my fingers slip in slick sweat on the phone in my pocket . . .
would it be weak to text? to ask?
(are you okay without me, don’t miss me
i don’t want you to hurt like i do)
or would it be cruel?
· · · · · · ·
get your hand out of your pocket, juniper.
he can handle himself.
valentine: are you feeling okay?
me: what yeah fine, i think . . . gonna get another drink
finding the ground under my feet, toe by toe valentine: water. water is what you need.
water, the prospect tempts me. i reel back valentine: good god, let me help.
his hand brushing my back, we totter past clumps of bodies we stop by the kitchen counter
and the bottle starts pouring itself.
valentine, quietly: stop.
i stop.
but the clear crystal liquid looks so beautiful.
i am so thirsty for it—
i am ravenous—
my thoughts a hundred thousand devouring mouths.
me: what did you want to talk about?
him: may we go somewhere, um, private?
me, smiling: hmm, what type of conversation is this? should i trust your motives?
(am i flirting with valentine simmons?
the idea is so funny, i’m about to cry, i’m about to)
him: . . . trust my motives?
me: i do trust you, it was a joke, don’t worry don’t worry
him: you do? why?
me: what, why do i trust you? i mean . . . i trust anyone reasonable. and nice.
his laugh is strange, plucks of a guitar string, light tenor. you think i’m nice.
me: you seemed nice when we talked.
him: of course.
me: so, what you wanted to ask . . .
he fidgets, shifts, his lips part. okay, he says, this is . . . and he half laughs, but it dies fast, he takes up a glass, fills it with sprite, smashes it back, and his eyes lose their light and grow soft and the stubborn line of his mouth loosens, and i make him a brief in-depth study.
him: I’m trying to figure out how to ask you . . .
david—
this is me giving in.
this is me telling valentine, wait, hold up, gotta . . . bathroom, be right back
this is me sneaking through thresholds to a guest bedroom, dark, hidden.
opening the cabinet, rummaging for another secret drink (one that will freeze and sweat and gasp against my hand) three twists to the cap
two acid swallows straight from the bottle and then speed-dial one
the only one.
two rings and a click and there he is. (so easy. too easy.) I . . . Juniper? Are you okay? Why are you calling? What’s going on?
the murmur of his voice is a warm sun, after a chain of chilly, darkened days.
i remember, before our love got lost in labors, i could see the future mapped out in road signs, glaring from the sides of dark highways.
i remember, if i gave him a way to wax poetic, he spoke the full moon to me.
i lie on the bed, take another sip of bitter cold and imagine the empty space filled with the posture of his body.
head’s gone back to spinning
lazily, like a mobile,
my brain bobbing two feet above this body.
sleepy. david . . . david
There you are. Talk to me. Everything okay?
you at home? i ask.
Yeah. (pause.) Why’d you call?
shouldn’t say it. i miss you. i miss you.
(pause.) You’re drinking.
sorry, ’m not sorry.
Oh, June.
what?
(pause.) Don’t drive anywhere.
david, i never got to say. i roll over. i know you did what you did for a reason, of course, i know—
Yeah—
i barrel over him. (are my words coming out as words? i feel them keeling. reeling. falling.) i can’t see them turn you into—i can’t see people judge you for my decisions—
he sighs. They wouldn’t, is the thing. They’d judge me for mine.
and i know, i know, i’ve read every argument, i’ve read every article, but at the end of the day, i feel like—david, i’m perfectly capable of thinking for myself—
I know you are, but it’s—
at last it spills out: and i chose you, too. you never pushed me, and i still chose you every day, every time i took a breath. maybe you’re a bad choice, but you’re still mine. mine.
June, that’s not how it—
i need you. (i need you safe, of all the things to risk it couldn’t be you don’t you see?)
the dark is a balm on my forehead his silence a fire.
and his voice comes back a scratch, a stress: Please don’t say that to me. It hurts to hear.
david, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, take me back, please, don’t leave me like this. i love you. say you still want me, say you— Juniper, you don’t sound like yourself. You’re scaring me. Do you have water? Are other people there?
david . . .
teeth in my lip, a bloody taste again. urgency gets its wiry fingers around my throat, (i need to know i have you, you’re the only thing and the only one) i’m sitting up and the world is toppling head over heels come see me. i want to see you. right now.
I can’t.
please.
i wait for it— (my goddamned head—)
and then—
not his reply.
knock. knock. knock.
he says, Is someone there?
no—
(have to lock the door. lock everything out so i can have this one
safe place)
i stand too fast, head spinning throat stretching
clogging
retching