first kiss. Ever. The kiss is wet and strange and soft and wonderful. Charles pulls away, wanting to tell Julie everything he feels for her, how much he loves her, how he cannot imagine being lonely when he is with her. But instead, he sneezes, a large, elephant sneeze right in Julie’s face, and they laugh, and the moment is over, and he realizes he doesn’t know how to say anything.
“I can’t believe you’re leaving. What am I going to do without you here?” Julie says.
“It’s not for a while. Not for a few months.”
“But still …”
Julie pulls up several blades of grass, creating a little nest in her palm. Charles tucks his knees against himself.
“You should call CalArts. Tell them you changed your mind. It’s not too late, and then at least we’d be in the same state.”
“I wish, but I can’t afford it.”
“There must be a—”
“It’s fine. Really. I’ll stay here, work and save up for two years, get some classes out of the way, and then I’ll transfer and it won’t matter.”
Charles looks into Julie’s eyes. “Promise me you’ll visit this fall?”
“You’re not even going to miss me. Not after the first week or two. You’ll have a bunch of new college friends, and your brain will be so full of biology and chemistry and physics that you won’t have time to think about girls.”
“But you promise you will?”
Julie gives Charles a peck on the cheek. “Of course.”
Charles opens his mouth, wanting to profess his true feelings for her, but all the words get stuck in his throat and he lets out an awkward croak instead. Julie doesn’t notice. She’s looking up at the stars again, lost in thought.
“I can’t believe Steve isn’t here,” she says finally.
“Yeah, I know. I mean, I know why he had to do it, but still. I thought we were all going to have one last summer together.”
“I hope he finds a cute boy. I hope he finds a way to be happy.”
Steve had a bad few months. His parents kicked him out. Sometimes he slept at Charles’ house, sometimes at Julie’s, mostly at his uncle’s. He became quiet. He lost weight. His grades dropped. Then one morning there was just a note on Charles’ doorstep, in Steve’s handwriting: “Took my life’s savings. Don’t try to look for me. Sorry …” Charles was disappointed but not surprised.
“I’m so afraid of losing you, Julie. I don’t know what I would do.”
“You won’t lose me.” Julie wraps her arms around Charles’ chest, resting her chin against his shoulder. “I promise, you won’t lose me.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Charles says. Suddenly he’s grinning, and he rolls Julie over, kissing her again and again.
T HE SUN FEELS INVASIVE AND DANGEROUS AS I SHIELD my eyes, stepping out onto my porch, a briefcase slung over a sore right shoulder. I tried to climb the wooden trellis to the second story of the house, but halfway up, my foot slipped against the crumbling plaster and I tumbled down onto the lawn. I was lucky to have only gotten a few bruises and scrapes, narrowly avoiding the thicket of rose bushes. I’ll have to figure out another way up to the second floor.
It rained all last night, but the puddles have evaporated and the lawns are laundered dry, as if the rain never existed. Little children run and squeal through sprinklers as dads recline in lawn chairs, wearing polo shirts and leather deck shoes. They reach up to kiss young wives who set fresh lemonade and sugar cookies on patio tables. I glance back at my house. A plank of wood is missing from the window to the right of the front door. I wonder if one of the neighborhood kids pried it off, if they dared each other to peek in through the window, if they’ve seen the old man, if he’s a ghost to them, a specter, if he’s less than human to the outside world too. I doubt the old man has noticed the sunlight streaming in through the crack, and I doubt he’s noticed that it’s spring and that the birds are
“I can’t believe you’re leaving. What am I going to do without you here?” Julie says.
“It’s not for a while. Not for a few months.”
“But still …”
Julie pulls up several blades of grass, creating a little nest in her palm. Charles tucks his knees against himself.
“You should call CalArts. Tell them you changed your mind. It’s not too late, and then at least we’d be in the same state.”
“I wish, but I can’t afford it.”
“There must be a—”
“It’s fine. Really. I’ll stay here, work and save up for two years, get some classes out of the way, and then I’ll transfer and it won’t matter.”
Charles looks into Julie’s eyes. “Promise me you’ll visit this fall?”
“You’re not even going to miss me. Not after the first week or two. You’ll have a bunch of new college friends, and your brain will be so full of biology and chemistry and physics that you won’t have time to think about girls.”
“But you promise you will?”
Julie gives Charles a peck on the cheek. “Of course.”
Charles opens his mouth, wanting to profess his true feelings for her, but all the words get stuck in his throat and he lets out an awkward croak instead. Julie doesn’t notice. She’s looking up at the stars again, lost in thought.
“I can’t believe Steve isn’t here,” she says finally.
“Yeah, I know. I mean, I know why he had to do it, but still. I thought we were all going to have one last summer together.”
“I hope he finds a cute boy. I hope he finds a way to be happy.”
Steve had a bad few months. His parents kicked him out. Sometimes he slept at Charles’ house, sometimes at Julie’s, mostly at his uncle’s. He became quiet. He lost weight. His grades dropped. Then one morning there was just a note on Charles’ doorstep, in Steve’s handwriting: “Took my life’s savings. Don’t try to look for me. Sorry …” Charles was disappointed but not surprised.
“I’m so afraid of losing you, Julie. I don’t know what I would do.”
“You won’t lose me.” Julie wraps her arms around Charles’ chest, resting her chin against his shoulder. “I promise, you won’t lose me.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Charles says. Suddenly he’s grinning, and he rolls Julie over, kissing her again and again.
T HE SUN FEELS INVASIVE AND DANGEROUS AS I SHIELD my eyes, stepping out onto my porch, a briefcase slung over a sore right shoulder. I tried to climb the wooden trellis to the second story of the house, but halfway up, my foot slipped against the crumbling plaster and I tumbled down onto the lawn. I was lucky to have only gotten a few bruises and scrapes, narrowly avoiding the thicket of rose bushes. I’ll have to figure out another way up to the second floor.
It rained all last night, but the puddles have evaporated and the lawns are laundered dry, as if the rain never existed. Little children run and squeal through sprinklers as dads recline in lawn chairs, wearing polo shirts and leather deck shoes. They reach up to kiss young wives who set fresh lemonade and sugar cookies on patio tables. I glance back at my house. A plank of wood is missing from the window to the right of the front door. I wonder if one of the neighborhood kids pried it off, if they dared each other to peek in through the window, if they’ve seen the old man, if he’s a ghost to them, a specter, if he’s less than human to the outside world too. I doubt the old man has noticed the sunlight streaming in through the crack, and I doubt he’s noticed that it’s spring and that the birds are