Learning How to Smile
Ethanol
Even though there was an airport in Boulder City, we still decided to take the bus. For some reason, Greyhound Busses are just that bit more fun and less uncomfortable than airplanes. We’ve both suffered from several cases of earaches while flying – something we’ve done way too many times – so we didn’t even have to argue over transportation.
Besides, we don’t have anywhere we need to be or want to go.
So we decided to go to Phoenix. It was the next bus out of Boulder City, so that’s the bus we took. Just before we left, you bought two vegetarian sandwiches and two Sprites for the road. I’m not a vegetarian, but I still stick with veg sandwiches whenever I’m buying sandwiches. They just taste better without the meat. You’ve had some kind of indirect influence on me, I’m sure.
Once we’ve sloppily finished eating, you pull out a bottle I didn’t notice you bought: Everclear. I didn’t even know you could buy those without a police authorization or some fucking thing like that. From what I know, it’s got about 98 % alcohol in them – practically pure fucking ethanol. It might just be a myth, but I don’t bother to look at the writing on the bottle before putting it directly to my lips. I know I’m not supposed to drink, but so do you, and as long as you’re here, it’s okay. I trust you.
A slow warmth spreads in my chest as I swallow down a few gulps of the surprisingly tasteless liquid, and I don’t think that warmth is solely due to the intoxicating liquid.
You take the bottle back when I hand it to you, take one more swig of it and then screw the cap back on. You had more than me, but it’s okay. You bought it, after all. And I got to taste your lips – indirectly. It’s okay.
The bus comes to a stop and the thought of yet another engine having broken down comes to my mind, but when I spot the red lights ahead, I realize it’s just stopped at an intersection.
I empty my can of Sprite and throw it in the bag hanging from the seat in front of me. Suddenly, you pass me the bottle again. I don’t even know if you’ve had another taste of it, but I don’t pass on the chance to indirectly taste your lips again.
The burning liquid rushes down my throat and you practically tear the bottle off my lips – miraculously not spilling one drop – and start tasting the bottle yourself.
Before long, things start to spin. My body becomes a little numb and the sounds of the people around me grow louder.
I turn to you to see you stare out the window. I want to talk to you.
“It’s a boring view,” I say, making myself jump when I hear how loud my voice is.
You turn to face me, a smirk in your eyes. You take in a deep breath.
“Yes!” you scream back, right into my face. I immediately poke my tongue out and point it at you; a thing you quickly do right back.
How did we get so drunk so fast? Did we fall asleep?
“This is a boring view too,” you say loudly, keeping your eyes locked with mine. I let my mouth fall open, looking outraged at him, even though I know I look like a Lolita doll ready for a cock to be inserted.
But it’s not a cock that gets poked into my mouth, but instead one of your fingers. I bite down quickly.
“Ow!” you scream out, managing to pull out your finger and putting it in your own mouth, sucking and soaking it. I stare at your mouth as you do so.
Someone behind me giggles and I look between my seat and yours to see an elderly woman with a grin on her face.
I pout. She’s laughing at us.
I look to the other side of me, across the hall, to see a kid with her mother. They’re both smiling widely, the mother trying to hide it by covering her mouth lightly with her hand.
Still pouting slightly, I turn back to look at you. You’ve got your head down – further down than when we walked through the desert.
Without hesitation, I grab your chin and push up your face. You automatically look at me, a sad look in those incredible eyes of yours. I lean forward and lean my forehead against yours. I close my eyes and whisper to you:
“Just ignore them. I will never let them hurt you.”
Besides, we don’t have anywhere we need to be or want to go.
So we decided to go to Phoenix. It was the next bus out of Boulder City, so that’s the bus we took. Just before we left, you bought two vegetarian sandwiches and two Sprites for the road. I’m not a vegetarian, but I still stick with veg sandwiches whenever I’m buying sandwiches. They just taste better without the meat. You’ve had some kind of indirect influence on me, I’m sure.
Once we’ve sloppily finished eating, you pull out a bottle I didn’t notice you bought: Everclear. I didn’t even know you could buy those without a police authorization or some fucking thing like that. From what I know, it’s got about 98 % alcohol in them – practically pure fucking ethanol. It might just be a myth, but I don’t bother to look at the writing on the bottle before putting it directly to my lips. I know I’m not supposed to drink, but so do you, and as long as you’re here, it’s okay. I trust you.
A slow warmth spreads in my chest as I swallow down a few gulps of the surprisingly tasteless liquid, and I don’t think that warmth is solely due to the intoxicating liquid.
You take the bottle back when I hand it to you, take one more swig of it and then screw the cap back on. You had more than me, but it’s okay. You bought it, after all. And I got to taste your lips – indirectly. It’s okay.
The bus comes to a stop and the thought of yet another engine having broken down comes to my mind, but when I spot the red lights ahead, I realize it’s just stopped at an intersection.
I empty my can of Sprite and throw it in the bag hanging from the seat in front of me. Suddenly, you pass me the bottle again. I don’t even know if you’ve had another taste of it, but I don’t pass on the chance to indirectly taste your lips again.
The burning liquid rushes down my throat and you practically tear the bottle off my lips – miraculously not spilling one drop – and start tasting the bottle yourself.
Before long, things start to spin. My body becomes a little numb and the sounds of the people around me grow louder.
I turn to you to see you stare out the window. I want to talk to you.
“It’s a boring view,” I say, making myself jump when I hear how loud my voice is.
You turn to face me, a smirk in your eyes. You take in a deep breath.
“Yes!” you scream back, right into my face. I immediately poke my tongue out and point it at you; a thing you quickly do right back.
How did we get so drunk so fast? Did we fall asleep?
“This is a boring view too,” you say loudly, keeping your eyes locked with mine. I let my mouth fall open, looking outraged at him, even though I know I look like a Lolita doll ready for a cock to be inserted.
But it’s not a cock that gets poked into my mouth, but instead one of your fingers. I bite down quickly.
“Ow!” you scream out, managing to pull out your finger and putting it in your own mouth, sucking and soaking it. I stare at your mouth as you do so.
Someone behind me giggles and I look between my seat and yours to see an elderly woman with a grin on her face.
I pout. She’s laughing at us.
I look to the other side of me, across the hall, to see a kid with her mother. They’re both smiling widely, the mother trying to hide it by covering her mouth lightly with her hand.
Still pouting slightly, I turn back to look at you. You’ve got your head down – further down than when we walked through the desert.
Without hesitation, I grab your chin and push up your face. You automatically look at me, a sad look in those incredible eyes of yours. I lean forward and lean my forehead against yours. I close my eyes and whisper to you:
“Just ignore them. I will never let them hurt you.”