ring pops and cigs

20

kaleb remembers. too much. not enough. he remembers the more simple times, when words weren't swords and all a tongue was good for was to sneak a swipe of marie's butterscotch ice cream.

he remembers the ruffles to his hair when he was six—how his mother would respond to his inquiring glances to her gulps of vodka, to her flirting glances with the men across her.

he remembers how relatives would usually keep his distance, unless it were for the sneaking comments of, "he looks just like his father."

he doesn't really remember much of him.

he remembers how he would sneak out to play with marie—buck toothed grins and all, her choice of baggy shirts and shorts remaining constant even in her childhood. he remembers the walkie talkie screeches, the way the chalk dried up across their faces, how they'd scrape their palms and knees and elbows but never bothered to care because they were too busy trying to kickflip their way downtown to grab some ice cream.

he doesn't, however, remember when he started feeling like this.

maybe it was always there. lurking, pushing, pulling at him.

can't tell if this emptiness that resounds deep in his soul is becoming him or eating away at him. both doesn't seem unlikely.

he took a shower in the dark the night marie came over.

marie.

his heart pounded deep in his gut at the reminder of the girl. a slow tug as his heart dropped, like it was skydiving off a cliff and he found his fingertips trembling and he could feel his heart trying to eat him whole because
to listen and be seen was never something he was good at and panic clogs his ears like he was the one cross legged at the bottom of the pool instead of her because he can still remember the way her eyes held a crescent of a moon and the way her breath was exhaled so freely, while his breath stayed bottled and bundled that night.

that night.

when the cicadas hummed, and cities had fallen. surely they had fallen in the time it took for them to breathe.

in the darkness as water pounded onto his back, he couldn't tell if his eyes were opened or closed. where his hands were, where he ended or began. but it didn't feel odd, to not know anything of himself. to forget how to breathe. it was only normal.