The day is already turned to night, and the police never came. Perhaps it was because we never called them; upon finding the washed up body as we rowed by. Perhaps it was because we took the body.

Locked up in the trunk of your car, it remained hidden. The morning had been so dazzlingly bright and clear. The sun-drenched sand burned our feet as we ran across to the cement lot. We hid it there, and nobody saw. The ice-cream vendor rolled by, his trolley striped with red and white. He paused in front of us.

“Cone of pistachio for me, plain for him.”

I paid the man.

Upon letting a mouthful dissolve in my mouth, the nut remained. Rough, the skin came off and I rolled it in my mouth before biting it. The bits stuck in my throat. By and by we returned to the water.

You grabbed my hand and we were off. Running toward the water, we plunged in too hard. The rocks spiked my feet as we entered; I winced. Slipping on the underwater algae we slowed and waded to our waists. The beams beat down and my head grew hot. Though not hot in temperature.

Dunked under and the salt dried in my hair, tangled and blown in the wind. A cloud passed over the sun and I shivered. You weren’t smiling anymore and we went back to the car. Only to open the trunk and he was calling for us.

“Melting, I am melting fast.”

His toes had run together and looked like webbed feet; soon they were one. His knees and elbows became flat and complacent. His face wobbled for a moment before his ear slowly slid down his face, resting in his neck. Though his hands had merged into even planes, his fingernails remained. Gradually, they became detached from the puddle that was him.

We waited as a bit of his leg dripped out of the trunk, over the bumper, and fell to the pebbled ground. So, we scooped him into a glass jar. Placed in a cooler he was driven to your house. Summers past we had caught fireflies in that jar, as they danced and flitted on those balmy nights. Now one remained, dead on the bottom and mingled with his body.

Disembarking from the car, we paused before going to the back. After, we dragged the cooler to your basement and sat there, staring at the jar. Bluish in color he gleamed and swam in his space. No more were his features; his belly button had sunk to the base of the jar. When I called for your mother you silenced me, your hand over my mouth.

A deep breath later, I sighed.

“I’ll go.”

In the kitchen I opened a cabinet, but it was bare. From the dishwasher I returned to you, two glasses in hand. Unscrew the jar and you will pour him out.

We drank.

Bittersweet with less bitter than sweet we finished the infusion. You are in us now. Tiny veins stuck to the rims of our glasses; we set them down. In minutes, condensation slides down the sides and ends on the table. I picked up the glasses and they sucked slightly at the wood they had been resting on before releasing themselves to me.

Rinsed out, they are placed in the sink. There is no trace of him now. He is forever drank.

In the entryway of your house, you put your hand on my waist, and kiss me in a style most classic.

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