Twisters

So I watched her cry, to allow her that outlet, to let the emotion run its course, but she didn’t stop, she couldn’t, and then I grew older.

I ordered drinks, and she took my hand and put one of my fingers in her mouth, and then she made a face and told me that it tasted like pee.

She points a knife at me. I take a step back. Woah, I say. She says, I’m going to cut the meat. Then my bowels go weird. So I open the wine.

We lie in the grass and we study the sky and imagine things bigger than we are. She says, Do you think dogs poop here? It’s a good question.

I let her finish her drink. I stood. You’re so gallant, she said, obviously drunk. I sat down again. I let out a long sigh. And she clapped.