Alexa Liaskovski on Clubhouse

Bio

selling my soul and 🍝code to cash app

(๑>◡<๑)☆ good vibes only 🖐😤

🍂🌸🍃🌷🌿🌼🍁

I still remember the first time I had LaCroix.

I was young.

Immeasurable courage, I thought I had, reaching into my mother’s “special” fridge in the garage; cold, misty fog spilled onto the smouldering concrete floor as my grubby hands, soiled by the chalk dust that melted with my sweat before it could hope to reach the pavement, pulled out a crisp can.

Tangerine. Naturally Essenced.

Eagerness came over me, for it was a hot day. I was thirsty. My lips puckered as a chilled fruity ocean passed through my mind.

Waves: crashed. Thoughts: drowned.

How nice, I thought; I loved the ocean, but I was not allowed to swim alone. I had never done this before. If my mother knew I was here…

The drink was already in my hand. I spun the can until the spout faced me, I used what remained of my fingernails to pull up the flimsy metal tab and - pop! I was in.

Time was running short as friends from down the street were summoning me back to the world we created on the sidewalk. I couldn’t stand down to this seemingly trivial task; to the others, this was so simple, although they, too, never had one before.

I pulled the can up to my lips.

I can’t quite remember how it tasted. Was it sweet? How cold was it? Did my tongue burn as small bullets of air stung every surface the liquid touched in my mouth? I can only assume so. I can only assume that every can I had since, every other can that I can remember, tasted the same way as that first.

But there’s no way to know for sure.

For there is something that makes that first can different. Something that makes me remember it more than all the others.

How much better it must have been.

How much happier it must have made me, before I realized that would be the last time I’d feel happiness like that again.

I was young.

I thought every other can after that first would be the same. Even, I thought that can would be the last. I was wrong.