Him

    He got me mittens for Christmas. They were good mittens, y'know, soft and fuzzy warm with green stripes. They made it harder to feel, but holding his hands were better that way, because otherwise I'd be wincing and spoiling the moment every time he pressed against my scars. But then, he'd probably just kiss them better, so it wasn't like I minded him before the mittens. This way was just easier. I guess it was funny how he always knew the perfect thing to get me, but I didn't think about it much. I just figured, he's Mike, he can do anything. It's weird, how easy it is to trust someone you love. Because I do. I trust him more than I trust myself. If he wanted to blindfold me and throw me out of a plane, I wouldn't struggle at all. I'd know that he was gonna catch me when I hit the ground.

    I wonder sometimes whether he's wearing the other half of the friendship necklace I made. Well, I didn't really make it, I kind of just stole the pendants from some old stuff of my aunt's, braided some hay for the chains, and scratched the words "best frends" on with my lucky rock, but I worked pretty hard so I guess I can say I made it. Sort of. Anyway, I made the necklaces, and that was my present to him. I made him take the one that said "best" because it was spelled right and I thought he was the best guy in the world. It made sense. He laughed at me and messed up my hair, and told me I was a good kid. Then he put his necklace on. That was the best day of my entire life. Except for maybe the day he took me to buy pizza and ice cream and the day he took me to the ocean. Those were good too.

    It makes me mad, when I see him with other people. I don't want him to forget about me, or fall in love with someone who isn't good enough for him. He needs someone nice and smart and fashionable, and they can't be fat or sing annoying girly songs, and they can't have a chihuahua because those things are vicious. I try really hard not to be jealous, if I see him with anyone else. Because it's okay if he wants to have other friends, I think, so long as he remembers I like him the best. I've known him longer than some of those jerks who try and steal him, four whole years. That's a really long time compared to these other guys. Besides, I can cook pie. So he knows that I'm his best friend. Secretly, I'm pretty scared that someday he's gonna visit me and tell me I'm not his friend anymore, and then drive off forever. I know it's dumb, but he doesn't visit that much, and every time he leaves, I'm scared that it's the last time I'm ever gonna see him.

    We are friends, I think. I'm not really sure how to be friends with anyone, but he's the closest I've ever been. Him, mittens, necklaces, and sleep. Because when he did visit, he let me sleep on him in my loft. It was nice, because he's really warm and doesn't snore too loud. Except sometimes. But usually not, and like I said, he's warm. Usually he'll bring delicious pizza too, and we'll stay up really late eating it and looking at the magazines he brings. They're kinda dirty. I mean, they've got ladies with their boobs showing. But usually they aren't too bad, or have those black lines in the way, so it's okay.

    When we're done with the magazines, he'll sometimes draw with me, if he isn't too tired. I like drawing. He says I'm pretty good at it. I like his drawings too, even though they're kinda bad. I'd never tell him that, though. Even if his girls have boobs the size of watermelons and his guys are all too buff. They're always smiling, the people he draws. When I asked him why, he said he doesn't like drawing sad people because their faces will be stuck like that forever and nobody should be that lonely. I don't really understand what he meant. It's just a drawing, and paper don't have feelings. I never drew any more sad people after that, though. Just in case he was right.

    He thinks I'm a virgin. Not that he says that kind of stuff out loud. I can tell from the way he gets all surprised whenever I talk about sex, or act like anything other than a five year old baby. I guess I still seem pretty young to him. It makes sense that he'd assume I was some innocent kid. That's not true, though. I've done It twice already. It was okay, I guess, and the girls I was with were sort of pretty, but it wasn't as great as everyone says it is. Besides, kissing Mike is better than kissing girls.

    Wait, no, it's not like he's gonna, y'know, do that with me. I just meant-- alright, he lets me kiss him sometimes if I'm worried or sad about something. He tastes good, unless he's been smoking, then he just tastes bad. He let me try his cigarettes once. I coughed a lot. He probably thought that was the first time I'd done that. I've smoked before that, and had those pots things before too. Mostly it just made me very dizzy and I woke up on the floor with my cousin's socks on my face. But that's a different story, and besides, I got in a ton of trouble for that anyway. So I hardly ever have drugs, much, except on special occasions and maybe weekends if I'm lonely.

    So, those mittens. I wore them every single day, even in the summer. I took them off to wash them, though, or if I was drawing, 'cuz it's really hard to paint good if you have mittens on. They didn't match too nice with any of my clothes, or with my necklace, and I got picked on a couple of times. I think it was worth it, though. People noticed me better when I had them on, even if they were just noticing to make fun of me. I liked when they noticed me. It made me feel happy. I decided last night that I wanna be buriexd in them when I die, because the ground gets really cold in the winter, and it looks sort of uncomfortable just to have funeral clothes on. Also, up in heaven, they've got all those fancy angels, right? I'd feel a lot better about having a halo growing out of my head if I had Mike's mittens on. Besides, that way I can remember him even if I get really old in eternity and stuff. It's really hard to forget green mittens.

    And this way, he can hold my hands as much as he wants, and they won't hurt one bit.

]]END.