Emergency Escape Plans

We shared our afternoon at the ocean.  Shimmering sunshine sparkled and danced like pixies on blue green water.  We built a firepit and pretended we were on a desert island with no one else but us.  We made friends with an otter.  We played hide and seek in the tall grass until we were out of breath and collapsed for a nap together under a bush.

When we woke up, we ate our picnic lunch I had prepared for us.  Peanut butter and banana sandwiches, peaches and halva for dessert.  A beer to wash it all down.  We sat like a couple of monkeys cuddled close. She picked thistles off my jacket while I brushed burrs from her hair.   As we smoked a bowl together, we made energency escape plans, just in case we ever had to grow up.

As we watched the sunset catch fire to the horizion, she reached into her backpack and carefully pulled out a sheet of paper.  Torn and frayed along the edges, the drawing on it was faded and smudged.  But, the portrait was unmistakably recognizable.  Without a doubt, this was a picture of me.  She placed the sketch of myself onto my lap.  "I feel you should know that I drew this when I was 11.", she said.

Sailors Warning

I had a dream early this morning.  Natural and honest.  Without fear, at all.  You were here and we were together, sharing faith and hope and love.  Plaid shirt and leather jacket, still with pajama bottoms.  We hadn't bothered to shower, yet.  To-go cups from the neighborhood coffee shop.  We sat on my bed and played with treasures we found at the ocean.  We made designs, we played sinarios, we took pictures.  I kissed your bare shoulders.  Freckles like scattered pebbles along the shore, waves of wild hair splashed my face. 


Just open up a little bit more

Without shame

The next morning, I deleted fone numbers and blocked social network connections.  The last thing I want is any trace of evidence to come back on me.  Done.  I have given clear instruction to my close friends and workmates, to slap me across my face if I ever utter her name again, or speak of anything to do with her at all.  

This machete is the only witness, now.  Its cuts are unique and leave scars deeper than others, I know.  Eventually, someone is going to discover this and start asking questions. Even with blood dripping from my blade, I will never admit I ever knew of her existance.

However, I will never forget that night at the hotel.  I will remember it as one of my finest moments.  A mercy killing.  A brave gesture of compassion.  I will never confess in search of glory.  Im not a hero.