PS. I love you Mike Dirnt

Jigsaw

I touched the soft butt to my lips, inhaling and savouring the crisp crackle of poisonous smoke as it swirled between my teeth, burning a rancid taste deep in my throat. Blowing gently out, I attempted to make smoke rings but they flopped miserably into what looked liked puddles of steam. The gentle patter and crunch of my converse against the gravel rang a tune in my ear. Silence had long over powered this moment. The familiarity was to known, and for some strange reason, I felt like howling until my lungs shrivelled. Beside me Mike strode casually, his head was bowed and his hands hidden deep within his pockets. I could tell he was watching the way his loose lace flew swiftly into the air with each step and how it flicked sharply back against the brittle floor. His azure eyes flickered in time with the lace. I smiled to myself.

I was finished work by now. Tre had stayed behind to escort Elizabeth around to rest of the diner, picking up plates and handing them to her. His attempts at flattery are futile, but I admire his will to carry on. Mike and I had decided to walk home, taking a detour through the lush wooded patch on the outskirts of the main city. It’s ironic, isn’t it? The city is so big and industrialised and to think, this tiny patch of beautiful woodland has survived the iron fist of politics and environment destructors. It was a very simple area. Just some really large trees that spread for about half a mile; a main gravel path led through the heart of the woods and if you wanted, you could wonder through the tree and find new areas. Now that I think of it, it’s as if Mike is walking through my heart. I’ve always thought of myself as someone whose spirit originated from the woodland. I like scenery and I love nature walks. History also inspires me, but just ancient history.

“You should give those up you know,” Mike said, kicking at a glass bottle so that it rolled beneath a clump of bushes.

I pretended to have misheard his question. “Sorry, what?”

“The cigarettes Billie Joe, there very bad for you. How many times do I have to tell you?”

I clucked my tongue against my palette, considering a suitable response to his claims. It is true though. Mike’s always ranting about how smoking will form tar on my lungs. Honest to god, I think he’s wrong. I first pressed the savoury cancer sticks to my lips at the tender age of 11. I hated it at first, but everyone was doing it and I was beginning to relish the hardcore “big boy” scene. At 13 I decided that the influence of other didn’t matter anymore, I wanted to smoke and I made that decision all by myself. So far it has been of no hazard to me, I do suffer from the occasional chest infect, but who doesn’t?

“I’ll do it for the new year,” I told him, knowing that I wouldn’t, “as my resolutions.”

Mike raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember your last resolutions, because I do …?”

“You remember a lot of things,” I muttered eventually, taking one more long drag, burning the sweet incense down to the butt. Mike’s eyes followed my actions. I licked the tip of my finger and expertly drew it across the tip of the cigarette, distinguishing any lasting embers. He smiled softly at me.

“Are you feeling better?” I asked, unknowingly taking a step closer to him.

He nodded. “Much better, thanks. I think maybe I’m well enough to call round to yours tonight and get pissed …”

“Great! I got this brilliant film, it’s called déjà vu. I can’t quite figure the plot out, but I’m sure you can, Mike.”

I didn’t notice it at the time, but a faint flush highlighted Mike’s strong cheekbones. It would have amazed me if I had seen it because Mike rarely flushed through embarrassment. I’m sure he flushed in other ways, when he was doing things that most men do …
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The doorbell rang at exactly 8:15 that night. Not that I had been waiting or anything, I just happened to look at the clock at the exact time. I am embarrassed to admit that on the inside I squirmed upon letting Mike into the flat. He looked so well presented, even though he wore simple jeans and a dark hooded jumper. There was something about Mike’s features that sent a shiver through my spine. His elevated cheekbones and solid jaw were carved with sincere thought.

“Evening,” he greeted, stepping into the living room with a bag. He sank into the couch and began pulling bottles of beer from the bag.

“This just proves your feeling better,” I commented, watching him frantically pull at the bottle caps. He grinned edge ways and pouted slightly. Inside I melted.

There was only one efficient way to get ones self pissed, and that is to rent movies with difficult plots, drink poisonous liquids and gorge in heart clogging snacks. Cheesy puffs were listed as number one in my addictive list. After that came pizza, then malt balls and then beer. I’m not an alcoholic, if that’s the way you see it, but I do like my drink. People always say the drink will kill me, I always say people are ignorant.

If I can recall correctly, it was well past mid night before either of us stirred from our positions on the couch. Neither of us was thoroughly drunk, we were a bit wobbly on the legs but had enough sense to not walk in front of a car. The movie had long ended and neither of us had our logics around the conclusion. Mike was nestled comfortably next to me, his lean body slouched into the rook of the couch and one leg slung over the armrest. His tattooed arms tried aimlessly to clutch the bottle of beer, but instead managed to flop heavily to one side, slopping amber liquid across the front of his jeans. I was seated with my legs curled beneath my backside, panting slightly as my body registered with the toxic fluids. My eyes drooped and I could almost feel the cascading sensation of a morning sickness tingle my throat. A heavy weight rested on my shoulders, as all my muscles became loose and did there own thing.

“Bill …,” Mike murmured, swallowing heavily and letting his body fall into my laps, “I think … should be goin’ home.”

Nothing more then a grunt vibrated from my mouth. I probably wanted to beg, “Don’t go Mike, stay for an other bit, please?”. Instead, the words that tumbled from my mouth sounded dismissing.

“S’right, think ye should get a cab …. Yeah?”

“Mmmm,”

I heaved my body from the couch, growling as I elevated to a feeble standing position. My legs wobbled and I stumbled backwards.

“Wow, ge’ up Mick,” I whispered distantly, focusing my eyes on anything that stood still. The room however seemed to swirl in my mind, jolting my stomach and making my lips feel dry and skinned. I giggled softly, for what my mind saw was a pretty picture. Abstract if you like. I liked the swirls and the colours, and the feeling of freedom. My eyes then fell upon Mike, he was grunting softly, attempting to hoist himself from the soft cushions. His lengthy arms grasped the air as if tugging a leaver. I snorted and then erupted into hysterics.

He groaned at me, sticking out his tongue and twirling on the spot. “Fuck me, s’movin’,” he gasped.
His finger moved in the air as if he were tracing delicate lines. I rested my head on his shoulders, blowing a raspberry bubble into his neck. He snickered, smiling goofily and slapping a hand to my head.

“Know Bill, think s’time we wen’ big, d’you know?”

I snorted in response, wrapping both arms around his neck and leaning into his chest. He muttered something inaudible.

“Tickles,” he laughed blowing at the top of my head.

I inhaled deeply, opening a special file in mind to store his scent in. He smelled vaguely of drink and pizza topping, but there was a hint of night musk and strength. Tipping my head back, I flashed him a toothy grin.

“Poke!” he yelled loudly, jabbing a finger at the tip of my nose.

“Tweak!” I howled, pulling roughly at his ears.

His arms fell to my hips and he squeezed them shortly. For a moment, I felt at rest. If I could choose any moment to die, it would be now. I wanted to run a hand along his bold cheek bones, tell him how beautiful he looked in the light of the T.V and lean closer to him and never let go. My instinct is responsible for the following movements. Instead of letting him go, I placed one against his cheek and stared him in the eye. He stared at my chin for a while, and eventually managed to focus on me. Standing on the very tips of my toes, I pressed my lips against his own thin, outlined lips. They were moist and soft, and moved graciously in time with my own. His tongue felt perfect against my own unskilled. He knew what he was doing and it felt perfect.

I finally found the missing jigsaw puzzle.