Oak '06: Interplanetary

The rain is harder outside. I can hear the hiss and splatter of against the roof and windows, the whoosh in the gutters. It sounds cold. But Buck is warm, and so am I. I listen to the patter and the gurgle of the drains with a smile on my face.

Buck is snoring softly, wet breath against my neck. I can’t sleep. I’m too wound up. I’m blasted out of orbit and free-floating in space, gawking at the enormous glowing surface of the world above me, right there, so close I can almost touch, basking in the weightless warmth.

We didn’t mean to end up here. This is a bit of a departure from anything that could be considered normal, even for us. Buck’s definition of normal and mine have never crossed paths in any dictionary, but even this is at least fifteen degrees off-center.

I plan to lie here for quite some time, though, and soak this up. He’s dead to the world on my shoulder, my arm slowly fading, fingers tingling goodbye, and it’s good. It’s alright. I don’t have it in my heart to disturb him, not after he’s earned his snuffling snores and the little twitching of his mouth when he falls asleep. I must have seen that a thousand times before, but not up close, not this close, not with lips slick swollen and a moustache gone awry.

He’s really heavy. Tall and rangy and thin doesn’t mean light-weight.

I should know that already, but I don’t think I’ve ever really appreciated it until we toppled into bed.

That was a crazy move I didn’t see coming. Not until it was the only thing that seemed right. Not until it was the only next, logical step either of us could take. From the couch to the floor, to the hall, to the bedroom, and I was pulling all the way.

I never really ever pictured this. This us, here, in bed, stuck together from the waist down, totally lousy with bliss. I feel half an idiot for not seeing this coming and half a fool not getting here sooner. I guess those are the same things.

No, not really. I can look back now, from this enlightened position, and think about all the time we missed, but nothing could have warned me, really. Prepared me for what this is and means and changes. Except us. Except everything.

We won’t change any; just how we view the world. I’m high on it right now, where everything is rosy and lovely and nothing could go wrong. But I know better. I’ll freak out given the time, and Buck will let me go too far a couple too many times because that’s us, that’s our history, and he’ll be right in the end.

He’ll be right but never call me on it. He’ll just be there, unchanging and stupid and reckless and larger than life while everything else spins around us as it always has. Only slightly askew now.

It’s a better view, like this, from here, way up in the stratosphere. The rain laughing at the shuttered world below, tossing stars upon my pane.

I think I’ll stay here a while, purely ballistic, drifting on the solar flare of warmth from this bed. It’s impossible to think about heavier things when I’m feeling this weightless. Sleep and tomorrow will come soon enough.