked me the last time we were in this parking lot.”

she cracks the beer and raises it to her bottom lip without taking a sip, grinning with her teeth bitten around glass. her joys have always come at the edge of something sharp.

“feelin’ nostalgic?”

it’s a taunt rather than an invitation.

    RUGGED  FRAME  LEANS  INTO  FAMILIAR  contours  of  the  driver’s  seat  .  the  words  come  before  he  realizes  ,  allowing  solomon  to  lurch  forward  at  the  memory  .  arm  thrown  over  the  shoulder  of  the  passenger  headrest  as  he  threw  the  car  in  reverse  ,  gaze  hardly  lingering  on  bare  shoulder  in  exchange  .  “  lucky  for  you  ,  i  reupholstered  the  seats  a  few  years  back  .  ”  that’s  the  gimmick  with  time  ,  things  had  a  habit  of  changing  during  the  in - between  .    the  frigid  aura  which  stained  the  car  radiated  amongst  the  two  ,  solomon  extends  an  aloof  glance  .  a  thunderous  strike  of  heartbreaking  drums  squashing  his  inner  silence  when  the  engine  hums  alive  before  his  arm  can  retract  with  a  beer  in  tow  .  nostalgia  was  a  dirty  liar  that  made  things  sound  better  than  they  once  were  .  it  was  like  paving  over  a  grave  sight  .  no  matter  how  much  concrete  laid  over  it  ,  the  ghosts  of  the  past  still  haunted  .  there’s  a  grin  when  his  head  finally  reels  forward  ,  “  why  ,  you  want  me  to  pull  back  over  before  we’ve  even  made  it  out  the  parking  lot  ?  ”  

“you’ve never kept time on a thing that wasn’t a stopwatch in your life.”

babe’s thumb indents into the cleft of sol’s chin while her thumb curls under it, holding him in place while the fullness of her mouth presses into the corner of his. there’s no mercy to the way she keeps him there, lips slow and voice sticky with honey whiskey, the heat of an hour ago an adhesive between them. “y’looked good, kid.”

babe dips under the side door, legs the last thing to leave the conversation.

    PUNCTUALITY  WAS  HARDLY  A  CONCERN  when  solomon  had  always  managed  to  arrive  a  few  seconds  early  .  everything  he  did  was  just  a  moment  before  he  was  due  .  he’d  switched  seats  seconds  before  the  officer  pulled  him  out  of  the  car  .  always  minutes  early  to  pick  del  up  from  afterschool  .  sol  didn’t  need  to  depend  on  anything  but  himself  to  keep  his  timing  right  .  “  doesn’t  seem  like  you  mind  all  that  much  .  ”       cigarette  is  plucked  from  between  his  lips  after  meeting  her  own  ,  tucked  behind  his  ear  for  safe  keeping  .  there’s  a  stint  of  something  dangerous  in  the  way  he  looks  at  her  ,  that  ardor  still  clinging  to  them  .  “  could'a  had  a  better  view  riding  shot - gun  .  ”  with  that  ,  sol’s  ducked  into  the  driver’s  side  ,  a  six  pack  awaiting  in  the  backseat  and  seatbelt  hardly  clicked  into  place  by  the  time  the  impala  is  shifted  out  of  park  .   

watching sol cross the finish line is a little like being twenty-one again and nothing like it at all. it’s identical in the sense of certainty she settles down into at the beginning of the race, the pride she feels when he streaks through into first, dulled but still there; it’s dissimilar in the notion that she sits in the bleachers rather than on the sidelines, high up where he pick her out, and not running into his arms the moment he’s got the door open. 

it’s a lot like being twenty-one in the way she picks up his call at an hour where no man means any good. 

she makes her way to the parking lot in a new dress, clothes changed over between the last time they’d seen each other and now. when she finds the impala in the parking lot, the crossbeams of a chevy light her up. god or some vengeful angel is shining a light down on all the shit they shouldn’t do.

“congrats.” she stands there in the headlights, for all intents and purposes a specter from a night long past, when they’d laid on the hood of this same car until they’d pressed into the backseat. babe steps forward slowly, moving past him and towards the passenger’s side door. “i’m meeting kaycee at the neon moon later.”

“you’ve got me till then.”

