Lakeboys

1.

I tell him he’s too good to hold down; he spreads so much, extends himself too far for the taking. The boy sighs and lays his head on my lap, black tresses forming pools across my thighs. It’s the last day of the last break we’ll ever get before graduation, before life as we know it will evaporate into so many applications and deadlines—but for now the afternoons are hot and sweet, and the grass smells of sweat before it rains, and all the land is held in suspension between our skins. My gaze resting on his forehead, forever.

2.

Difficult to keep things still in this moving country—he's changed his number twice, his address three times—but I find him in the woods, spread between the leaves, threading the morning light in between his teeth. He’s right to keep his distance, but we’re far enough from town for it to not matter. When the wind rises it’ll take us and half the damn forest with it anyway. When I step into the clearing he leaps and lets me catch him on my tongue. Given the distance it’s a wonder he lets me at all.

3.

He’s big enough to fill a city—doesn’t give a name, but I well believe he could. Off the coast we pick pretty rocks out of flotsam and match them with each other. The storm’s a few days out but I’m betting we’ll survive. We link arms on the jetty, dancing over each other’s shadows, and when I stumble over the planks he laughs. He offers me a stick in apology. I think of how easily he could crush me. When I press my head to his chest I hear a subterranean roar.

4.

Days spent pounding nails to windowsills. Nights spent huddling in the basement. It’s only his father’s wrath, what are you gonna do about it, I joke, and we just need to tide ourselves through this one terrifying week. This boy’s all wind and hot air, doesn’t have much of a frame to him, he’s calm on the surface but I can hear his breathing through his neck. We hold each other tightly when the wind shrieks his name. When it passes, we emerge from the hatch and his clouds light up seven colours all the way from here to the corner store.

5.

I’ll only know this when I’m older—the water has always been here and it will always find a place to settle down. Different shapes and colours and depths but the going stays the same. Tonight I dissolve into another pair of open arms.

© 2022 Sean Chua

About the Author

Sean Chua is controlled by a swarm of tiny amoebas which have taken residence in his brain. He cannot write for very long because the amoebas are very small. His interests are urban affects, strange bodies, and tap water. He tweets as @anafabulic.