Yesterday was nice in spite of work. Dominique spent the day with me and Alistair dropped by. The tedium banished utterly. The children not tearing me down to nothing. Sparks instead, flying up to flash like a metal grinder on steel.
Ethan’s party was also a nice bit of de-tox. Wandering around in purple lit darkness, shooting at people with light. How sci-fi in that teenage way that guns bestow. My dyed hair goes a peculiar flat colour apparently making me an easy target, though the only person to do worse than Robin was Kyle. On the second game I came in fifth. Back at his place, we watched something called The Last Supper. In theory it was a nice idea. A group of liberals having conservatives of the worst sort over for dinner simply to kill them if they can’t change their minds. In practice, it was less than thrilling, but still had moments.
I’m on-line with an old lover right now. My dark haired angel from Toronto. Hair that looked black flowing down to his waist until he stepped into sunlight and it flared the darkest red imaginable. We had the oddest relationship. Never left alone enough to consummate anything, but always together. It’s odd to talk to him as he’s not on-line very much, but we assume off the hop that we’re still as close friends. We used to have an arrangement, that if we were in the other’s town, our current relationship would be put on hold for a duration of the visit. A long time ago I think the deal slipped away. I carried him away with me when I went and I need no more. He might be coming out in January, staying for two weeks on vacation.
I met him only perhaps twelve hours before I took this picture, and there he is already wearing my clothes. This is early, before the fire was added to until it crackled with heat like the Metatron. Huge soaring rage, fifteen feet to a side. The bikers who ran the party fed it with broken picnic tables and empty industrial spools. This was the night of the Widow, the night I remembered I could live. There’s a better print of the picture somewhere. Flame rippling into a curl above him, like a frame with an elegant top crown.
I wonder if I’m taller than him now.