    PORCELAIN  WAS  BETTER  LOVED  when  allowed  out  of  the  cabinet  ,  otherwise  those  golden  intricacies  were  to  have  gone  to  waste  behind  that  glass  barrier  .  to  see  but  not  to  touch  .  to  love  —  to  want  —  without  possession  was  to  give  yourself  unto  another  without  belonging  .      similarly  to  babe  ,  who  was  but  a  cat  that  couldn't  be  kept  past  midnight  —  never  mind  how  many  times  she  accepted  your  saucer  of  milk  .  she  was  a  woman  whom  only  belonged  to  herself  .  and  so  ,  the  angry  red  numeric  ticking  down  on  the  game  that  would  soon  ensue  starts  ticking  down  the  moment  she’s  shone  before  those  headlights  .  the  face  of  an  angel  with  teeth  sharp  enough  to  be  one  . 

    FOR  ONCE  ,  SOLOMON  IS  FIVE  MINUTES  EARLY  to  the  event  .  as  if  he  hadn’t  been  waiting  around  beneath  the  harshness  of  the  sun  all  day  for  this  very  moment  .  the  faint  waft  of  nicotine  and  floral  perfume  staining  his  roll - sleeved  flannel  ,  he’s  joined  up  behind  the  wheel  with  the  best  of  the  best  these  montana  backroads  had  to  offer  .  presented  beneath  the  sheath  of  speedway  lighting  :  asshole  of  the  year  &  competition  —  or  anything  but  ,  so  long  as  sol  was  concerned  .  it  was  no  wonder  and  much  less  ,  no  concern  as  to  how  solomon  won  the  race  .  consider  it  just  his  luck  .     maybe  that’s  why  he’s  on  his  lonesome  in  the  middle  of  the  parking  lot  ,  the  last  clots  of  fair  attendees  either  drunk  off  their  ass  or  tucked  off  into  a  soon  lethargy  arriving  in  droves  in  the  gravel  lot  .  but  sol’s  stagnant  amid  the  motion  ,  slick  of  his  phone  screen  calling  back  to  him  with  a  ring - back  tone  that  only  further  lures  him  toward  regret  the  longer  it  rings  .  part  of  him  wonders  if  she  kept  the  same  number  after  all  these  years  .  hopes  she  did  .  finally  she  answers  ,  and  sol  doesn’t  bother  with  cordiality  .  he’s  no  gentleman  ,  remember  ?  “  if  you’re  still  around  ...  ”  there’s  a  beat  ,  nearly  to  reconsider  ,  “  meet  me  in  the  parking  lot  in  10  minutes  .  ”

     jess  laughs  louder  than  she  means  to,  but  it’s  her  heart  to  blame  —  thudding  away  in  her  throat  like  that,  quick  and  glutted,  demanding  to  be  heard.  she’s  nervous.  featherlight.  oh,  this  freedom;  she  inhales  it  greedily,  lets  it  color  her  cheeks  red-pink,  and  almost  laughs  again.  silly.   “  oh,  no.  wrong  girl.  i  don’t  puke.  ”   she  takes  the  sheath  of  tickets  from  the  counter,  thumb  brushing  absently  over  the  scored  edges  between  them  as  they  move  toward  the  ferris  wheel.   “  after  my  second,  the  reflux  was so  bad.  they  basically  —  ”   she  waves  her  arms  noncommittally.  they’d  reached  the  back  of  the  barely-there  line  of  waiting  riders.  “  long  story  short,  i  can’t.  ”  

     they  move  slowly  forward,  one  hand  sliding,  jittering  down  the  rough  rope  belt  that  keeps  them  in  line.  jess  kicks  at  the  dirt  with  the  toe  of  her  shoe.   “  if  you  don’t  like  the  food,  ”  she  glances  back  up  at  sol  curiously.   “  why  d’you  …  i  don’t  know.  the  rides  can’t  be  that  great.  and  the  monster  alligator  really isn’t  that  big.  so  ..  what’s  the  big  deal?  why’d  you  come?  ”

