It was night.  The light was from the moon and the house behind us.  Her skin was so soft.  When I took her hand it felt like cool water, yet she was strong enough to pull me up.  When I finally straightened myself on the branch she tucked one of her boots up so her knee was under her chin.  Her other leg dangled playfully.

She had this constant smirk.  She wore a red flannel which smelled like many days of overlapping perfumes.  Like it hadn’t been washed in a long time, but each time she puts it on another layer of scent is added.  It smelled like fresh flowers from a bakery. Her black hair was pulled through her Royals cap in a pony tail.

She played with her nails.  They weren’t painted.  As far as I could tell she didn’t wear makeup.  But again, it was dark.  The shadows always concealing some part of our faces.  But her eyes.  Oh, her eyes were soft brown with a crinkle.  Sometimes the crinkle was a smile.  Sometimes it was a stare which felt like she was exhuming the truth.  The crinkle was disarming.

I was hooked.  That’s all there was to it.  Here was a woman who was not playing any games.  Was not being anyone but herself.  I wanted to know everything about her.

But the rule was no questions.

“You’re wrong.”  I tell her.  “Despair is the absence of hope.  They are opposites.”

“Despair is only a state of mind.  Hope is a state of being.  You can have both.  You can be both.”

“Are you hopeful then?”

“That’s a question.  For every question you must pay a punishment.  You must drink.”

She had a bottle of Jameson’s with her.  She must have swiped it from the menagerie of bottles in the kitchen.  Or maybe she brought it with?  She had a small backpack on.   Her bottle was nearly full.  Started tonight, maybe?  But I couldn’t ask or she’d make me drink more.

I pull a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle.  It was a wild fire scorching the earth to my stomach.

I say, “I’m Grant.”  But I’m still trying to breathe normally from the whiskey so I don’t enunciate my T.

“You don’t look grand.”  She says.  “You look like one of those cartoons where the red rises up the neck like a thermometer and smoke comes out your ears.”

“No.  My name is Grant.”  I say, better this time.

“Oh.  Sora.”

And there it was.  I now had an everything before Sora and an everything to come after.   

I shift my weight to find my balance.  The fear of falling is crazy.  I forgot what it was like.  I’ve been so worried about getting pulled into space for so long, I forgot all about what it’s like to fall.

So there we were trying to find our balance on a branch in the moonlight.

I remember she said, “If you try anything, I’ll kick you right out of this tree.”