funferals

April brought showers, but to Alex it brought pot.

He skipped Chemistry with John. About to sneak out of the school when they heard Mrs. Moyes, the History teacher, humming, approaching their current location.

With military precision, Alex hand-signalled to his friend that they split – s l o w l y. John, misinterpreting, danced down the hall with flailing arms, jazz fingers and silent snickers before receding from his view behind a row of forest green lockers. Crouching towards the closest escape, Alex checked both ways then snuck in with trepidation inside the—

“Girls’ bathroom.”

Alex cursed, ducked inside the nearest empty stall except it wasn’t empty at all and he just about caught the edge of death stumbled backwards catching his breath towards the floor when he saw her standing there behind the door, intruding into his personal space and the teacher’s footsteps drew near—clack, clack—no time to think nor blink and she protested but and then he caught her, or rather, she caught him—

“Shhh.” He covered her mouth with his hand, locked the door behind him.

Bodies flushed together, one arm snaked around her waist to save her from descending into the rank abyss, their eyes met and she wanted him mangled.

The teacher came in, humming still, washing her hands—a real snafu. She was a fan of Rent, so they were treated to what felt like five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes of her karaoke voice.

Neither breathed, his addled brain in a funky haze as he swore he could hear the pounding of her heart, or was it his, or did it matter?

Mrs. Moyes exited, the song’s outro on her trail and Alex breathed out a deep sigh of relief right into the girl’s face.

“Are you serious?”

She shoved him out, tiny accusing fingers on his chest.

He held up his hands in surrender, white flag waving, caught red-handed in womanland.

They stared at each other for a long time.

“Hell,” he breathed, “you’re pretty.”

She glowered. “Are you high?”

Alex giggled, clamped a hand over his mouth, then nodded with a grin.

“Have to go,” then pointed at the door, “Can you check the halls for me?”

“Just decided to skip class today?” she snapped.

“I will never use Chemistry in my entire life.”

“That’s a sweeping statement if I ever heard one.”

“The hall, please? I’ll owe you one.”

“You already do,” Alex heard her mumble but he ignored it.

“You look familiar.” His eyes followed her movements.

“I’m your conscience.” She opened the door for him.

“My conscience looks like a blue-haired punk-rock-but-obviously-more-attractive version of Rory Gilmore?”

She glared. “Hall’s clear.”

“You should wear less eye make-up. It’s a lie, you know? That guys like make-up on girls?”

“You wouldn’t know what make-up is if it came up to your face and cut off your gonads.”

He stared. Then he let out a booming laugh, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls, and he covered his mouth quickly and she longed to murder him in cold blood, to relish in his sweet sweet death and abandon his body inside his friend’s car then drive the car to Canada or maybe off a mountain and then so he tiptoed towards her, poked his head out, shoulders brushing momentarily, fingers grazing her arm to steady himself, and glanced both ways to find peace and quiet inviting him with open arms, no enemy sighted in Niemandsland and he drew back, turned to her, measuring life in kindness, compassion and coffee spoons. And he smiled at her, a genuine smile of a soul who knew another soul who believed in that latter soul’s writing and the former soul would gladly trade the world to have the souls of his parents back but also would rather lose his soul to gain the whole world rather than remember that reality offered nothing but empty remembrance and she was kind and he gave regards to her soul and romance and she cried for him to remember but the former soul was a shell of a former self or maybe the other way around and she was mute and she waved goodbye and he wished her well.

“I will remember your kindness, dear Stranger,” he whispered with glee, “and should I be compelled to return it in an opportune time, should fate allow us to meet again, I shall do so with an open heart.”

Then he bowed and fluttered out like a butterfly.