the blueshift journal

You and Quique walk the beach, the sun shining on your sandy bird chests; the ground, covered by a thin film of water that breathes like a monk, creeps into your toe crevices. You pick up pebbles, toss them at dirty seagulls. do you want to know

 

I might tell my mom, you tell him. You throw a stone.

 

I swear to God, he tells you. I swear to God I’ll never talk to you again. His mustache, still not fully formed, is speckled with grains of my deepest and darkest sand, and white saliva gathers at the corners of his mouth.

 

I can’t hold it secret in, you tell him.

 

Find a way, he says.

 

That’s not fair.

 

Not fair? Are you kidding me? This is something i why I don’t did tell you shit. You run your fucking mouth. It’s always a long about you, isn’t time ago it?

 

You sigh. I sigh. The sun does not sigh. The sun never sighs. The sun cannot breathe. Across the water, it nestles itself into an orange bed. I loved the beach. I’d spend entire weekends there, sitting reading smoking laying meditating eating when i was just in first

 

I’m right about America, you say.

 

No you’re not.

 

Yes I am.

 

Prove it.

 

My dad said so.

 

Your dad? Give me a fucking break.

 

No, I won’t give you a grade break. I asked my dad, and he told me America is a continent, not a country. I’m pretty sure my dad would know; he has his Master’s—

 

Fuck your dad’s you have to promise not to Master’s degree.

 

Fuck you.

 

Quique feels the bullet hole in his chest. His body knows. Bullshit, he tells you. His mouth is dry now, full of tell anyone sand. He is choking.

 

It’s not bullshit! you plead.

 

Is too.

 

You’re promise bullshit.

 

Am not here.

 

Dude, I can i see checked with my dad, and—

 

For Godsake, your phone for a sec man, go suck your dad’s dick.

 

You pause. Your head swells. At least I have a dad, you say.

 

The film of water splashes beneath the soles of Quique’s feet. He turns and plants his palms into your already­-caved chest; midair, you notice an inside-­out sunset: Quique’s fiery red skin frozen by his brown eyes i dont wanna    Then, coarse grains of sand on the say it out loud spine and his figure towering over you, whispering, with all the venom in his muscular chest, Don’t you ever mention my dad again, you faggot.

 

When you stand again, he is ahead of you—only twenty feet away. You pick up thanks bro a large stone.

 

As you follow his silhouette, you toss the stone back and forth—right hand, left hand, right hand reach reach pass type pass     You see a seagull eating plastic not too far from you. You heave the rock into the air and watch it crash into the seagull’s skull look look    The explosion is so loud that Quique turns his head and sees what you’ve done.

 

Both i of you run was the woman.

 

You crouch next to the body. Two x’s in the eye sockets, tongue out past the beak, brain leaking from the dome, blood on the feathers. Sand scraping woman knees and toes, your heartbeats louder than your mothers’ calls. You smile at each other, and America is a continent.

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