Cardinal Sins

Part 1 | South

South is the inner child. Spontaneous and confident.  The blackest wolf, the reddest coral, the fullest moon.

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I

I got us a firecracker.

A real, live, motherfucking firecracker. Not the ones you buy in stores that shoot up pinwheel sparks in cotton candy colors. No, I made us a hold your ears, watch the sky fry, firecracker.

I had it packed in a shoebox. Something that held an old, stale pair of boots. I could still smell it on them, almost.

But, inside was magic.

A cylinder wrapped in red velvet. Pillowed underneath were rounds of crumpled paper—like the shit stuffed in expensive christmas boxes.

I held it open for Phillipa. Her fingers vibrated over the rocket inside like it was a shark that would bite off her arm if one of her fingertips fell too close to its serrated teeth.

"What is it?"
"What do you think?" I snapped the lid closed again. "It's not a tampon."

Phillipa's eyes bounced bigger,
"Is this that scene from Pretty woman?"

We collected our laughs.

The entire lake and the darkness all fragmented in those shiny black crystals of hers. Her hair was the darkest brown and down and blowing all around her with icy bursts of winds. But, that was our own fault for coming out here on this dock—slick with yesterday's snow.

"What are we going to do with it?"
"I figured we'd take it out for chinese." I laughed and she followed my lead. Slowly unfolding her lips, she revealed the case of metal brackets enclosing all her tiny teeth.

She was nervous, I knew that. Nervous about being in trouble. Never afraid of the actual act of anything, only the after. In her head it is one wrong noise too loud, one spark too close to someone's lake house, and the police would cart her away just for existing.

Then how would she make it to Stanford in the fall?

Our legs swung over the end of the dock. A layer of frost soaked our pants and stung our skin. I bumped my arm into hers and we looked out on the midnight lake and laughed. We watched the people gather on the hill on the other side like it was a movie we were about to watch on IMAX.

We do this every year.

New Year's Eve is for culidisuck gatherings where everyone slides over the Phillipa's fathers' for an hour or two after the babes go to bed. They stuff themselves with cheese dip and ask themselves how it is that another miserable year has gone by and they feel like they haven't even blinked yet.

The first year we hid upstairs I taught her how to cheat at checkers. Next year came and Phillipa snuck us into the marina with her dad's key. Nervous as all hell then too. And this year, I had fireworks.

I pulled out a pair of flasks from my oversized pocket at the belly of my sweatshirt. It was originally gray and my mother's, but there was so much paint and clay it looked like I barfed-up tye-dye.

"Where did you even get this?" Phillipa drew the only strand of stubborn hair behind one ear. "I know Stav was making them at school, but— "
"That's where I got it." I said, toasting the flasks together before handing one to Phillipa.