Artgirl

to fall (again): 17// smoke in the air

With a sigh, I came to the realization that a fall similar to the one I just experienced would've broken someone's bone, but everything felt fine. I was completely, totally, utterly fine. Had I gotten broken on the inside? Or was I already broken? I was so used to being broken that this fall left me intact.

"I'm an unbroken egg," I heard myself say. The bartender looked at me and agreed, offering to give me a glass of water. I answered: "I'll have a Cosmo," because my heart felt overly sweet and I needed a drink that matched it.

"You alright?" The Derek appeared out of the crowd again. He had kind eyes, ones that made me feel warm. "That was a nasty fall."

"I'm fine, Lucas. Johnny? No—Derek! Derek. That's a nice name. What was I saying?"

"My name," he replied, a laugh in his voice. His lips also seemed kind. Pink and kind. If my theme for the night was to have a sweet tooth, I'd probably kiss him. But then again—he didn't have Forrest's lips. They were warm and reminded me of the moment when the sun and the moon met to exchange shifts.

"Derek," I sipped on my drink. "Oh! Yes, right. I'm fine. You know why?"

"Why?"

Long slurp of Cosmo, long sigh of content. "Because I'm an egg. Except I didn't break on the outside, I think I broke on the inside. But that's fine." Pause. "Oh my God, Derek."

This man, obviously very amused by me, or enchanted, I wasn't too sure, wasn't drinking anymore. He was just eating almonds and pretzels. That was probably the greatest idea to have, since I was way past sobriety. And I needed some kind of sanity. "What?"

"I want scrambled eggs. With cheese. Like the very unhealthy kind of eggs. With cheese that makes me breakout the next morning, but it would be so worth it. Oh! I want scrambled mac & cheese eggs. Do you know how to make those?" I asked the bartender, who chuckled and said that the closest thing to an egg in this club was sitting in front of him, to which I responded with a blank stare. "O-kay, but if I bring you a bag of mac & cheese and you mix it with an egg mix thing, wouldn't that be what I want?"

No answer.

I nudged Derek, "am I an egg?"

"A very pretty one, yes."

"Oh. Okay, good," he thought I was crazy, that was sure. I then tried to make up for my awkwardness and compliment him. "You're a pretty egg too. Like, really pretty."

"As much as I'd love to stay up talking to you about food, I'm gonna go."

Humming the current song playing, I nodded. "Goodbye, Derek. Nice meeting you, dark, mysterious satin pillow."

If he reacted in any way to my nickname for him, I didn't catch it at all. Soon, the bartender didn't have anything to do other than clean glasses. The music died down, but my excitement hadn't. I begged him to put on another song, but he refused, telling me to sit tight. For some reason, he also didn't want to give me another drink. Instead, he told me that I'd be going home soon.

"But Bart, I don't want this night to end," a hysterical laugh, "get it! Bart-end! You're a bartender. Oh come on, that was funny."

He rolled his eyes and gave someone behind me a slight nod. "Take care, ma'am."

"Ma'am? I told you to call me Zowillow. Zowillow. Ha, Bart—I have a cartoon name," the void that his absence left was a shock to me. "Bart! Come back, please."

"Zowillow, I think you should go home," a shadow crept over my shoulder and the smile that was on my face was immediate. I recognized him by his voice, I'd heard him making fun of me enough times to know him.