PARKER ZANE ALLEN

Tacos

When Maggie lights a cigarette it always seems like shes mad at something. Its the haughty puff, the narrowed eyes, the disdainful shake of the match, like shes got something on her hand that she doesnt want to stay there long. Does it several times, cracking a tendril of smoke like a whip til the ember tip on the paper match shuts its eye.

When she does this as you walk up you are sure that she is mad at you and your shoes feel heavy for a moment, when, surprise, her cigarette gets lodged in her grin and her hands are all over your cheeks, and the matchbook is stuck between her fingers like a magicians card and the corner gets you right over where your molars are. And youre smiling too.

She calls you babe and its not embarrassing to either of you that she does.

Shes still got her cigarette in her mouth so you kiss her neck instead and under you lips you feel her throat move when she sighs. She says she missed you and she smells like vanilla and wool.

You still have the book that she wrote her number on and there were matches left in it. It has a bear on the cover and in gold lettering it says The Blind Bear. The rest of the book is kind of maroon. You cannot see how the bear is blind, aside from it looking angry. A few days ago you lit a cigarette with one and it felt a little weird, but you did it on purpose because you wanted to be thinking about her.

Its been like a week. Yeah a week. Has it been that long? It feels like Longer? Yeah I know. Are you? Yeah, Im cool, I just needed You give up on shaving, now?

Its just something that youre trying, you say and she tells you that she likes it. She says lets go home for a bit.

This is the fifth time in as many months, but you cant tell her about it. You shouldnt. So on the walk you talk about something else and after a few blocks your hands begin to sweat on each other, but keep on holding on.