The Big Boom [re-writing]

10:52 am [updated]

Did it hurt, Sarah?

Was it painful when you came to that decision or more painful when you went through with it? I imagined you sitting before me, your eyes shining bright, the reddening rims of your long lashes looking prominent as you tried to smile at me. And I appreciated the sincerity in them. You would shake your head and tell me gently that, no, it did not hurt. It was when your life flashed before your eyes that it did.

It was a flare of bright white shining above a blanket of hues in every color. Prisms reflected back in every angle and caught in our hair, twisted around our arms, and finally sunk underneath our skin. When it rose to the surface, it grew into this repugnant brown you couldn't stand, and it may have taken me forever to see where you were coming from when you told me the uglies were growing in us, but I understood now.

Sarah, you didn't have to point it out to me.

I told Christopher I had to leave now, and he asked why, and I said it was because it was getting too much to stand around here still, with Jesus merely thirty yards away from me and a heathen who became his drink. So he questioned whether I had a ride or not, and I just retorted he was too inebriated to be much legal use on the road.

I knew my parents and sister left when everybody else did, since they didn't want to wait for me as I just stood there by Nanny McPhee, stuck in the year thousands of weeks ago. It was time I had to get a move-on, too.

Christopher stood from the bench, patting it and sarcastically thanking Jesus. When I answered him with a negative on whether I was doing something the next hour, he gestured for me to follow him.

At eleven a.m., we both stood at the entrance of an airport that united all the other incoming planes in the world.

I tugged at the long sleeves of my black dress, feeling hot from walking under the beating sun. "What are we doing here?" I asked, tired.

"Don't ask questions yet, okay?" His disparaging countenance was gone for the time being and he was walking upright again without difficulty by the time we made it inside and, for a reason that may have been influenced by alcohol, bought two arbitrary tickets to an arbitrary location in this world.

"Chris," I said, making him frown. "Don't tell me you're planning on flying out somewhere. Because even though you bought tickets without asking, I'm not flying with you."

He ushered me to one of the vender stores with many coolers lining against the walls. Pressing his face and hands to the cold glass, he scoured the endless items of frozen goods. He opened the door of one, a plume of icy air surrounding him momentarily, and pulled out a wildberry cheesecake. He turned to me. "What do you want, Candice?"

"I want to know why you dragged me a couple miles under the sun while still in my black funeral clothes to get yourself a goddamn slice of cheesecake and tickets to a place I'm not even going to."

He rolled his eyes and blindly tossed a twenty to the waiting cashier. "Because, I'm a sweet tooth and I was hoping you were one, too."

He ignored my second concern. I crossed my arms. "But the airport? You could've just went to the convenience store."

"You'll see."

"No," I said dismissively, throwing my hair into a ponytail. "I'm going back to my dorm. Sayonara."

As I turned my back to him, he grabbed my forearm with this look in his eyes. "If you were so determined to leave, you would've ditched me back there before we walked all the way here," He said.

"That's because I thought you were going to show me something important."

"Okay, you thought it was something worthwhile –good excuse. Then why exactly do I matter to you?"