They necked in the backseat on the way to Perkins and Pete Carter turned on Tom Petty and turned it up, the silos and freight cars banged beneath a failing gut shot moon. She whispered “hi” in his ear. And right then he would have fallen to pieces if he knew ‘what was what’ and how it’d be. Them’s the breaks.
And they held hands under the table and he didnt feel like an idiot at all. He was on his game that night, a little drunker than everyone else. He ate a cobb salad in a bread bowl and it was dope. He made a few good jokes and they necked on the way back. She whispered in his ear “Hi”.
Then his mom made him breakfast and he drank a Mountain Dew driving to school. It wasn't a worry back then. It wasn't dramatically different either and though he didn't say anything about it, there was always a change in mood.
Like the moment had passed repeatedly, catching waves, tumbling out, losing momentum carefully. Measuring the awful handouts of encouragement and affection, adding something to something and something again. Where only pasts are precious and the present takes a nasty hit.
Be mindful of the pity party, he says now, show mercy to others and to yourself.
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