box_of_fire_8_a_quickening_of_the_pulse raze ( box_of_fire_7_mnemonikos ) "it was just a bad dream," she was saying. her voice sounded far away. i was still on the floor, where i'd nodded off. she was on her knees in front of me, her arms coiled around my back. it took a moment to steady myself and quiet the screaming in my head. "what were you dreaming about?" jasmine asked me. "i don't remember," i lied. "i just know it wasn't good." "it's over now," she said. she pulled on the back of my hair, playful. "why did you let me read your book?" i asked. "why do you think? i trust you." "yeah, but that's...i mean, your whole life is in there. and there are so many things i need to ask you..." "i know," she said. for the first time there was something in her voice that sounded like fear. "can it wait just a little while?" "yeah. it can wait." so we sat, shifting in small increments. she pressed her forehead against mine, still sleepy. "i've been meaning to ask you," she said. "what happened to your hand?" "i got in a fight with a bathroom mirror." "who won?" "it was ruled a controversial draw. there might be a rematch somewhere down the line, if there's enough money in it." i could feel her smiling through closed eyes. i almost asked her what she was thinking, before deciding it was best just to guess, and to enjoy the feeling of a warm body close to mine. when was the last time i'd been close enough to someone to smell their hair? i couldn't remember. hers smelled of apples_and_honey. we fell back asleep like this, two vines that had grown around one another, intertwined. 130127 ... raze the next few weeks were a blur of time spent with jasmine, time spent alone, time spent following stickman, and time spent having more strange dreams. there were too many images and details to keep track of, but one line of dialogue, spoken by a man with an ancient funeral director's face, was especially striking. i felt a need to write it down. "when_the_house_of_cards_falls, try to act surprised." the questions i wanted to ask jasmine about what i'd read were burning a hole in my brain. i kept putting that conversation off. i told myself it wasn't important. that i could leave it alone, and everything would be fine. some lies you just can't make yourself believe, no matter how many dirty pairs of clothes you throw on top of them. i had questions for stickman, too. in his own way, he'd brought me and jasmine together. he'd made it clear to me — before i knew he was making anything clear at all — that she was someone i should be paying close attention to. was he playing matchmaker, like jim had been when he got us to lock up after him that night we were all a little crazy from drinking his rocket fuel? was i meant to protect her? was that the message? i didn't know. the thing about stickman was, the more i shadowed him, the more i came to think of him as a strange kind of friend. and i started to get the feeling he thought of me in the same way. it was almost subliminal, but it was there all the same. a barely perceptible nod here. a tiny smile there. there was a purity about him i couldn't help respecting. he made his life a work of art, solitary as it was. he was content to exist and create on his own terms, while the rest of the world kept him at arm's length. when it was his designated night to head to the bar, i followed him there. we walked — not together, exactly, but not apart. he slowed his pace just enough so i could lag behind at a healthy distance without losing sight of him. when i walked in, he was at his usual table. jim gave me a nod and a smile as i saddled up to my own comfortable spot. i chose to stand instead of sitting on a stool. "you look like you could use a beer," jim said. "we've got a really nice pilsner on tap right now. könig, it’s called. you'll like it." "sounds german." "well aren't you the worldly one." i watched him at work. he grabbed a clean glass and held it at a high angle. he opened the tap and let the beer flow, expertly controlling the head. when he was finished, he set the glass down in front of me. i took a sip of the golden brew. "good?" i nodded my approval, wiping foam from my upper lip. it was better than good. "so," jim said. "you and jasmine. what's the story there?" "i don't know. we're friends, i guess. maybe it'll turn into something more. it's a little early to say. we've shared some interesting moments." "those precious moments..." he sang, slipping into hilariously exaggerated romantic mode again. "i like her," i said. "she seems to like me too, for whatever reason. there's something special about her...but i don't want to force anything. and what about your hot date? i keep forgetting to ask about that, and you haven't been volunteering any details." jim blushed and didn't say anything. "well *there's* something i haven't seen before. it was that good, huh?" "less about me, dickface. more about you and my favourite customer." "and here i thought i held that title," i said, trying to look devastated. "why do we always hurt the ones we love?" "because we can. she's not coming tonight?" "no," i said after another long swig of beer. "this is some good shit." "i told you!" "anyway. she's working, i think." "yeah? where does our jasmine work?" "at this quirky little café. i can't remember the name of the place. something pretentious-sounding. they give her odd hours. you'll like this, though — she says your coffee puts theirs to shame." jim let out a joyous cackle. i looked over my shoulder every once in a while to see what was going on with stickman. no one was bothering him. there were only four or five other customers, and they were all minding their own business. no drama tonight. each time i turned his way, stickman wasn't staring at his hands; he was looking right at me, smiling. i was working on my second beer when i felt a hand touch me lightly on the shoulder. it was stickman, standing beside me. after we made eye contact, he shot a glance over to his vacant table, directing my gaze there. in front of his untouched drink i saw a folded piece of paper, like the one he'd given me the day he paid me a visit at my house. our eyes met again, and he gave me a long, intense stare that felt charged with meaning. my heart was pounding in my chest like an idiot drummer. he set some change down for jim and left. i_squeezed_my_eyes_shut and tried to catch my breath. "what was that all about?" jim asked. i walked over to the table, picked up the note, and unfolded it. this time there were three words, written in the same neat block letters, with the same grey pencil. "follow me home." i slipped the paper into my pocket, walked back over to jim, paid for my beer, and then started for the door. "sorry," i said. "i gotta go." "hey!" he called after me. "are you gonna tell me what the hell's going on here?" i turned around to see him looking at me with wide, nervous eyes. "don't worry," i said. "i'm just living out an old saying i read in a bathroom stall once: when the skinny man leaves, it's time to call it a night." 130129 what's it to you? who go blather from