Ann Lewis Hamilton

Okay, so he’s cute.  Well, he was cute, and he’s still cute, although right now he’s stretched out flat on the ground and not moving.  His skin is pale, but he was always on the pasty side.  “A little time in the sun wouldn’t hurt you,” I told him, but he thought I was kidding.  (Not kidding.)  Now his paleness seems grey and vampire-y and I’ve never been a big fan of Twilight.  

His smile reminds me of Cole Sprouse.  Sort of easy and swoon-worthy.  Great abs and a hard round ass, so adorbs!  The way he talked was weird at first.  Instead of, “Hey, you left the light on,” he said, “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?”  Really?  I suppose it’s sweet.  Once you get used to it.  

He looks like he’s asleep.  His mouth is open and his tongue is sticking out, but just a little.  It’s a bummer he’s dead.  

I don’t have much time.  They’re going to be coming in, everybody pissed off and yelling.  “What do you mean you were pretending?  We had a funeral and everything.”  D’oh, what was I supposed to do?  They said we were too young and he wasn’t good enough and I wasn’t good enough blah blah so the solution seemed perfect.  I drink this stuff, like a Harry Potter potion, and it makes me seem dead.  Then after my fake funeral, when everybody’s gone, he appears, the potion wears off, I wake up, and we split, easy peasy.  

Well.  It sounded like a good idea.  

Everything happened too fast.  We met, we danced, love at first sight times a million.  When I told my BFF Filippa, she was like, “Girl, you just met him.  What the hell is wrong with you?”  I told her the way he talked – “How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears,” and Filippa made a fart sound and said that sounded like lame Ed Sheeran lyrics.

Filippa’s rep is nasty, but she’s way more experienced than me so naturally I wanted her advice.

“Don’t commit, there’s no point in that.  But don’t give it away for free either.”  I told her I liked the way he kissed and she laughed and said was that all we’d done?  

So after we had sex I went back to Filippa and told her the sex was amazing.  Like – a meteor that the sun exhaled (his words).  Or the Tatsu roller coaster at Magic Mountain (my words).  Actually it was kind of fumbling and hurt, but the kissing part was okay plus the stuff he did with his fingers.

He’s looking greyer now.  I wonder if I should push his tongue back in his mouth?

My parents were in Tahoe for the weekend so he came over.  After sex he fell asleep and snored and I thought it was romantic, very intimate, but he didn’t stop and his breath was kind of wine-y so when he’d snore, puffs of stale-smelling wine came out of his mouth so I kicked him, gently the first couple of times.  And then I poked him with my elbow and said, “Hey, stop snoring.  It’s annoying.”  He finally rolled over, but by then I was awake and just sat there and looked at his ass.

There are plenty of other asses out there in the world.  I mean, I know we made a pact - together forever.  We also talked about matching tattoos and whew, I dodged a bullet not getting his initials on my ankle.  But I have to give him credit.  He held up his end.  Got poison and drank it and it wasn’t the same stuff I had, nope, he got the real deal, something that kills you.  I didn’t know he was going to do anything like that.  Kind of mental, if you ask me.

I don’t know how he missed the text about my fake death potion.  Is that my fault?  Blame Verizon or his new iPhone.  It’s a big dilemma, this promise.  Does he really expect me to follow through?  To end my life so we can be together in eternity?  “With worms that are my chambermaids,” as he would say.  (Gross.)

Filippa says her cousin Luca is super hot.  He’s on a club swim team so he’s got wide shoulders.  I’m a sucker for wide shoulders.  There’s also a guy I’ve seen at Starbucks.  Long wavy hair, all the way to his shoulders.  He was in front of me in line one morning and I could smell his shampoo.  Lavender and lemon.  

I’m young.  I’m allowed to change my mind.  Isn’t there something where your brain isn’t totally developed until you’re really old, like twenty-five?  

Lavender/lemon hair guy always orders the same thing.  A dirty chai.  I had to ask what it is.  A chai with an espresso shot.  Something about that sounds almost dangerous.  I like danger.

He’s definitely a lot paler.  I suppose I should say goodbye.  Should I kiss him?  His lips look blue.  But I owe him something.  “Thanks,” I say as I brush my lips against his.  It’s weird because his lips are warm and for a second I miss him because I really did like kissing him.  

Except maybe Luca is a great kisser.  Or the guy at Starbucks.  That’s the thing about dating.  You never know.  There are choices, not only dead or alive choices.  Choices like do we go to a movie or the mall and should I wear black leggings with the short heel boots or maybe tennies so I don’t seem to be trying too hard.  

I’ll kiss him one more time, quickly because kissing a dead person makes me want to throw up a little.  His lips feel colder this time.  “Thanks,” I say to him.  “Parting is such sweet sorrow, babe.”  

I think he’d enjoy that last part.  It sounds like something he would say.

Ann Lewis Hamilton is a writer living in California.

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