“Because I asked, Rudy Rudiani. Answer the question.”
Johnny pauses for a moment, lost in his head as he deliberates. “Probably purple.”
“Good. Alright. Done with you, hand me back to Bubba.”
“You’ve been in my hand the whole time,” I say.
“In your fucking dreams, maybe.” Closing his eyes, he rolls his neck like he’s trying to work out a kink. “I’ve got another ten minutes before my live stream is over.” He points at Johnny. “You. Close your eyes.”
“The fuck would I close my eyes for?”
“Because I’m going to give you a reading. I had another reading scheduled with my dear, dear friend Daddy McSnack, but he’s MIA, so I’ve got space to fill.” He snaps his fingers three times in rapid succession. “Chop-chop, Johnny boy. Close your eyes, the spirits are at work.”
Sighing, Johnny turns to me. “This is why we can’t make new friends.”
“That’s okay,” Ezra says as he shuffles his cards. “We’ve got each other.” I don’t miss the way Johnny’s hand squeezes mine a little tighter. “Alright, Johnny, once you’ve closed your eyes, I would like you to picture a meadow.”
Reluctantly, by the look of it, Johnny closes his eyes. “Alright.”
“Now, in that meadow, I want you to picture a big white light. Can you see it?”
Even though his eyes are closed, Johnny squints, creating wrinkles like canyons around his eyes. “I think so. It ain’t really that bright, and it’s kind of orange, like when I close my eyes and stare up at the sun sometimes.”
“Stare up at the sun?” Ezra mouths, bewildered.
“Is there supposed to be a dog here?” Johnny asks.
Ezra’s brows scrunch together. “Why the hell would there be a dog?”
“I don’t know,” Johnny says, lifting his arm and pointing into the distance. “But he’s over there pissing on that family’s picnic basket. Why are there other people here? Hey! Hey, he’s pissing in your basket.” He pauses and scowls, flipping his imaginary antagonist the finger. “Yeah, well, fuck you too, jackass. Your goddamn dog is still pissing, by the way.”
Ezra closes his eyes and exhales slowly. “The dog is fine, Johnny. Ignore him.”
“Naw, man. He’s got kids with him. Their lunch is probably ruined. And now he’s giving you a dirty look.” As Johnny rants, Ezra plugs his ears, refusing to listen. “Look at him Bubba. Look at the stupid smirk on his face. The fuck is he staring at our boy like that for?”
Our boy.
Christ. The way it slipped off his tongue without him even noticing, makes my chest all fluttery. It sounded perfect. It sounded right. Johnny goes on for a few more seconds before looking over at me and winking. He looks at Ezra on the phone, his eyes closed, fingers still plugging his ears, looking like he’s ready to implode.
“I’m only joking, bro,” Johnny whispers to me. “There wasn’t a dog. I just wanted to fuck with Little Dick.”
Little Dick? God help Johnny if he ever says that to Ezzy.
Oblivious, Ezra unplugs his ears and demands Johnny open his eyes. “I didn’t tell you to open your eyes yet, you bastard. Alright, I think I’m feeling something.” He taps his hand over his heart. “I can always feel it right here. This cool, calming sensation right in the middle of my heart. It’s how I know the spirits are with me.” Ezra waves his arms around mystically like he’s a kid in a ghost costume on Halloween, only without the ghost costume.
“The fuck is he doing?” Johnny whispers.
“I’m not sure. Just go with it.”
“Mummala-shummala,” Ezra chants, sounding downright adorable if you ask me. “Pummala-poe. Spirits, we’re ready, so give us a show.” Ezra’s body shakes and jolts like he’s just been struck by two-thousand volts of lightning, ragdolling left and right. When he slows, he has two hands lifted in the air, palms out, his thumbs pressed to the center. His left thumb moves, revealing a poorly drawn doodle of an eye beneath.
“What the hell is that?” Johnny whispers, nudging me, his eyes still closed. “This is some occult shit, bro.”
“Just picture your field, baby,” I tell him.
Ezra’s eyes open, and when he sees Johnny cuddled up against me, his mouth falls open a bit, and the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen spreadsacross his face. Johnny’s got his eyes closed, probably picturing that damn meadow, so he can’t see how tenderly Ezra is staring at him. Like he’s precious. Like he’s beautiful. I wish Johnny could. I want him to open his eyes so he might open himself up to this possibility. I want it so much I can almost taste it, all sugary-sweet, but still slightly tart, like a maraschino cherry.
Ezra turns his focus back to his cards, picking them up and splitting the tarot deck in half. I don’t know if I’ll ever be at peace with the depraved displays of sexual deviancy on Ezra’s card deck. There are cumshots in some of the photos. Fuckin’ facials and all.
