II

Spring

1

EDITOR BAE

Last Easter (2017)

BoltBused to NYC to link with editor bae.

Met her at school, when I went back to graduate.

After ‘dropping out.’

Then returning.

Then failing to fulfill graduation requirements.

Two years late.

Right after ex bae got pregnant.

After ex bae terminated the pregnancy.

Bc, regardless of how she felt (could I ever know?), how could she not have.

How much of a broke boi I’d been.

Shit, still was.

When I’d been feeling hella un-sexy.

Hella guilty.

Ex bae tired of my shit.

Of my ‘books.’

My ‘art.’

Lol art.

Editor bae was about it tho.

Outta nowhere.

Like Books? Fkn books?! You write books!

Get naked.

Of course, never told her about ex bae, then not yet ex.

Not even fully main, given we hadn’t yet cohabitated.

I mighta sorta told her.

Mumbled it, then petered out.

While she was tugging at my belt.

Then told myself I totally told her.

And ex bae.

Told myself I totally told her, too.

About editor bae.

But of course: only mumbled it.

When she wasn’t listening.

Ex bae was squarely ex now though.

Time to dive back in.

To ‘date.’

Pulling up to 11th Ave & W 34th Street still lit from last night.

Off the addies and last of the rocks V threw me.

That pure shit.

That I took alone.

Enough to be humming—to be immersed in the Lil Peep I’d been banging to all night, all ride—but not so much that I was grinding my teeth.

We met at an ice cream spot in Greenwich Village.

Hella date-y, this mish.

Only time I ever ate ice cream was alone, at night, after the 3 a.m. Fresh Grocer run.

And this wasn’t even ice cream.

This was mfkn gelato.

With flavors like cashew and salted caramel and honey basil.

Bro honey basil!

But editor bae.

Looking fly the minute I pulled up.

Partially erect within seconds of seeing her.

She looked different than I remembered.

But fly.

Indisputably fly.

Started rambling about myself off the rip.

Wilding.

Tryna impress her, and to a degree maybe succeeding somewhat.

But not listening.

Not really.

Not until she’d drop the bomb about what happened to her in college.

Only then would she, as a person, register.

As an evolving human beyond however she appeared to / affirmed me, in the moment.

And even that was difficult to fully register, with the last of the rocks I was dealing with.

That I railed, in the bathroom of the coffee shop we pit-stopped at pre-dinner.

For ‘staying awake’ purposes, I told myself.

But this much later.

First we had to eat our ice creams.

Our gelatos.

Popping day at Washington Square.

Sun blasting.

Everyone out, about, and lowkey naked.

All places to sit sat upon.

Not only the benches but the concrete railings.

The grassy patches.

Folks chatting.

Looking around watching people watch other people watching them.