Combustion

red giant: four

I was not anticipating you when you hurriedly rung the doorbell in the evening before Aaron would be coming back in town. The sun was just beginning to set, and the air was starting to cool. The sky was a rosy orange behind you. It was blue on the horizons, and I couldn't help but remember that painting you had made several months ago.

You were breathing heavily, which I assumed was because of a breakneck ride over to my house.

"Sorry," you shook your head. Your voice sounded different. I wondered if it was because it was night or if it was because I did not consider you a girl who apologized. Either way, your voice seemed thicker than it usually did, like there was something lurking beneath the surface. "Had to get away."

"Check this out," you said, handing a bottle of bubbles to me. There was another bottle in your other hand which you kept for yourself. You took off the cap and blew a stream of bubbles in my face. I moved out of the way only to pop a couple with one of my fingers.

My parents were having a walk around the neighborhood, and I had chosen not to join them in the outdoors. But with you here, it became a completely different story.

I stepped outside. My feet were bare, like they usually were in the summertime. My fingers sloshed sloppily in the soapy mixture before I returned the bubble blowing favor. They popped against your cheeks.

We stood on the sidewalk for a little bit, just blowing bubbles in silence. It was weird for it to be quiet when you were involved. I could tell you were thinking about something, but I didn't want to ask. To me, the silence was comfortable. The bubbles danced in the darkening night. Still, the fading rays of sunlight managed to catch their shimmery sheen. The world distorted through the bubbles.

Your lips puckered as you blew another stream of bubbles. You watched as they floated skywards. It was dark enough that your eyes were hooded. A breeze tickled the ends of your hair. You sighed. "It's nice out."

My attention at this point, was solely on you, and I struggled to tear my gaze to my surroundings. You were watching the day become night. I was watching you relax. I sensed that it was the calm before the storm.

You stuck the bubble wand back into the solution, and immediately pulled it back out, ignoring the dribbling of excess liquid on the pavement as you unleashed more bubbles to the air. You smiled as the wind blew them away. You blew more in quick succession before putting the bottle on the ground.

The street was now significantly more bubble-filled, and you chased after your recent productions, arms windmilling. Some of them popped because of your flailing limbs, but the others lingered out of reach.

You walked back over to me. "Okay. We're going to make as many bubbles as we possibly can in a very short amount of time. Then, we're going to charge at them like crazy and pop as many as we can. Bonus points for style."

I nodded, even though I wasn't exactly sure how we were possibly going to keep score in this endeavor. I didn't have time to ask. The next thing I knew, my fingers were growing ever stickier, and the soapy liquid was dripping down my wrists.

Then the atmosphere was lit with translucent spheres. The dying light glittered off of their surfaces. We charged, just as you had instructed. We twirled and karate chopped. We attempted to kick the slow rising bubbles with our feet. We swatted and poked. And all was well until I decided to go at one with my teeth. You know, for the style points.

You, unfortunately, noticed me at all the wrong times. You stopped your reign of terror on the bubbles and laughed at me instead. "Did you just try to eat a bubble?"

"No." I lied.

"I'm pretty sure you did," you insisted.

"Trick of the light?" I tried.