by Jason Parker
Remember when we were little? You used to slide down the carpeted stairs or down the polished banister as we played. Weíd run through the house, sending the dogs wild as we played cops and robbers. And we were best friends in school. I remember how you stuttered like a kaleidoscope in class 'cause you knew too many words but didnít know which to use. Donít you remember? I do.
And at Easter and Christmas, we used to make ginger bread houses with your mom, mixing the icing and helping her stick the candies in before it hardened. Or in the summer when we used to have taffy pulls on the front step, stolen from the jar in the kitchen. Wasnít that fun?
So take ecstasy with me, baby. Take ecstasy with me. Itíll be fun baby, I promise.
You had a black snowmobile for your eighteenth birthday, do you remember? We drove out under the northern lights, the biting frost stinging at our cheeks as we flew across the snow. And when we stopped to watch the lights come up past the mountains. Just me and you, standing in the dark. Donít your remember how connected we felt? Like we were the only ones that existed, and everything was made for us. A vodka bottle gave you those raccoon eyes I love. We horsed around, wrestling in the snow until you pinned me down, our faces inches apart. I could feel your breath misting against my cheek and you looked into my eyes. I saw something there. Something I loved. So when you moved to sit up, I pulled you down and kissed you. Do you remember? And we spent that night under the stars, under the aura borealis, wrapped in each otherís arms. I remember.
And I remember when we went home the next day, and we both got pneumonia. We spent days at your house, curled up on the couch, swathed in blankets and watching old movies. Remember how everyone used to think we were brothers? But we werenít. We were closer than that.
And I remember we got beat up just for holding hands. And you tried to protect me even though I wanted to fight. My first black eye, I got with you. Mine on the left, yours on the right. You had a bleeding lip and I had bruised ribs. They ached for a week every time you hugged me, and you winced every time I kissed you, but you never asked me not to. Remember how cool we felt, comparing battle scars?
So take ecstasy with me, baby. I promise itíll be fun. So take ecstasy with me.
And remember when we graduated, and we didnít know what to do? Remember how I said we should go to the city, and you said I was crazy? It only took you two weeks to agree to come with me. And I remember it took us another week of living on the streets and in shelters before we both found jobs and then a cheap apartment. Wasnít it kind of fun the whole time? Sure it was hard sometimes. But we were together. And do you remember the first bath we shared in our apartment, with the peeling paint on the walls and the taps that barely worked?
Wasnít it exciting? Being so independent and young. We were living on our own feet. We were so risquť slipping into clubs while we were still underage. Sure it wasnít all good. There were no raindrops on roses or girls in white dresses. Sometimes it was sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses and the shade of the sheets before all the stains and a few more of our least favorite things. But we managed. We had fun. Have I let you down so far?
So take ecstasy with me baby.
Weíll sneak on the roof and trip under the stars. There wonít be northern lights, but the city has itís own. Come on, take ecstasy with me. Weíll do it on our own. Just like before, how we did everything together. How we dance at the clubs, how we take the underground, how we sleep in bed, how we shower and bathe. Always together. Just slip it on your tongue. Chase it down with a vodka and coke. So small, but itíll be so much fun.
So take ecstasy with me baby. Do it for me?