Seconding the last title like this one. Right.
She was beautiful when she reached the pops kicks the bucket day, when she tried and tried to fake crying but imploded chuckling in the
bathroom, while I eared the door and looked to the side, mouth in one cheek and worried, nah convinced that we’d be found out among the dumb bastards trying to whisper a couple of Very Important Goodbyes before chugging a beer out of the cooler and out the door and Jeez, least it was over. Counted down the bazillion minutes until I could too Jeez, least it was over, enveloping my lungs to squashy nothingness while she faked being sad in the corner over there and there and never tackling these well-mourners. As secret for she and me was pops kicks the bucket day was pops only included her in the big bucks no whammies will extravaganza, his favorite and only favorite. Lord knows we didn’t tell anyone how cool our bar’d be.
Kinda glad I never got into the ins and outs and all of telling myself
how cool our bar’d be, cause I never smelled it, never up close and
all. She, nah. She always had it close and up her nose and in the back
of her head, figuring out the fucking appetizers before we’d dropped
shovel or paid someone to drop shovel to any forgotten red clay
nowheregentrifying, and what then if we ended up just being one of them anyway, what’d be the point of this little excursion and yet still
were all the various flavors of wing sauce she had bubbling in her
mind. What did I want? Room to breath, room to fly up and with my
elbows on the clouds look down and figure out points A and B before we got to her point Z times a thousand and all, but what really was
anything ever was of course that she was beautiful. Then at the time,
before when she’d been thinking bout bar and all, and I assumed yeah, I knew yeah, that she’d still be beautiful by the time we’d be willing to leave the doors behind and our bar in the care of a whole slew of staff members. Also wing sauce, yeah wing sauce, we’d have figured that out at that point I was sure. And also, also always, she’d been beautiful since I first saw her.
“Go fuck yourself, unless you want to tell me what you want,” said
beautiful she at the first.
“Just looking around. People watching, I figure,” like it’d certainly
be working for me that day.
“Like I said. Go fuck yourself. At least ogle somewhere else.”
“I’m sorry. Jeez.”
“Yeah, well, like I said. Go. Fuck. Yourself.”
Occurred later, and probably did at the time though I never remembered, how well and rehearsed she was with the call to arms.
