last night was not a date and we pretended not to hope the other thought it was.

your smile was big and bright, you necklaces were deliberate, i know it. we hugged and you slid in next to me

though i was in the driver’s seat you were the one in charge.

i wasn’t nervous to see you, not really. i had high hopes, strong manifestations, we can say, and pulling up to pick you up felt nothing if not

natural

to put it in your words.

we drove for hours, and as the gas gauge wore weary my hand inched itself closer to your thigh and then closer to your zipper. music filled the car, mine a mix of my-most-listened-to (you said it was gay) and yours a playlist you found and didn’t create. i didn’t mind, old songs give me new life, and i think you understand that.

we saw a coyote. you mentioned it as if you knew it would be there, like a coyote

a coyote

standing in the road, meandering around our car with the big green z on its side to remind us both that our time was short, was the most

natural

thing in the world. i didn’t think so, no, i’ve seen them wander among sage brush before towering mountains of rock and snow, searching for grouse, my cheeks pressed against the window of the school bus as we passed.

i’ve seen them wander among bunches of grasses drying under the desert-like sun in august, in times when the forest service warned of fires that inevitably would come and fill the big sky with plummets, God’s handfuls of black smoke.

i’ve seen them wander across the pages of my children’s books when i was small, i’ve felt them under my little pink palms as i memorized dialogue from national park gift shops and learned to read in their eyes.

but no, i’ve never seen them wandering there, where you can hear the roaring ocean and see the cookie cutter seafood shops and smell the rotting seaweed on the shore. i was lost and you were found

you had found i mean

a coyote that didn’t seem to matter to you. i took it as a sign, perhaps.

we trespassed and i ran away from you across the sand, i ran away from you up that grassed hill past the sewage drain we laughed about later

pennywise, you said it first

to the towering tree with Bill’s Beach nailed into the heart of its trunk. my fingers clutched the trees knolls like they would clutch you later, and i found myself higher than i had been in months.

well, that is certainly not true.

we kept driving after i locked you out of the car. you should have known (you said you did) because we know each other well enough after 96 minutes that you can predict what i’ll do next, maybe.

kissing under red lights, a theme in more ways than one.

a closed gas stations, a bazzi song and a wrong turn later we talked about my appendicitis, the first time i had been to rhode island hospital. i didn’t tell you about the second time until later, but that was ok, i’ve decided it’s a

need-to-know-basis

sort of thing. and i didn’t need you to know.

fish road brought us closer and i’m glad we explored it together. sleep itched at my eyes then, but i would stay a wake a little longer for you. just this time, though.

i refused to let you use the flashlight because i believe in what’s

natural

i believe in darkness, in mystery, i thrive in it. i hope i taught you how to as well, even though i tripped and squealed and whacked at pine branches that wouldn’t leave my impressionable skin alone. sand dunes under stars, lovers under the crescent

moon

and the tire tracks gave way to lines of light on the surface of my chest.

i’ll let you wonder about what happened next.