Page 46 of Dallas

And all of that with my wonderful friend, who is the most beautiful man in the entire world, and it makes me feel proud just to look at him. Makes it feel like my heartis going to burst through my chest. Makes me feel like maybe everything is going to be okay and anything is possible.

So yeah. I guess what I feel is happiness.

Even with the popcorn bag thrown on me. Anyway, I don’t mind, because then I tear into the bag and begin to eat far more than my share, which has been our MO with popcorn.

“I was thinking, on your actual birthday, maybe we can get a few people together that you’ve met here to come to the saloon.”

I frown, stopping chewing mid-mouthful of popcorn. “I don’t know very many people.” I grimace. “I also don’t really do birthday parties.”

“Well, I think you should. Twenty-one is a big deal.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, I guess it’s kind of a big deal that I’ve survived this long.”

I do hear myself. I know that what I just said sounds a little bit sad. I know that. That surviving is different than living. At least, I know it in theory. But all I’ve ever had are little tastes of living. Like a shot of flavor on your tongue, a piece of cotton candy that makes a direct hit, a burst of sweetness that’s gone too soon.

“Maybe that will be my twenty-one-year resolution,” I say. “To live.”

“As opposed to?”

I realize that he can’t read my thoughts, which is slightly jarring, because a lot of the time it feels like he can. “Surviving. I guess the two of them are probably different.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I would guess so.”

I think about him. About how he’s chosen to do such a risky job for a living, even while being given a life that is safe, secure.

“Why do you put your survival at risk when you don’t have to?”

He looks at me. “What?”

“Well, I was thinking. Thinking about how you don’t have to do a job like the one that you do. You could die, and for what? We were always at risk when we were kids. Much higher risk than most. But now… You don’t have to be.”

“I don’t really think of it that way. I guess it goes back to what you just said. You have to live. Instead of just survive, and that means thriving instead of thinking about strict survival. I ride because I love it.”

“I think maybe you’re a liar,” I say.

“I don’t…” He looks away. Then he lets out an exasperated breath and sits down on the couch beside me. “Let’s just watch the movie.”

“Why? Because now you’re frustrated with me?”

“I’m not frustrated with you.”

“Well, then you’re frustrated with yourself. You don’t want to think about your issues.”

“I don’t have issues,” he says.

“You really are a liar.”

“I’m not. I just… All right. I do. And I feel really stupid talking about any of them with you, just like I feel dumb talking about them to my dad, even though I did about a week ago. After you and I talked.”

“It’s okay that you didn’t get out unscathed. If anything, it makes me feel a little better.”

“I think it looks ungrateful.”

“It doesn’t. I promise. Well. I don’t promise. But you’re allowed to be complicated.”

“Thanks,” he says.

And then he does hit play on the movie, because obviously he’s a little bit tired of me pushing him.

---