2. Our heads in the clouds. (2012)

“Run away with me,” he told me in a hushed voice, even though there was no one around this dusty motel room who could hear us. I was in bed trying to get some sleep. He was perched by the window smoking a cigarette. 

“I’m serious. Let’s run away. I’m done with this scene. I just want to live in a tiny house with you and we can plant our own vegetables and just fucking be.” 

In moments like this, you stop and consider the proposal, however absurd it may be. What did we know about love? We were practically kids. But then you ask yourself – is this all I’m ever going to get? What if this is it? What if this half-assed proposition to flee this city in search of some unknown future was the closest thing I would ever have to a normal life? 

I wrapped the covers around me and walked towards him. He lit another cigarette and blew rings out the window. 

“Didn’t you say you were quitting?” I asked him, sleep in my voice. He looked up and flashed me a half-smile. 

“I did. But…” he held the cigarette out towards me. “I guess I failed.” 

“Maybe you didn’t try hard enough?” I took the cigarette from his hand, drag deeply, and let out two pensive puffs. 

“What’s the point? We’re all going to die anyway.” 

“The point is, you want me to run away with you. To ditch this life so I could live one by your side and if you’re just going to die on me, I hardly think that’s worth it.” I stubbed the cigarette out onto the full ashtray, a few stray butts falling squarely on the floor. I picked them up and cupped ash onto my palm.

“I’m not dying anytime soon,” he assured me, flexing his bony arms. He pushed down on his bicep where a tiny lump of muscle had seemingly formed. “This body’s strong. It’s got some fight left in it. I could till the fields for you. Just say the word and we’re gone.” 

“Where would we live? How will we eat? Do you even know where you want to go?” I asked these questions because someone had to. We can’t all live with our heads in the clouds. 

“That doesn’t matter.” 

“To you, maybe, but I live in the real world. And in this world, you need money to buy shit.” 

He sighs, signaling he’s gone back to earth. By the light of the moon, I could see his eyes bright and sparkly. His spine poked out from under his skin, almost like I could crush his bones if I held him too tight. 

“Can you tell me what this is really about? Why the sudden urge to start over?” 

“I don’t know. I just feel like my luck’s run out, you know what I mean?” I nod, more in empathy than agreement. “You’re the only good thing left in my life. Everything else has turned to shit. I just want to get out of here and start over. Maybe in some city where I’m not a piece of shit. I just… I fucking hate it here.” 

He shudders in the darkness, his long arms wrapping around his body for comfort. I consider this boy’s sullen eyes, his taut shoulders tired of carrying the weight of the world, his lonely heart beating for me, and want for nothing but to see him happy. 

Years later, I realize that that was love. 

In moments like this, you stop and consider the proposal, however absurd it may be. Maybe this is the closest thing I’ll ever have to getting married. Maybe the next city will be better. Maybe it’ll all turn to shit. I don’t know. All I know is the next five words would change my life forever. 

“So… when do we leave?”

♫: Snoh Aalegra | Fool For You (2017)
Photo: pexels