I pull my mouth away from his and fall back into the passenger seat. He strokes my face and then he smiles.
I think, That smile would have made me melt out of hope and anticipation before, but actually it just makes my heart beat all sad-sweet like broken lollipops. He is smiling now and my tattered hands are beautiful to him now, and it all screeches to a halt just before it breaks through my rib cage. I love the Now, I do, but I want more: I want the Tomorrow.
I turn my head and look out the window. I think, I haven’t done this in a very long time, just sit in a car and talk and kiss for hours. He is not my type, but I like the way he surprises me, how he doesn’t quite fit into the pigeonhole in which I placed him. I am enjoying this Now with little regard to the Tomorrow because I have finally learnt that words are not as important to everyone else as they are to me.
I light a cigarette and I think, That street-lamps looks like my buddy, the moon. Those lights look like flames. No, don’t go there. My skin feels hot. I don’t want to think about it. Be here, be now. Don’t be a burning, screaming lamb. How do I be a Now Girl? This is too much for me, and I know it will be too much for him. As it was for all of them.
He strokes my arm, up and down relentlessly, my arms, my hands, my shoulders. One of my dress straps has fallen and he pulls it up before he continues touching me. I think, Here I am with this nice boy dishing out affection and I am looking up at the pseudo-moon, smoking and thinking about retro traumas. I am so broken that I can’t even bring myself to give his arm a little rub in return. I am sad for myself, but I am relieved because I know that I am safe l like this. And then I am sad again because he doesn’t know about the hole inside me and it’s likely he never will. I cannot turn to him and confess of my broken-ness. He is not that kind of boy. And that is okay because he is a Now-Boy.
I think, Am I over-thinking?
He says, ‘What are you thinking about?’
I smile and say, ‘Nothing special.’