An altered piece of memory.
I lay on my stomach imaging what my butt looks like. I can feel that my shorts are no longer covering me.
The room is dark, despite the fact that it is only five o'clock. The walls are painted red and posters, pictures and art cover them. A mesh of colourful scarves are draped over the open window. When the wind blows a flash of clear fresh light spreads over her left eye making the blue of her iris look translucent. It make her skin look the kind of pale I remember it being when she was younger. Her face covered with freckles and her eyes beautiful, but outlined with hastily drawn on eye liner.
Her knees are pulled up to her chest, her red toes tapping to the music coming from the neighbours barbecue party.
She has a shredded pile of pot on one side of the closed laptop and on the other her impatient fingers working hard on a joint. We've been in these positions for hours.
Every time she successfully rolls one, we smoke it. It it's a reward system I came up with.
She looks beautiful. Her short broad fingers rolling. It's funny to think of her now, after knowing her for so long. After everything we've been through.
She was the first person outside my family I ever told I loved. She was my everything while I was growing up. And now, while shes' trying not to grow up, I'm her everything.
I begin to kick my legs to ward of boredom and to remind her that I'm there. She looks up from her cannabis covered computer.
She doesn't smile. She just looks. She looks at me. At my bare arms that are outstretched in front of me. She watches my legs kick and the she scans down my body and surveys my face. She looks at my dark grey eyes, and my round pink cheeks. And my lips. She's always looking at my lips. When I lick them, when they're chapped, when I rub Vaseline on them to make them soft and shiny. Her lips are small. Thin, light pink. They would get lost in mine. My full plump lips.
But I think she would like to get lost. She extends her leg and runs her bare toes along my right side nearest her.
She hands me an orange lighter, I take it and our hands touch. Her eyes lock with mine. I can feel something expand in my chest and fall down into my stomach.
Best friends. Pure. We had sleepovers and told each other everything. We went to dances and crushed on guys together. She liked my boyfriend. She told me everything. Well, almost.
She lays beside me and I turn on my side to look at her. A piece of my hair falls into my eyes. She lightly lifts it out of the way and tucks it behind my ear. Her beautiful warm fingers lingering by my jaw. I keep my lips pursed and my eyes on hers. She licks her lips and then I notice I'm biting mine. She runs her thumb from my jaw across my slightly parted lips.
She takes a joint and puts it between my lips and we light each other up.
People who say smoking isn't sexy clearly have never seen Maggie do it. I'm not sure if It's her or if it's the fact that I'm on month three of a sexless long distance relationship, but I want her.
I run my foot down her leg and then drag it up her inner thigh.
I decide I must only be feeling a fraction of what she's feeling because her head tilts back and she blows smoke out at the ceiling. She takes one more hit and puts the butt in the ashtray by the window.
She grabs my face in her warm hands and pulls my face so close to hers that I can feel her radiating into my skin. She looks into my eyes as if to ask permission for whatever she's about to do. I don't want to give it to her, but I don't want her to stop so I close my eyes lightly and tilt my chin slightly.
She parts her lips over mine and breathes out, passing the smoke from her lungs to mine.
I breathe out and my hand finds her. Her neck. I've never touched a girl before, she's so soft. I spread my fingers over her skin. Suddenly I feel compelled to explore every part of her softness.