uncommoncold

LOVE, LICORICE, AND HYDROGEN PEROXIDE

Last week, I slept close enough to someone with recently dyed hair to have its scent drift itself into my dreams. That comic book colour- blue-black, the colour of villains and heroes alike. My dreams were clear, but of the past. High school. I woke up thinking about the time I dyed your hair in your father's Courtenay bathroom- blue-black, the colour of villains and heroes alike. We were laughing, seventeen and in love, and you smudged dye on my cheeks while I worked it into your shaggy hipster hair.

You weren't wearing your glasses, so you couldn't see exactly where you were aiming with your darkened fingers. Eventually we were kissing up against the door, and then you had your hands on my hips and I pressed my dyed hands up against your back. We were giggling and fucking on the counter, that blue-black hydrogen peroxide scent scorching the air and our skin. The door was locked and I don't even remember if anyone else was home.

And that's where hair dye and dreams brought me. When did I lose that energy? That "I-don't-care-that-you're-ruining-my-clothes, just-fuck-me-now" type of passion?

That comic book colour- blue-black, the colour of villains and heroes alike.

I realized that I like black licorice again! Fancy that.

One of my regular customers came in to my work tonight. She's adorable. I'm terrible at guessing ages, but she's old enough to have a stooped-over stance and seems to grow shorter every day, as though she is already heading back to her final destination of dirt. She often asks questions and then forgets that she has just asked them. Tonight, she was wondering where I'm from, and whereabouts in Victoria I'm living now. She was worried that it was always dark out when I walk home after work, but I assured her that I could kill anyone who crossed my path.

I wonder if she bought it.

that night you leaned over and threw up into your hair
and i held you there thinking i would offer you my pulse
if i thought it would be useful