Free Boy Midflight by Charlie David Page A

the sidewalk. Mourning for the future we had begun to weave, for the dreams and plans we had shared, for the best friend I had pined for only to be torn away.
    I hold the blue box with painted clouds and through a blurry gaze slowly pull the ribbon. Under tissue paper, a handmade card, the cover painted with a little boat.
     
    Opportunity couldn’t have knocked on the door of a better person. Grant yourself this short-term happiness. Remember, the little things matter most. All the love and happiness to your future. I hope we are always a part of each other’s lives.
    Curtain, Chris
     
    I pull a little scroll out of the skybox and remove its tie. On beautiful flecked yellow paper burnt and dripped with wax around the edges, a letter:
     
    I would be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous. All the glitz and glamour of childhood dreams are at your fingertips. It must be hard to believe, as if God is playing some absurd trick….
    Ironic this happens just when we were able to be together, I guess fate wasn’t “playing for the team” as we hoped, but we can’t let this stop us from our relationship. Maybe it’s just not supposed to happen—yet.
    I honestly don’t think I can even consider being with anyone else. No one else could possibly compare to your spirit. It’d be like brushing your teeth and then drinking orange juice. If I were with anyone, I’d have to bite my lip to stop myself from screaming your name. We always have the phone and we can always write. This is not good-bye.
    I love you. I’m sorry it has taken all this time to get here. It’s such a cliché. “You don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone.” It’s so incredibly true. I can’t help wishing we had spent more time together, can’t help but regret some of my poor choices. Things will work out, I promise. If you ever need me, know I will drop everything and be at your side the moment you call.
    So here’s the temporary good-bye. I’ll see you soon. I mean it. Don’t ever question if I believe in you. Know it. Know that I trust and support you, as do all of your friends, and you have a lot. You’re a powerful person with great instincts. Trust them. Call and write your friends and family, so we can prove that we know you.
    Know how much I miss you already. I love you, and that makes me happy. This is not a good-bye. Chris
     
    Slowly I rise from the street curb and take a step away from love. And then another. Glancing back through my tear-stained eyes, I memorize the moment. “Good-bye.”

X
     
     
    OF ALL the luxuries Los Angeles offers, it does not boast rain. No, clear blue skies and sunshine for days are the norm. I’ve been here for five days keeping pace with every other busied Californian. Fittings, test shots, makeup, and shoots during the day. Reservations for Miyagi’s, Sushi Roku, or Del Frisco’s at night. Drinks at Chateau Marmont, Skybar, or a myriad of other “it” places on Sunset Boulevard. And if the boys are feeling rowdy, like tonight, we head to the Saddle Ranch to ride the mechanical bull amidst the cacophony of “Yee-haws,” clinking Heinekens and Sam Adams. The smell of college jocks, cowboys, and wannabe stars is intoxicating here as we squeeze our way through a pressing crowd.
    Mikal is twenty-six and from Miami, six foot two, dark hair and startling green eyes. He is athletically built but not too bulky. Upon discovering I am just eighteen, Mikal immediately took on the role of older brother to me. Warning me on which shoots dressers will try to cop a feel, how to look toward the sun without blinking, and how to continually flex my abdominal muscles and still look like I’m having fun. Mikal has a little boy, Erik, who is six and lives with his mother, an ex-girlfriend in Fort Lauderdale.
    Jordan, twenty-three, is New York—or at least what I imagine it to be. He has short-clipped brown hair and a hard but not uncompromising face. He is loud, hurried, and all about himself. With strong Italian