Keep Art Alive :: Art by Dan Dos Santos
“If you like me,
if you love me,
would you get down on your knees and scrub me?
I’m real grubby,
from just being around.”
Adam had spent two weeks determining what he would wear, selecting then discarding pieces from the local charity shop and the “only there for the season” costume mart. He had wondered over and over what “she” would come as, if “she” would be with a cluster of friends, as usual, or if “she” would arrive, hand-in-hand, with a half of one of those couple get-ups. Adam wondered if he would finally have the nerve to say something to her, something that did not sound like a contrived pick-up line, or worse, something that would even hint at the fact that he had been watching her for the better part of two years. When he said it out loud it sounded creepy, as if he were some kind of stalker, lurking in the shadows for two damn years. It wasn’t like that, Adam tried to reason with himself, it was just “she” was so beautiful, and there were always so many people around her, and he was so terrible at finding the right thing to say.
His best friend Michael, who had known him well past two years, and had first hand knowledge of all the “not finding the right thing to say” moments, followed behind Adam, tittering away about his latest indiscretion, a college aged barista with green eyes and underwear that matched.
“Maybe you should go as a mime, eh Adam? Then you will have an excuse not to talk to her…again.” Michael laughed, chiding his friend with just a mild hint of irritation.
Michael loved Adam, and Michael did not love very many people at all. He understood him, too, even if he never let on that he did. Adam had had it rough, absent Father, a Mother who had battled Cancer three times, losing her third and final battle, and that girl from their High School, the one who had left him that fucked up note right before she took a swan dive off of what was pointedly nicked “suicide bridge“. Adam hadn’t even known the girl, not really, yet for some godforsaken reason she’d decided that Adam would be her witness, her confidante, the receiver of her last words.
Adam finally settled on something that harkened both Mal Reynolds, from Firefly and a supernatural detective, Harry Dresden. They were both favorites of his, and never seemed to scared to talk to anyone. Maybe, Adam thought, he could channel their guts and charisma and charm, or something, and be able to say that he was not hiding, wasn’t some kind of stalker, that he just liked being around her, and that he would really like to know her name.