Combustion

red giant: two

You showed up at my doorstep just after 8:30 a week after school let out. You were lucky that I was in a rousable state, because I had intended to use that morning (and the many mornings after) entirely for sleep. But, Aaron was right: it would be a wild ride, just because you were the driver.

The doorbell rang, and ordinarily I would have simply rolled over and ignored it. But you were persistent, and you pressed the doorbell again even before the sound had a chance to die out. Eventually, the annoyance of the bell was greater than the annoyance of getting out of bed.

I moved lazily from my position, and I'm sure my snail crawl pace would have pissed you off. Slow wasn't in your vocabulary. I deemed my pajamas as appropriate enough to answer the door.

That was a bad decision, because while I considered us good enough friends that you seeing me pajama clad shouldn't have been a big deal, it still was. Everything seemed more important when it came to you.

I opened the door, and there you were- legs long in your shorts. The sun was behind you, and the light clung to your silhouette. Your bike was fallen on the pavement, and I got the impression that you had jumped off it while it was still moving. You had sunglasses on, and I wished I could see your eyes. I am sure they looked magnificent at the moment.

You were radiating with sunlight, and madness glinted off your shades. You looked ready for anything. Your feet were itching with electricity, and your hair was wild under your helmet. I wasn't sure if I felt hot because of the rising summer heat outside or if it was solely due to you.

I felt very subconscious. I was wearing a highlighter yellow shirt with a big ass whale on it. I wanted to slam the door in your face and change into something more worthy of your presence, but I figured you wouldn't have appreciated the gesture as much as you should have. Instead, I just hoped you wouldn't notice my insanely fluorescent tee.

"Nice shirt." Of course. "Anyways, today is going to be a great day."

"And what are we doing today?" I wondered if you had an answer or if you were hoping something would suddenly come to you.

"Well, it's really hot out, I just biked a couple of miles, and nothing says summer like water balloons." I can picture you being so excited by this simple idea that you raced over without a second thought. I wondered how long you had been up, tormenting over this idea, or if you had just jolted from sleep and jumped into action.

You grabbed a hold of my wrist and pulled me outside. One of my neighbors was mowing the lawn across the street. I prayed he wouldn't notice my t-shirt.

He waved at me. I waved back, internally grimacing.

You popped off your helmet, and your hair flowed outwards. The sunlight danced with it. You produced an unopened packet of water balloons from your pocket. You ripped the plastic open and made your way to the hose, some of the balloons spilled out in a rainbow trial behind you.

"Hold on," I said, stopping you from going any further into that animated realm you always had a foot in.

You turned around. I could tell you were agitated by my interrupting the preparation for World War Water Balloon. It was a terrible thing for you to contain your excitement.

"Let me change out of my pajamas."

"Those are your pajamas?" you asked, and I began to seriously question my fashion taste since you thought I would dare to wear this atrocity in public.

I blinked. "There's a giant whale on my shirt." Because yes, this explained that that was a pajama shirt.

You sighed. "All right, but hurry. I don't want to be bored by the time you come out." This made me nervous, because I don't think you had any control over whether you were impassioned or not. You were something that reins could not hold. Your spirit was so reckless that I feared your excitement could fizzle out before I made it back through the doorway.