when I walked in my stomach was screaming nerves,
my heart felt fluttery from my first of many iced black coffees.
I fixed my eyes fixed on the black hightops I stared at everyday during first period,
the peeling rubber toes pointing straight at me.
I looked up, meeting eyes with the spitting image of Kurt Cobain
who smirked at me curiously, then lifted a finger, and turned into the kitchen.
I busied myself untying my boots, even though they had zippers,
promising myself I wouldn’t loose my balance.
The high tops returned, followed by weathered leather moccasins,
who murmured through his teeth “hmmm, designing with materials girl” .
I grinned through my eyes, attempting not to make myself intimate with the floor so soon,
expertly faking breathy laugh to cover up how utterly freaked the unfamiliar title made me.
High tops grabbed my waist and twirled me into the kitchen,
offering a cigarette before disappearing through the screen door and leaving me
in a room filled with music that ran through my head like a brush
combing out the tangles from driving with my sunroof down.
I was surrounded by people with purple hair and overflowing hearts
who floated around the room singing and talking and dancing
while I wondered how I should fill the shoes of my new title
and what kind of shoes I should even be filling.
out of the corner of my eye, I saw high tops march back ;
he didn’t seem to float but parade, his ponytail not quite matching his muscle shirt arms.
He waltzed right up to moccasins and kissed him proper on the mouth
hands holding his jaw, eyes closed, and balanced on his toes.
Satisfied, he stormed back out through the screen
pulling a pack of blacks and a white lighter from his back pocket
(he would soon tell me he didn’t believe in luck,
even though it was in his pocket when he was arrested over a houseplant).
Moccasins just smiled, eyes rolling up into his brown hair
and with his hands out palms ceilingward in a silent offer, he locked his eyes on mine
Before I had a chance to overanalyze,
he decided for me.
Maintaing eye contact, we danced to the 22 year old boys screaming through the boom box
while I tried to integrate myself into the scene,
tried to float so effortlessly too,
like the cigarette smoke oozing in from the patio
he pulled me into a hug that resented gravity
effortlessly lifting all six feet of me off the ground,
pressing my cheek against the cutoff edge of his tie dye tank top,
my blonde hair tugging between his chest and mine
So with fuzzy lemonade on my lips
and bass players hands on my hips
I figured out I didn't need shoes
if i never touched the ground.
IN PROGRESS UGH THIS IS A HARD MEMORY TO ILLUSTRATE