TWO OF CUPS

However high they held their hands together, they knew the Goddess of Love shined upon them, blessing their union for the rest of their days. The moon brightens the night sky, beaming at both of them or at one who has come to embrace both strength and nurturing aspects. Signs of an attraction may be shifting into a serious relationship. Harmony is within your grasp. Love is right next door. Don’t be blinded by your lust and infatuation, it’ll consume you, and the friendship and the love you share will cease. Be patient and give yourself the time to explore each other emotionally to discover new things about one another or yourself. The tides are turning in your favor, don’t let it drown you into disillusionment, ride the tide.

* * * 

—Ray—

I’ve been going through this many times in my head: why the hell did I follow these strangers, when I haven’t the foggiest idea of whom they are? No total misconception of sanity could explain the situation I was in. Neither could it explain the reel, and turn, it took to get here. I willed myself back at the last step and took back the locket from my mother’s hand and bid her farewell. It wasn’t goodbye, it was more of a see you later.

Earlier, I slept in the quiet of my room. It had never been as quiet as today; I couldn’t remember the last time it ever was. His hand had run through my flustered locks of hair, not caring for the pampered dust, bits of splinters—thrilling, frightening—and stickiness soaked throughout the entire day to an evening-filled rain-covered sky. It blistered into the quietness, the voices of my monsters usually stirred up mischief—my small-four-corner-walls of my room—neither stirred nor showed their inquisitive gaze-filled distortions and strange-peculiarity. It was weird, and I didn’t know if I liked this stagnating silence which stretched while asleep, while I sunk deep into my soft pillows and duvet. In my peaceful dreamscape, I plucked the notes in every string and cord; his name tangent, pleasant, and strong on my lips, “Gio… Gio… Gio….”

Should dreaming of someone I’ve never met, who turned my day into a wild and fearsome ride, be at the top of my list of things to care for? What about Mrs. Hatchet? Did anyone dream of her? Who had cared for her? Me? Obviously not. I wasn’t at the top of her list of concerns until today, neither was she at the top of mine until she… died. There was a time I did wonder about the old woman across the street, who admired her gardenias, and never struck a single hello or waved kindly, like in those suburban 1950s households you see on tv or in that movie, Pleasantville.

What of Lily? What should I make of her? How was I connected to all of this? Why should a pool of ash, being blown by the ceiling draft in the church be Mrs. Hatchet? The cranky, rather unpleasant neighbor had been discarded like Lily in her framed photo room, quickly drifting into bones. Mrs. Hatchet once upon a time she was a mother, a wife, and heaven forbid; perhaps she was once a good neighbor, whose smile lifted the place up, and perhaps baked apple pies on a Sunday afternoon. Who knows who she was?

She had been degraded into something neither small nor anything but a speck of dust. A damn pile of dirt—swept through the rug—dragged across the rubble of the church benches. No one wanted to explain to me what happened to her—neither did I want to talk about it—then it would be real and she would be gone. How she became dirt you’d find anywhere in a forest, underneath your carpet, even a car’s exhaust, puffing to the sky and filtering through your car’s ac unit, inhaling the pollution. It settled what she had turned out to be—God damn pollution. A human being wasn’t supposed to turn into the crap you smoke every day through the butt of a cigarette—inhaling its contingency and bittersweet nicotine—snuffing it out with the boot of your shoe, rolling and forcing its wrapper to tear. This is what this was, this is what today was, full-of-crap. Something fixed and handled her. I listed down in my head the many encounters I’d crossed eyes with my neighbor and exchanged a word or two… one maybe twice since I broke my nose on her gardenias—if you counted today—I haven’t stopped.

Take a breath, deep, deeper in.

Mom didn’t remember, Dad didn’t recall her, I couldn’t erase her. The world erased her though—it did a good job at it too—took the house and all she was with it. She became part of my world—of my four-corner-walls—and I saved a space just for her. My hand quivered right there—where it hurts the most—I pointed my nudgy finger into myself, in the mutty edge of my mind, one which numbed me in stride and in spite. I wanted the dream to end here, to start over, reset the switch; anything to be myself, flick the frown into a bright toothy smile, my quivering steps into steady footsteps, and my torn heartbeat into a peaceful note. The sky only changed when it rained or stormed, we walked day after day for the sky to fall.

I convinced myself one foot over the other, I had stretched my hand out to Gio out of comfort, even if I wasn’t sure I could trust him, even so; my fingers found themselves between his, my quivering feet went steady, my tearing heart grew lighter, and my frown turned upside down. Still, it didn’t mean anything. Yes, I told myself, he saved me; had strength beyond compare and he initiated it. What was I to do? Leave him hung out to dry? Suffice it to say, my hands were chilled from the shower and his hands were conveniently warm. I sighed in relief, a human furnace, toasty.

Gio squeezed lightly and my eyes darted to his arms. He chuckled when I pouted over his even ripped-ness. His muscles were the kind you developed with a daily workout—finely cut—better than a blade. Whereas, I scrutinized over my dainty—low-fat musculature—muscles I hardly if ever roused much attention to others. Maybe he obsessed over getting fit like Michael and was a bit douchey like his Dad, so far, he wasn’t douchey nor was he obsessing over his body. This man stood rigid in strife and held me together in a calm and collected way. It beats me, how he’d developed plucking himself and taking up space.

Magnetizing, struck into his world, so sweet it was.

Unlike Michael who had been a cool person to be around with, this was no… he was different. Whenever he was around me or touched my frosty hand—lips rose, almond eyes beaming—his rosy face didn’t disappear on me, it glowed so warmly, I found myself unable to breathe steadily. I supposed there wasn’t anything wrong with fitness and protein-packed-biceps. It would be nice if I had beefier, veiny muscles. My college growth spurt was still yet to come, I could stretch out anytime, any day now.