infinitelyinfinite3

It's summertime in Montana, and because we ranch, because animals and plants and the weather are on their own time, I sit around and wait a lot.

I drink soda probably way too much. It's sitting here beside me in the car, full to the top of the Pepsi symbol, and the condensation is making the cup-holder damp. DN24, the light post says in front of the car. R6.

There's a point you can't look for that means you wait; homework tucked away, lips chapped yet somehow unbleeding, socks on in bed the way you never have before.

Today the skin of my knuckles split. Blood made a little stain on the back of my hand, and it stung. I saw the splotch, at first, earlier in the day, anyway, and it wasn't too bad, just a little red circle.

My body has an obvious, outward reaction to changes in temperature and lighting. Even when there is snow on the ground, as there is now, in February, I can smell the springtime hidden underneath it.

We made a bet when we were sixteen.

Actually, you were fifteen.

I knew I’d lose. I did it so you would continue to speak to me. I liked seeing you care about something healthy.

Is that okay to say?