A Life with You
By Elliott Graves
Our first date was an anxious one. I was already nervous on the drive over, not being able to find a parking spot or even the right apartment building was only exacerbating that issue. So, I snuck behind a deserted sports bar and chain-smoked some American Spirits, the kind of cigarettes that really stick on you, at least from an olfactory standpoint.
Part of me hoped he couldn’t smell them on my body; another part of me insisted he might enjoy the smell. There are a lot of parts to me, all of them complex and interwoven like the strings of a harp. I have no idea how harps work.
I don’t know where to begin; I’ve never even met anyone as sweet or as gracious as Oliver. That whole night was unforgettable, even if my sieve of a brain insists on trying to forget everything we did on that chaotic first-date-that-wasn’t-officially-a-date-until-six-days-after-the-fact. Apartment. Panera. Lola’s. Back to the apartment. Back to Lola’s. Velvet Taco. The apartment again. Wal-Mart, at like three A.M.
We ended up sharing our cigarettes — we both decided that we liked his smokes better, the “cowboy killer” Marlboro 100s — on the walk over to the venue. We caught a live show with some dope local bands, and I snuck him a few kisses in the back row. Doesn’t get more “first date” than that, huh?
Sixteen and a half months later, we’re engaged and dreaming of the lives we want to make together. Lives where we have our own space to be ourselves, lives where we can count on each other to be there every time we need a hug, lives where we are free.
“And they lived happily ever after, and got married, and did a bunch of queer punk shit. The end.”
Elliott Graves (they/them) is a queer and nonbinary writer from Fort Worth, Texas. Their passions include their friends, their OCs, baseball, and hockey. They would like to encourage you, reader, to stay safe tonight. They can be found @softpunkbunny on Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram.