small doses.

i don’t know why we brought the machete, really. i think a. just brought it to feel manly.  so far, we hadn’t used it once. maybe a. took it out of its sheath and whacked a few bushes with it, but that’s not really any use, it’s just what boys do. anyways, i was playing with it. taking it by the handle, i slid it under the coals, into the fire till it glowed.

to be honest, i forgot about it once i put it in there. i was intent on the conversation i was having with the boy sitting next to me. our shoulders were touching; my knees were up. i’d say the whole night was kind of navy, just something about the location and the isolation and the five of us, in total. so the others had gone in the tent for the night a few hours ago (we had no idea of the time and no signal on our cellphones) but we were still talking.

mostly, i didn’t look at his face. instead, i was focused on the delicate subtleties of the coals, watching their light wink and fade in time to the slowly-dying fire. we were on the side of a baby mountain, a hill really. it was the month before my favorite month. he was wearing a blue tee shirt; i was wearing jeans, the faded ones that are slightly too big.

he talked the most, a long, intricate conversation that doubled back on itself and forked off into new branches, at opportune moments. by opportune moments, i mean the questions i asked, because i remember being completely and entirely interested in the answers.  he told me a lot of stories. he explained acid bubbles to me. so surreal, the stars out there. you don’t get to see them like that, that free and rare, in many places.

i know, with certainty, that i listened harder then. i was wide-eyed and awake because i was happy.

(we went to bed hours later. just before, i pulled the machete out of the fire, glowing a fierce orange).