make me believe in makebelieve

he picked her up at 8. she had been ready since 1996. longing like lipstick painted on her lips. a fullness that needed to be kissed. he put his hand on the small of her back and led her through the door. she thought about the expanse of the universe and how little Ptolemy had known, and how all this time later, we knew little more. he drove a fast car. she wished they were riding on the backs of turtles taking their time, drawing out the night. he took her to dinner. he ate bloody steak while she picked at a salad, ashamed of her cliché. he showed her a magic trick. she looked for hidden cameras.

again they were in the fast car. he yelled over the rushing wind that love was like santa claus--you believe in it until some adult tells you it's not real. she wanted to yell back, santa clause isn't real? he took her for a drink. she welcomed the ease with which they could speak. dimly lit eyes shining bright. he took her hand and touched her back and said, I know you a little more now. she considered telling him she wanted to have his babies. she refrained.

he drove her home. again with the windows down, night air tickling the hairs on her arm. she touched his imperfect head. he held her vibrating thigh. she didn't want the road to end. she wanted to keep going down it with him, to see where it would take them. they pulled up to her house. he walked her to the door, making it halfway, his hand taking her elbow and spinning her around. mouth finding mouth as wanting mouths always do. yes. that was all she could think. yes. and then he said goodnight. and as he walked down the few steps they had climbed moments before, she knew santa clause was real.