C’est La Vie

Say we move into the casino. For the next year, men will laugh at you when you sit down next to them at the blackjack table. They won’t even try to hide it. They’ll have their chain necklaces, their hair greased with gel, and their guts that spill over their belts. They’ll stare at the curve of your back, your collarbones, your almond eyes.

She can’t possibly know what she’s doing, they’ll foolishly think. I can’t blame them, I thought the same thing when I met you––car broken down, helpless little thing. How could a girl so beautiful know anything about anything? But I know you now.

“I would stay if I were you,” they’ll advise, and you’ll hit every time. You’ll walk away with enough to put a downpayment on a house––I know you will. You won’t even flinch when they’ll curse you under their breath, walking away with a cast of carelessness, an armful of chips, and the stench of their cologne trapped in your hair. It’ll make me sick when we try to fall asleep at night.

I promise I’ll flirt with the cocktail waitresses enough to keep you drunk for free. Maybe we’ll even develop a cocaine addiction on the side, and eat it like Fun Dip and play the slots until our eyes spin into the back of our heads the same way.

Say we get confirmed in the House of God. We’ll be holy and free for once, finally. We can drink gas station coffee on the way to the chapel, and marry underneath the cross. I can imagine the stained glass rippling off your porcelain skin like the times we’d sit in the creek and watch the water reflect on the back of your thighs. How lucky I felt to have been sitting there with you, eating apricots and falling in love until the sun went down, and then on. I found the answer to all of my prayers back then, I never needed God.

Say we went into the storybook. We’ve always been like Peter and Wendy. I’ll never let anyone get in the way––not like the time before, when I was sprinkled with pixie dust and heard the voice that was supposed to be too small. It wasn’t unrequited like I told you it was, and if it means anything, I’m sorry for that. I was steeped in eagerness and outsized by affirmation. My need for it will always exist, like a leech on my heart. But I’ll come back to you, like the leader of the lost boys.

Say we let go of the rolling grief that spilled over like clouds on mountains. We wouldn’t know what to do with all that relief. I never wanted you to suffer alongside me, but I don’t know how to stop a sinking ship.

Say we grew up together. Only then you’d understand why I became the way I did, and did all of those things to hurt you.

Say you forgave me.

Say we went to Paris.

C’est La Vie.