treatswords

I slap purple lotion all over my freshly shaven legs, my pores smelling like spilt wine.

“Be there in ten.” Dash texts.

He is the “cool guy” at school, the moody senior who jumps over flaming fire pits, his rubber soles in a constant state of melting, drinks whiskey from its neck and drives a red truck that looks ruby at night.

He eyes me in the hallway as I slide my jacket on.

“Hey you, want to take a cruise tomorrow evening? I can pick you up, eh, say like 8?”

I can feel sweat soaking through my pink polo, leaving gray holes in my armpits. I brush my blonde hair back.

“Sure, 8 it is. You know where my house is, right?”

“Yeah, second Ave?”

“Yep, the yellow one on the right, the one that’s missing a front door.”

He playfully bites his lip.

“That’s the one, see ya then.”

***

I slip on a green dress, one that hugs my waist but falls loosely around my thighs. I twirl, green blossoms spreading around me.

“What else, what else, what else?” I ask myself in the mirror, my nerves attempting to spill from my mouth into the sink.

“Of course!”

I say, digging through my vanity to find a black tube of lipstick with gold paint around the squared edges. I pop the top off and spread it over my dry lips.

Rust- the label reads.

“Here.” Dash dings.

I look in the mirror one last time, the brown brick shade with hints of muddled berries pulling the green from my eyes.

“Emerald sparks,” I whisper as I run up the steps and open the door.

***

We are on our second lap around town. “Hot laps,” we call them. The Main Street circles around a five mile radius that encompasses the entire town in one small handful. Marianas Trench plays on the only radio station that runs this late, the guitar mixing with the squeaking sound of Dash’s windshield wipers brushing off the April snow fall.

My nerves have filled this tiny space with words that have no meaning, sentences ending in an awkward linger. He giggles a few times, his lime green hat pushing his wispy hair into his eyelashes.

He slips a small bottle of Crown Royal from his pocket.

“Shall we spice this drive up a bit errrrr what?” The right side of his mouth slips open, his crooked teeth spilling from his lips. A side smile.

“Can we stop for a can of Coke? I’m not sure I can drink that straight.” I say, warm embarrassment turning my cheeks red.

“Oh my, princess Juney over here… kidding, of course I’ll stop.”

He slides into the parking lot, I move to open the door when he says, “Wait here, it’s too cold out there, I’ll grab it for ya.”

I watch him cross the truck, his lean figure drowning in his headlights.

My stomach feels warm, like there’s an itch I need to scratch.

The feeling of falling.

Falling, for Dash.

***

We loop around Main Street, the red light flashing to green. We pull into Ronning’s Lot, the local convenience store that has the most visible and popular lot for “hot lappers” at night.

He shuts the truck off.

“Let’s hop outside.”

We lean on the hood of his truck, the warm engine melting me into red paint. I can feel the truck growing goosebumps at the thought of me becoming a permanent part of it. I wonder if Dash feels the same.

“June, you seem like a pretty cool person. I must admit, you can talk more than most, but I enjoy what you’ve got to say.”

My giggle echoes over the parking lot, the snow pausing at the disturbance before continuing to leave a blanket.

“You seem pretty cool yourself, Dash.”

He smiles and cups his hand over mine. Even this cold can’t keep my nerves from showing In a palm full of sweat. But he doesn’t seem to mind, he keeps his hand there, letting it prune.

“Well I spose, I’ll take you home.”

We climb back into his truck, taking one more hot lap for good measure.

I feel a sense of sorrow cling to me like snow. When can I see him again?

He pulls into my driveway and looks at me.

“Well little lady, I had a great time.”

I feel the whiskey pushing through my veins, my heart attempting to race, it’s feet slipping in Crown Royal.

His lips cup around mine gently.

He smells like a mechanical forest. Broken twigs poking through his socks, spilt gasoline on his sleeve. He pulls away and we share a look.

One that says, I’ll see you again.

Or at least I hope.

***

I slip from his truck and go inside.

Undressing in my room, I catch a glimpse of myself.

My blonde hair is shaken at its roots, loose strands criss-crossing like string. My nose is red, my lips still stained brown, red rust spilling onto my cheeks.

I picture Dash pulling into his driveway, a brick toned kiss from me left on his lips.

I wonder if he’ll wash it off before bed or if he’ll let it stay there overnight, rusting through his pillowcase.