“you ever think,” i said,
“that if we only had one choice,
we’d be happier?”
karsten squinted at the sun,
rolled the joint a little tighter.
“you mean like…no decisions?”
“yeah,” i said. “like a life
where everything’s just handed to you.
this is your job.
this is your woman.
this is your one brand of toothpaste.”
“sounds like prison,” he said.
“sounds like peace,” i said.
he lit the joint, took a long hit,
held it in like it might turn into wisdom.
“nah, man. we’d just find something else
to be fucked up about.”
“maybe,” i said.
“but at least i wouldn’t be up at 3 a.m.
wondering if the girl i didn’t call back in 2011
was the one.”
karsten nodded.
“i had a girl like that once.”
he handed me the joint.
“mira. short hair. smelled like lemon and weed.”
“what happened?”
“i was twenty-four and thought
i had better things to do
than be loved that hard.”
we sat for a bit,
watching a dog chase a squirrel
like it mattered.
“you ever think about doing acid again?” he asked.
“sometimes,” i said.
“but only in the sense
that i miss feeling like anything was possible.”
he laughed. “god, yeah.
remember that night at the reservoir
when we thought the stars were a message?”
“they might’ve been,” i said.
he passed me the joint again.
it was almost gone.
so were we, a little.
“i had a job offer once,” i said.
“in berlin. teaching.
good pay. smart kids.
but i turned it down
because i thought the world owed me
a bigger life.”
karsten raised an eyebrow.
“and?”
“and now i talk to you
on this bench behind the grocery store
wondering if decisions are real
or just something we make up
to feel like we’re in control.”
he shrugged. “you chose to bring the good weed today.”
“only because you brought the bad wine last time.”
he grinned.
we passed the joint back and forth
until it was just a ghost between our fingers.
“you think we’re bad at choosing,” he said,
“or just too good at imagining what could’ve happened?”
“maybe both,” i said.
“maybe imagining is the disease
and deciding is just the symptom.”
a breeze kicked up.
plastic bags danced above the dust
like they were free.
“i could’ve married her,” he said suddenly.
“mira. i could’ve stayed.”
“why didn’t you?”
he looked at me like he’d already answered
in every silence since.
“you think people get happier
after the right choice?” i asked.
karsten shook his head.
“no. just less haunted.”
we sat with that for a while.
not like it was profound.
more like it was
suddenly quiet
outside.
