Inklings 2021

LILY Clara Villalba You fell in love for the first time five decades ago. It was August, sometime in the middle of fall when the bittersweet cold of New York tinted leaves a dark burgundy. Our bodies squeezed past mounds of huddled people, all drunk on the promise of escape from their unraveling minds. My hand only grabbed yours when a tall, sweaty body pummeled straight through us. Your hand squeezed back once it realized mine was curled in its boxy fingertips. The stage was within your eyesight, but I couldn’t see a thing. A white caravan pulled at my side, and spilled with bushy haired men, knotted waves of blond hair, and seas of beer cans. I exchanged words and blew clouds from rolled sativa leaves. After ten looks in their direction, you skipped cordial conversation and let froths of alcohol spill from your lips. Sound blared until the sun hid behind piled bodies, stretched over fields of crumpled green. It was then, as I mouthed every word, that we locked eyes. A wave of horror pricked small mounds of skin across my body. Whatever it is, that girl put a spell on me. Your smile widened. I could see hunger in your eyes. But now, you weren’t looking at me anymore. There was something, past my peripheral, that had caught you. Pictures of Lily made my life so wonderful, Pictures of Lily helped me sleep at night. A chest pressed against my back. Looking up, I could see you were with me again. I turned to face you, sinking my head into the crevices of your neck. Something’s happening, something’s happening. A couple crashed at our feet, laughing as they kicked you back into faces I would never recognize. People I knew I’d see forever. For me and Lily are together in my dreams. Who’s consuming you? I’d like to meet her. Purple haze all around. The screen of a cracked van window reflected the stage. She was there. I was here. Where were you? If only I’d been born in Lily’s time. 15