Dearest Milton James

by N.R. Walker

She looked me up and down, and after glaring at me, she gave me a nod. And everyone knows a nod from a goth girl is as good as it ever gets.

“Am I too gay? Should I tone it down? Is the pink a bit too much? I was going to wear fuchsia suspenders over a My Little Pony shirt but decided that might be too much gay for day two.”

As well as saying inappropriately timed things, I tend to try and make people laugh when I’m nervous.” I made a face. “I’m sure there’s a whole section of psychological journals written on using humour for deflection of vulnerability, or whatever. It’s just easier than being awkward, and knowing you’re awkward, and knowing you make other people awkward.”

Did I call him attractive? Again? Fuck. I think I did. Dear brain, Please disengage all talking operations. Actually, just shut down all mouth functionality. Cease all operations. Error 404, file not found, something to make it stop. I’d even take a fatal error, blue screen of death right now . . .

If he was impressed by my ability to unhinge my jaw, open wide, and take in an obscene amount of food, he hid it well. I could also open my throat and swallow at the same time, but I figured now was not the time to bring that up . . .

“How are you at keeping secrets?” I sat forward, eyes wide, excited. “Absolutely terrible. Do not tell me anything.”

Denise cleared her throat. “Uh, excuse me. What am I? I’m totally a gay Avenger. I might look more like Thor, but can I please be Black Widow? She’s smoking hot.”