You cut class that Friday. They rode on your handle bars the whole way back to their house. Looking out at the world over their shoulder that afternoon was the first time you knew exactly were you wanted to go. There was kool-aid and hot pockets. Their couch felt like sinking into pillows. They put Dirty Dancing into the VCR and sat down next to you, knees just barely touching yours.
Halfway through the movie you looked over and couldn't catch your breath, but somehow you asked if they knew how to dance. "Like that?" they asked, making a vague gesture at the television screen. "Yeah, like that." you shocked yourself with your own audaciousness. But then they got up and started moving; serpentine.
"You have to dance with me."
Arms draped over your shoulders. The soft skin of their forearms pressed gently into the sides of your neck. Your own hands came to a rest on their hips. Swaying. You're scared, but it's not the kind of fear that tends to paralysis, but that rare kind that pushes you forward into the unknown. Their hands dropped to your arms and then pulled up their white cotton tee; not all the way, stopping just above the solar plexus. Your body dropped, and when you kissed the gentle slope where their waist became their hips the slow burn of summer spread through your body. You could taste their heartbeat.
Today was like their breath on your neck. In a sense, you knew where this was headed before you lit that book of matches three days ago, but today is the first clear view over the shoulders of your chosen destiny. No longer broken, stitched, or scarred there is a wholeness, and from that integration a purpose.