Postcards From No Man's Land
Peter Pan
It happened.
Dear God, Mikey. What did I do to you?
Everything.
Everything in a goblet of wine.
It was Spring, and I had just turned nineteen. You found a bottle of antique wine that Mom had sent to me under the sink.
To growing up, you said, lifting the bottle up high. I could see my own bewildered reflection shining in the glass, the green so deep it was almost black. You poured it into two deep goblets, and the wine glittered like a blood-red jewel.
And to the new experiences that come along with it, you said, and you lifted the blood above our heads, a sacrifice that nearly sloshed over the edge.
Your soft-spoken words frightened me. I didn't want to grow up, because that meant that you were getting older as well. And you were supposed to be ageless, my Primavera. Every word you said was sprinkled with youth, behind every smile a caged and hospitalized child.
I felt like you when I whispered, I don't want to grow up.
And you handed me a goblet of wine and pressed your lips to mine, bold move. They tasted of sweet grape alcohol and the youth I'd seen behind your eyes. Everyone grows up, Peter Pan, you laughed, and you smiled.
To growing up, I echoed, and as we drained our goblets I made an unconcious decision to get fucked-up drunk.
We were buzzed, and the world was encased in a goblet of wine. The air around you smelled like jasmine and the metallic tang of alcohol. Your lips tasted like the sweetest strawberries, even though there was no food in the whole house.
You had always been the one who was still learning. You'd always been the one who was fumbling, you'd always been the one who was blushing and quiet and hesitant.
You had always just been The One.
But that night you had strawberry wine and my blood in your veins. You had the Courage, and you had the Grace. You had the Appeal.
Dear God, you were The One.
Everything was fluid. An ocean where we were attached by the hands. Salty sweat and slipping fingers. Your hair plastered to your forehead and cheeks, your glasses down the bridge of your nose. A river where we were swept along, a river where your eyes should have been. Black, slick river, you were holding onto me so tight.
We were growing up, growing up way too fast. Falling too fast. Dying too fast.
Screaming too loud.
I drew blood. My fingernails scraped your shoulders, your back, my teeth raked your tender neck, and the blood that dribbled out was like wine in a goblet. Deepest velvet crimson. I drew blood, the aging blood we shared, and that was how I knew it was real. It was so goddamn real.
I'd never been that high, Mikey. Never that high. Not when I was taking all my little pills, and not when I was huffing chemicals in the back of anonymous bathrooms. Not when I was with Shadow, not when her plush powder-skin covered mine. Not when I was empty of soul but full of words. Not when my brush painted your face across my canvas.
I had just never been so high before. I was so sure that we would fall, that we were just too close to the sun. But then I was so sure that we were past the sun, up somewhere among the stars and the planets, and I knew that no matter how high we went, I would still have you. Even if we fell, I would still be falling with you.
I was inside of you, and it was like I was just another type of crash-junkie in terrible need of the Drug. You were my fix. Our bodies wove together like they'd never become untangled, but maybe...maybe we just didn't want them to. Maybe we liked being so connected, so together. Maybe we liked being one instead of two.
Gee Gee, I just feel so whole, you told me after, and your breath only smelled faintly like strawberry wine. I just feel so goddamned whole.
And I could not speak. I could only feel myself floating away as you held on tighter and tighter, floating off among the stars and the planets. I had surpassed the sun, and suddenly everything was encased in darkness. Trembling like thunder. Our bodies were just coming down from that high.
And Dear God, we were falling.
Dear God, Mikey. What did I do to you?
Everything.
Everything in a goblet of wine.
It was Spring, and I had just turned nineteen. You found a bottle of antique wine that Mom had sent to me under the sink.
To growing up, you said, lifting the bottle up high. I could see my own bewildered reflection shining in the glass, the green so deep it was almost black. You poured it into two deep goblets, and the wine glittered like a blood-red jewel.
And to the new experiences that come along with it, you said, and you lifted the blood above our heads, a sacrifice that nearly sloshed over the edge.
Your soft-spoken words frightened me. I didn't want to grow up, because that meant that you were getting older as well. And you were supposed to be ageless, my Primavera. Every word you said was sprinkled with youth, behind every smile a caged and hospitalized child.
I felt like you when I whispered, I don't want to grow up.
And you handed me a goblet of wine and pressed your lips to mine, bold move. They tasted of sweet grape alcohol and the youth I'd seen behind your eyes. Everyone grows up, Peter Pan, you laughed, and you smiled.
To growing up, I echoed, and as we drained our goblets I made an unconcious decision to get fucked-up drunk.
We were buzzed, and the world was encased in a goblet of wine. The air around you smelled like jasmine and the metallic tang of alcohol. Your lips tasted like the sweetest strawberries, even though there was no food in the whole house.
You had always been the one who was still learning. You'd always been the one who was fumbling, you'd always been the one who was blushing and quiet and hesitant.
You had always just been The One.
But that night you had strawberry wine and my blood in your veins. You had the Courage, and you had the Grace. You had the Appeal.
Dear God, you were The One.
Everything was fluid. An ocean where we were attached by the hands. Salty sweat and slipping fingers. Your hair plastered to your forehead and cheeks, your glasses down the bridge of your nose. A river where we were swept along, a river where your eyes should have been. Black, slick river, you were holding onto me so tight.
We were growing up, growing up way too fast. Falling too fast. Dying too fast.
Screaming too loud.
I drew blood. My fingernails scraped your shoulders, your back, my teeth raked your tender neck, and the blood that dribbled out was like wine in a goblet. Deepest velvet crimson. I drew blood, the aging blood we shared, and that was how I knew it was real. It was so goddamn real.
I'd never been that high, Mikey. Never that high. Not when I was taking all my little pills, and not when I was huffing chemicals in the back of anonymous bathrooms. Not when I was with Shadow, not when her plush powder-skin covered mine. Not when I was empty of soul but full of words. Not when my brush painted your face across my canvas.
I had just never been so high before. I was so sure that we would fall, that we were just too close to the sun. But then I was so sure that we were past the sun, up somewhere among the stars and the planets, and I knew that no matter how high we went, I would still have you. Even if we fell, I would still be falling with you.
I was inside of you, and it was like I was just another type of crash-junkie in terrible need of the Drug. You were my fix. Our bodies wove together like they'd never become untangled, but maybe...maybe we just didn't want them to. Maybe we liked being so connected, so together. Maybe we liked being one instead of two.
Gee Gee, I just feel so whole, you told me after, and your breath only smelled faintly like strawberry wine. I just feel so goddamned whole.
And I could not speak. I could only feel myself floating away as you held on tighter and tighter, floating off among the stars and the planets. I had surpassed the sun, and suddenly everything was encased in darkness. Trembling like thunder. Our bodies were just coming down from that high.
And Dear God, we were falling.