Moments

Just little moments that run through my head.

1. I am on the back of your motorcycle. I don’t have a helmet on, and all I can think is my mom will kill me if she finds out. I don’t remember what kind of motorcycle it was, but knowing you it was probably the top of the line. The bike is loud. I can feel the rumble between us. I’m holding on for dear life. Exhilarated. Scared. It’s a warm spring night. As we ride, the wind blows my hair into my face. It stings my eyes, but I don’t want to let go of you to fix it. We pull up to a stoplight and you grab my hand and kiss it very gently. I bury my face in your back so you can’t see the goofy smile you’ve spread across my face. It feels like a movie. Later when I go to hop off your bike the exhaust pipe bumps against my leg. It leaves a nasty burn. You do nothing to help ease the pain. Roll credits.


2. There's something strange about waking up with another person in your bed. Hogging what should be your side. Soft morning snores punctuating the silence. There's something protective in the way a strong arm flops over, and pulls you towards them. So close that you can feel the warmth of their breath on your neck. Two bodies sharing an embrace, faced away from the world outside. Each wanting different things. Each willing to give up a piece of themselves to get it. It’s palpable. It surrounds me. I have no choice but to surrender to it.

3. Whiskey makes me think of you. I love the smell, the taste, the way it sits warmly in my belly. It always reminds me of home. The home you and I made. When I hear ice cubes clinking on the side of a glass, I am reminded of our laughter. Those were the fun times. I have switched brands of whiskey.