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When he closed the door, she got the feeling that
they'd thrown themselves into a time warp. It was late. They were
exhausted and wired at the same time, the anxiety of the future coursing
through them. She felt like they were in the tail end of "Peter
Pan," weighing the pros and cons of Never Never Land. As he dropped
an empty suitcase on his bed and started to slowly gather his
possessions, she thought that eating imaginary food and flying actually
sounded pretty damn good. She wanted to grab his arm and tell him so,
urge him to push off weighty adult decisions for just a little while
longer. But he wasn't looking at her. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding
her eyes, as if meeting them would open the floodgates. The tender part had been brief. Well, to be honest,
the tender part had been constant, but how often they chose to explore
that tenderness was sporadic. They were the heroes of bad timing. Now, his belongings were scattered all over the
room and she attempted to help him place them in bags. Bags he would put
on a plane to fly three thousand miles away from her the next morning.
They had lived down the creek from each other their entire lives.
Crawling into his window if she felt like talking to him had become a
given. Now, suddenly, nothing was a given. Who knew how often they would
come home? Who knew what choices they would make in college, and where
that would lead them after that. But the bigger question she suddenly
couldn't stop asking herself was when would they be together again? Not
just in terms of distance, not just in terms of a shared meal, but in
terms of something bigger. Something she didn't feel like she could say
out loud. Not yet, when the remnants of the past year still hung between
them, whether she liked it or not. They had grown up already against
their wills. She had allowed herself to fall in love with someone else,
and she had watched him do the same. What could they possibly say to
each other now? What was left for them to be to each other? She folded a t-shirt, then refolded it again,
strangely nervous. He turned a book over and over again in his hand, as
if the decision of whether or not to carry this book with him across the
country were suddenly the toughest decision he'd ever made in his life.
She'd looked at his face a thousand times in this room. But there was
something different about how his eyes kept scanning her face. Something
different about how nervous he seemed to be whenever their arms brushed
as they placed things in his luggage. It was as if they were standing on
a precipice, uncertain what taking the leap would mean. Something started to happen. Something that was
long in progress started to kick in. She knew that they were talking;
the words were hanging over them like cartoon bubbles. But it was as if
she was underwater and couldn't hear them. All she could feel, suddenly,
was the heat rising off of her own skin and something echoing in her
mind now. And then, just like that, they were kissing. She
didn't know how they got there. She had no idea. The thought of kissing
this boy hadn't crossed her mind in years. Which was weird. Because once
upon a time that was all she ever thought about. And then, just like that, it was over. He coughed,
she shuffled her feet. And she laughed to herself. It had been one of
those moments. One of those moments where you shuck your status as mere
mortal and achieve - however briefly - true greatness. She had shared
many such moments with this boy. But now he was leaving, and nothing
would ever be the same again. |