I was doing my little stand up shtick, the one I did for pretty girls, so they’d like me quickly and wouldn’t try too hard to actually get to know me beyond my role as wisecracking Cameron, the orphan. Maybe it was a little like flirting, but also a kind of protection: Don’t get too close; I’m just jokes with substance.

You don’t know anything about God. You don’t even know anything about the movies.

Maybe while you were alive I hadn’t even become me yet. Maybe I still haven’t become me. I don’t know how you tell for sure when you finally have.

As we walked, Jane whistled songs I didn’t recognize. She was a good whistler and a fast walker, the squeak of her leg comforting, like the chug of a train or the whir of a fan, a piece of machinery doing its job. I liked following just behind her; she had such purpose to all of her moves.

What was left of my high was mostly worn off, but there was enough there for me to appreciate being outdoors in spring in a way that I wouldn’t have otherwise.

That’s because we have it so good”, I told her, trying on his deep voice. We impersonated him all the way home, laughing and blowing bubbles, both of us knowing that he was right. We did have it so good.

A relationship with a higher power is often best practiced alone.

Longing is sort of a gross word. So is ache. Or yearn. They’re all kind of gross. But that’s how I had felt about touching, kissing, Coley.

In the embrace’s release I caught the scent again. Unmistakable. Marijuana. These homos were high as kites.

I also waited to feel like myself, as if it would land on me all at once, this feeling like I was me again because I was home. And it didn’t come.