    SOLOMON  WASN’T  A  PEOPLE  PERSON  ,  but  it  was  far  easier  to  allow  the  people  he  surrounded  himself  with  to  talk  in  circles  all  while  offering  a  preemptive  nod  or  nonverbal interjection  where  it  mattered  .  jess  was  one  of  these  people  and  sol  considers  himself  lucky  that  she  cut  herself  short  when  she  had  .  falling  into  sentence - induced  cardiac  arrest  would  have  certainly  been  a  better  fate  than  listening  the  entailing  of  the  procedure  .  though  solomon  can’t  deny  the  part  of  him  that  was  curious  of  the  mechanics  of  it  all  .  “  what  can  i  say  ...  i  get  off  on  bein’  overcharged  for  diluted  booze  .  ”  white  lie  sounds  as  an  unsound  truth  on  his  lips  .  though  he’d  had  his  fair  share  of  beers  throughout  the  day  .  on  second  though  ,  as  if  to  redeem  the  jest  with  a  truth  for  the  labor  that  presented  itself  as  standing  in  the  hardly - existent  line  .  “  ’m  here  for  the  race  later  tonight  —  i’m  supposed  to  be  changin’  a  spark  plug  at  the  moment  but  ...  ”  peer  pressuring  jess  into  accompanying  him  on  the  ferris  wheel  was  a  far  more  entertaining  endeavor  .  “  y’get  the  picture  .  ”

then, finally, now that babe has what she wants — everything in the sense of all the things they’re promising not to say, nothing in the sense of the negative space left between them — she’ll give sol whatever his hands can take. babe doesn’t want anything from solomon tonight, not the assurances she knows he thinks he has to offer, not his whiskey-soaked repentance nor  promises timed to expire tomorrow — she only wants to give, and to feel him take.

so she makes a present of her body while the fireworks pop overhead, hands falling to the backside of his hips, drawing them into hers, a soft, taut sound exhaled into his mouth at the contact. handing him the keys. it’s yours, if you want it. move like you stole it. 

    THEY  HAPPEN  UPON  one  another  in  media  res  .  somewhere  akin  to  the  turning  of  a  page  ,  but  not  yet  the  end  of  the  chapter  .  leave  this  moment  as  a  dog  ear  ,  a  halt  on  the  history  between  them  .  a  pique  before  resuming  .  solomon  bids  at  her  allowance  ,  he’d  mark  her  like  a  passage  of  his  favorite  book  ,  blooms  of  violet  pressed  between  pages  he’d  peel  open  again  and  again  .       hands  are  set  into  motion  ,  digits  trailing  the  knobs  of  her  spine  on  the  venture  down  like  unmarked  territory  he  needed  to  lay  claim  to  .  there  isn’t  a  closeness  enough  to  satiate  him  .  this  hunger  to  know  and  see  .  to  explore  her  form  .  for  the  pads  of  his  fingers  to  dimple  into  the  supple  of  exposed  thighs  while  the  distressed  denim  of  her  shorts  grazes  his  wrists  .  she  is  all  the  places  he’s  ever  wanted  to  go  and  he’ll  mark  off  each  locale  with  his  teeth  .  all  until  that  faint  buzzing  in  his  back  pocket  registers  for  a  second  time  .  that’s  his  cue  .  a  beat  ,  “  will  i  see  you  later  ?  ”

somewhere in the distance, fireworks are leased into the sky. that isn’t a metaphor. babe can hear them in the background, remote pops and fizzles, the sheen of something lighting up the backs of her eyelids as they kiss. she can hear the way the world has stilled beneath them, all the fairgoers quiet and with their heads craned to the heavens, looking for something more than themselves.

it makes what he says even louder.

“don’t ruin it,” she chases his mouth before he can say anymore, trying to cut sol off before he can make promises she won’t believe in, that she hasn’t asked for. don’t make it more than it is. let us just have this one simple thing. right here, now. this. your skin under my palms, my body next to yours. “don’t say anything.”

    THIS  THING  WAS  a  masterpiece  before  solomon  tore  it  all  up  .  a  reel  of  photobooth  pictures  pinned  to  the  fridge  thrown  in  the  trash  .  it’s  for  the  better  that  that  babe  is  boots  to  solid  ground  ,  pulling  the  weed  at  the  root  before  it  can  invade  the  rest  of  this  garden  of  eden  perfumed  by  lust  and  jack  daniels  .      “  alright  .  ”  and  how  befit  was  it  that  the  man  who  broke  her  heart  is  the  only  one  who  can  make  it  whole  again  .  something  once  petal - soft  in  his  palm  hardened  and  honed  with  time  .  sol  can  feel  that  pang  of  guilt  calling  back  to  him  as  gunpowder  illuminations  dot  the  sky  .  this  was  a  monster  of  his  own  making  .  a  declaration  that  it  was  one  he  would  conquer  when  not  another  word  is  uttered  .  just  messy  kisses  and  averted  unease  .