I felt the sounds you were making in my belly before I knew what they were. They reminded me of the scratch of bullrushes rubbing together in the wind, but they also made me feel like I was turning sloppy somersaults on a trampoline, too. When the sound and the flipping-over feeling came together I realized you were being sick.

I felt dizzy and like someone was tickling the back of my neck, and I even looked around, thinking maybe there was someone else there with us in the bathroom. I hate the sound. I hate it most when it's you. It felt like deja vu to hear you, like maybe you've been doing it a lot recently, and I was only just finding out. I didn't leave, though. I called out for you, knowing you wouldn't answer, and tried the closed door of the stall.

As I pushed the door the little silver bar on your side made a clang as it knocked against its cage. Santana? My voice sounded like a crushed paper bag, like it wouldn't come back in the same shape it was before. I stayed so still, the sound of the lock banging and my rough voice already too much, already more noise than you could stand.

I think you said my name but now I wonder if maybe you were just letting breath escape after the effort of being sick.

I waited the longest time. I waited so still and didn't look away from the spot on the stall door where the lock is. I waited until I saw creeping things to the sides of me and pinpricks pushing over my vision.

When you let me in I couldn't stop my body reaching for yours even though I was scared you were going to push me away. The smudges under your eyes and the pinching of your pupils and the band of shining skin by your hairline. The shiver in your hands. The creases in your Cheerios skirt.

You looked like you had pinched out a candle flame and you desperately wanted it to come back to life.

Do you know? I'd do anything to light a match for you.