we’re able to stand up straight again, we’re standing at the edge of a hill. A tall, wrought-iron gate hugs the slope, and Anna feels around in the dark for the opening. She finds the latch and the gate swings toward us with a squeak.
It’s dark back here, but the narrow path is illuminated by a series of lights hidden in the surrounding ferns and grasses. Tiny rocks crunch under our feet as we follow the path to a wooden bridge, and once we’re across, I see a cement bench next to a giant Buddha statue. I can still hear the music, but it’s muffled.
Anna stops in front of the bench and steps in close to me, resting her hands on my waist. “So…you were saying something about peanuts,” she says with a smile.
“No, I was saying something about kissing you.” And before she can say another word, my hands settle on the small of her back and I close what’s left of the distance between us. I feel her hands on the back of my neck, her fingers traveling into my hair, pulling me into her, kissing me.
When we stop, she doesn’t open her eyes or move away. I can feel her breath as she speaks. “I missed you.” She runs her thumb along my jawbone and my pulse races. “Tell me about the last few weeks. I want to know everything.”
Everything. I take a deep breath, preparing to launch in. I’ve been waiting for three weeks to tell Anna everything . How many times did I stare at my cell phone, wishing I could call and tell her about the fire, and two kids that are alive today but shouldn’t be, and the look on my dad’s face when I told him what I’d done? Finally, here she is, staring at me with this sweet, expectant look on her face, and my mind is totally blank.
I’m not ready to go there yet, so I decide to warm up with a few basics. I sit down, straddling the bench, and Anna sits right in front of me. When I talk, she leans in close, as if my class schedule is especially interesting, and when I tell her about my friends and how weird it is to be back with all of them, she scoots forward and takes my hand, lightly tracing the lines in my palm with her fingertip as she listens.
When I’m finished, I ask her about life at Westlake. She tells me about Argotta’s class and how she has a new conversation partner, and that every time she turns around and looks at my old desk, it makes her happy to think that I sat there once but also makes her sad that I no longer do. Last weekend, she got the top time in her cross-country meet.
We’re both quiet for a few minutes and I see my opening. I take a deep breath, preparing to tell her about the fire, but before I can, she squeezes my hand and says, “I have something to tell you.”
I smile at her. “I have something to tell you, too.”
“You first,” she says.
“Yeah? You sure?” I ask, but I’m secretly glad I don’t have to wait any longer. I was nervous at first, but now that we’re all warmed up, I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I tell her what I did.
Anna nods.
I shake my head, looking for the right words to kick off my bizarre story. It’s still kind of hard to believe, let alone say out loud. “I did something really crazy. Or stupid. Or awesome.… I don’t know. It’s sort of hard to categorize.”
She looks at me quizzically.
“My dad and I were watching the news one morning, and there was this story about two kids who were killed in an apartment fire. For the next few days, I—I—” I start stammering, and rake my fingers through my hair as I search for the right words. “I just couldn’t get the image out of my mind.”
I’m careful about what I say next, purposely withholding the future-specific things I can’t tell her about, like the online news article and Google Maps. “It started as pure curiosity. I sat there, scratching equations and time conversions into my notebook, trying to figure out if it would even be possible, but before I knew it, I was combing the house for a fire extinguisher and a
It’s dark back here, but the narrow path is illuminated by a series of lights hidden in the surrounding ferns and grasses. Tiny rocks crunch under our feet as we follow the path to a wooden bridge, and once we’re across, I see a cement bench next to a giant Buddha statue. I can still hear the music, but it’s muffled.
Anna stops in front of the bench and steps in close to me, resting her hands on my waist. “So…you were saying something about peanuts,” she says with a smile.
“No, I was saying something about kissing you.” And before she can say another word, my hands settle on the small of her back and I close what’s left of the distance between us. I feel her hands on the back of my neck, her fingers traveling into my hair, pulling me into her, kissing me.
When we stop, she doesn’t open her eyes or move away. I can feel her breath as she speaks. “I missed you.” She runs her thumb along my jawbone and my pulse races. “Tell me about the last few weeks. I want to know everything.”
Everything. I take a deep breath, preparing to launch in. I’ve been waiting for three weeks to tell Anna everything . How many times did I stare at my cell phone, wishing I could call and tell her about the fire, and two kids that are alive today but shouldn’t be, and the look on my dad’s face when I told him what I’d done? Finally, here she is, staring at me with this sweet, expectant look on her face, and my mind is totally blank.
I’m not ready to go there yet, so I decide to warm up with a few basics. I sit down, straddling the bench, and Anna sits right in front of me. When I talk, she leans in close, as if my class schedule is especially interesting, and when I tell her about my friends and how weird it is to be back with all of them, she scoots forward and takes my hand, lightly tracing the lines in my palm with her fingertip as she listens.
When I’m finished, I ask her about life at Westlake. She tells me about Argotta’s class and how she has a new conversation partner, and that every time she turns around and looks at my old desk, it makes her happy to think that I sat there once but also makes her sad that I no longer do. Last weekend, she got the top time in her cross-country meet.
We’re both quiet for a few minutes and I see my opening. I take a deep breath, preparing to tell her about the fire, but before I can, she squeezes my hand and says, “I have something to tell you.”
I smile at her. “I have something to tell you, too.”
“You first,” she says.
“Yeah? You sure?” I ask, but I’m secretly glad I don’t have to wait any longer. I was nervous at first, but now that we’re all warmed up, I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I tell her what I did.
Anna nods.
I shake my head, looking for the right words to kick off my bizarre story. It’s still kind of hard to believe, let alone say out loud. “I did something really crazy. Or stupid. Or awesome.… I don’t know. It’s sort of hard to categorize.”
She looks at me quizzically.
“My dad and I were watching the news one morning, and there was this story about two kids who were killed in an apartment fire. For the next few days, I—I—” I start stammering, and rake my fingers through my hair as I search for the right words. “I just couldn’t get the image out of my mind.”
I’m careful about what I say next, purposely withholding the future-specific things I can’t tell her about, like the online news article and Google Maps. “It started as pure curiosity. I sat there, scratching equations and time conversions into my notebook, trying to figure out if it would even be possible, but before I knew it, I was combing the house for a fire extinguisher and a
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