GOLDEN MOUTH

DREAMS

"'What happens to a dream deferred?'"

she reads, little brown hands trying to hold the poem steady, stage fright in her fingertips causing the paper to frenzy. the words dance.

it doesn't help that the spotlight is blinding, a fiery white that causes beads of sweat to bubble up on her forehead.

her voice is low, the microphone is even lower and she just needs her hands to be good.

stop, please.

roll over, please.

obey, please.

"'Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun...'" she looks up to find her  dad in the audience, reading along, like the shaky paper is in front of him. he gives a thumbs up for reassurance. he doesn't mind that she's not perfect.

the kids and the other parents and teachers at the talent show don't seem to mind either, they're proud of her anyway because she's a fourth grader reading Langston Hughes.

"'Or fester like a sore and then run...'"

run. tawny wishes she could run now, but the tape on the stage that is perfectly centered tells her to stay, to finish what she's started, if only her hands would listen like the rest of her body seems to.

"'Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over, like a syrupy sweet?'"

her dad, reading the lines with her as if they're the only ones there. he looks like the poem, the black pen marks on the very white page, her black self on a very white stage. will they clap when she's done? or continue to stare?

will they love her more or less?

"'Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.'"

there's Jacob, with her best friend Elizabeth. they look nothing alike. maybe that's why he likes her. blonde hair and the bluest eyes. pale skin and the widest smile, he passes her a note that makes her blush and play with her hair and she can't help but think that it was supposed to be her instead.

"'Or does it explode?'"

she can make out her father's hands clapping the loudest in the crowd. she sees that he's proud.

Neither Jacob nor Elizabeth clap at all.

but the rest of the applause is too loud for her to care.

.

"there's no way you're driving."

he's attempting to fit what she's pretty sure is a mailbox key into the ignition of his very nice jeep.

"i have a boat license, it's fine."

"you're coming with me."

when she buckles Jagger into her passenger seat of her sedan, the click of the latch is certain and solid: there's no turning back now. it really starts to register that she's not in one of her daydreams.

her hands start to dance.

this is really him, made of matter and lean muscles, lots of tattoos, that gorgeous face of his looking up at her like she'll rescue him. her heart pounds with each splotch of freckle randomly dotted on his torso. he's so perfect.

she gets a whiff of his cologne from his neck when she leans in to adjust his seatbelt. god, how often had she imagined his scent? beach coconut, rum, tobacco-vanilla goodness... she was all wrong.

he is fresh mint leaves, cedar wood, and something jarring but intoxicating. something she can't quite place until she moves a tad bit closer: bitter lemons.

it's amazing and almost involuntary how the scent just makes her mouth water, perfect for his body chemistry and perfect for these hot days and warm nights. she notices he's still quietly observing her so she backs away to admire the depth in his eyes.

tawny is swimming in the deep end.

she's thankful that he's high enough to not notice the excited tremor of her hands. her nerves are all over the place.

"what- you don't fly?" he asks, his tone almost disappointed. the look on her face makes him clarify, "your wings..?" he gestures behind him as if the seat can help him explain better.

she'll entertain him tonight for the sake of both of their sanity. "i'm giving my wings a break."

he seems satisfied with that answer.

.

"first you hit me, and now you're kidnapping me. i thought angels were supposed to be nice."

"you think i'm an angel?"

"fuck, am i dead?"

"no, you're not dead. because i almost hit you, remember?"

"oh, right."

"yeah."

"where are we going?"

she thinks it through because she has no clue what she should do.

his mind is in candy land so he's not in any manner reliable or even capable to direct her to his place. tawny thinks about taking him back home with her but she doesn't have the nerves for it; plus she'd rather not risk breaking any of her precious flower vases. the last thought she has is to call nav and it seems perfect, like absolutely perfect only his phone goes straight to voicemail three times.

I'm sorry, the number you have tried to reach is-

"Ughhh..." tawny places her palm flat on her forehead in agitation.

it's midnight, is it possible that he's a light sleeper?

there's other things that nav can be doing now in the dead of night but she pushes the thought down so it's only a spark of jealousy that makes her eyes narrow ever so slightly.

jagger's breath deepens beside her, she chances a glance at him and he's fast asleep. long dark lashes in disarray, random strips of hair now golden from the sun.

this is better than watching him engage with his best friends, better than just wondering how deep his voice is, so much better than keeping track of the next, soon-to-be-turned-ex girl, from the sidelines.

she's close enough to touch that neck tattoo that she was admiring from across the cafeteria not too long ago.

a giddiness rises in her throat and comes out as a little giggle.

or does it explode?

well, she wouldn't know.

she looks back at him, truly and deeply, since now it's okay for her to stare.

tawny is thinking to herself in a repeated loop that dreams do, they really really do come true.

.