Thomas and Niko in the City of Trees

Chapter 12 - Part 2

"It's just a week," I say.

"I know."

Maybe he means later, when we both go off to school. Maybe he's thinking of a time when he's in his new dorm, making all kinds of new friends, and I've become someone he knows from somewhere else, someone from his past. I look over at him. I look at his perfect nose and sad eyes. I watch his jet-black hair move around a little in the hot breeze. "We've been friends since we were just little kids," I say. "How the fuck did we not know?"

"We knew," he says. His voice is low and rough. "We just weren't ready for all this."

I'll give credit where it's due—he's right. He keeps reminding me, over and over, just how long we've spent knowing.

"I shouldn't have fucked her," he says.

"Doesn't make any difference."

"Yes it does."

"So what?" I say. "It's done now."

"We did it again," he says. "Wednesday night. We've done it three times now."

"I figured you did," I say. I really did. It's not a surprise to me.

"Giving her that kind of attention, it doesn't feel right to me. Feels like I shouldn't be doing it to her." He pauses. He's thinking really hard about something. Then he says, "Feels like it's meant for someone else."

I would be easy to claim that I've never thought about it before now. But if there's one thing I've learned in the past few weeks, it's that I can't always trust myself to report honestly about those things. I'm sure the thought of him doing that to me, even if it was just a flash, has crossed my mind. Multiple times. Anyway, now I'm giving myself plenty of time to picture it. The thing is, I'm not afraid to be bold. If I'm not clear about what I want right now, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. I squeeze his hand. I say, "Who's it meant for?"

He's gripping my hand so tight it's starting to hurt. "Someone."

We watch the sun dip below the horizon. There's some kind of strange energy in the air.

We take our time hiking back down to his car. There's no rush. We've got all the time in the world. We get back to his house at ten-thirty at night. His plane doesn't leave until almost noon the next day.

Nothing happens right away. We're lying on his bed talking.

"I think your dad will come around," I say.

"I know. He just wants to remind me who's in charge first."

"If not, let me talk to him."

"That's not the worst idea," he says. "He'll never say it out loud, but I know he's proud of you. So proud he'd probably listen to whatever you had to say."

"Proud of me for what?"

"Are you kidding?" Thomas rolls flat on his back and lays a hand on his chest. His eyes are just following that ceiling fan around. "I was whining a while back about somebody calling me a chink, and you know what he told me? He said, 'True success is only achieved in the face of adversity.' And then he told me to take you for example. You know he's always wishing I got your grades."

I'm just kind of looking at him. "Yeah? And what kind of adversity have I faced?"

Thomas gives me a look. "Come on, man."

I know what he's getting at. I've got nothing to say about it. "He's proud of you, too. Even if you don't get my grades."

Thomas rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

I'm sort of propped against his headboard with my knees tucked to my chest. I keep glancing down at him but he's not looking back at me. "You know why I want you up there, right? Besides getting out of town?"

He gives me one quick glance. "Yeah."

"Everyone says your first year of college is this crazy time. New adventures and all that. I know we'll each have our own lives." I lean against him a little. "I just want you closer to me. Even if we don't end up seeing each other more often, I want to know you're down there in that big new city doing your thing, living that new life, and maybe even thinking of me every once in a while."

He nudges me with his shoulder. "Damn, I was planning on forgetting you."

"Fuck off," I say.

"Hey, I want it too." He scoots up so he's sitting next to me. "And I want to be able to look back and remember what a complete shitshow this summer was."

"Jesus Christ," I say. I'm laughing a little.

"We're just making it up as we go along," he says.

I like that he said it. It's a clever phrase, coming from him. It sounds like yet another one of those lines I would come across in a book from Ms. Nolan. Anyway, we're both quiet for a while after that. Slowly, he puts his arm around me. I kind of settle into him.

He clears his throat. "So, I was kind of wondering..." His voice has changed. "Were we trying to tell each other something earlier?"

"When?"

"Out in the desert."

"Oh," I say. I get this sudden rush. "Yeah, I guess we were."

"Don't you think it would hurt?"

"I've heard it does."

"Aren't you scared?"

"Yeah."

"And you still want it?"

"Yeah," I say.

He breaks loose from my arms and gets up. I ask him what the he's doing and he says he's thinking about it. You should see the way he's pacing back and forth. It's like something from a movie. "Things are moving pretty fast," he says.

"I know," I say. He's exactly right. Everything's moving fast. Most of all, the summer, this special window of time we share—it's just blazing by.

He stops and looks straight at me. "You're sure?"

I've talked before about the way I am. I've told you I like to act quickly—that I don't like taking too long to think something over, in case I find some way of talking myself out of it. Well, I guess this is another one of those times, if you want to reduce it down to its simplest form. I'm not afraid. Just watch me—I'll do anything, try anything, not to let a certain moment pass me by.

I only hesitate because I'm trying to put into words what I felt up on that rock. I've got to build my case. "I'm just thinking about being up in Vancouver, living my new life..." I start saying. I'm talking really slow so I don't say the wrong thing. "What if I stop and think of you, and think of what you could have given me, and know that I can't have it anymore because that time in our lives is over?" I'm reaching out for him. I can't stop myself. "I think it would be the most empty feeling in the world."

He understands me then. He's convinced by my words. What happens next is something I'll hold close to my heart forever. So close that revealing every detail would feel like a betrayal. (Who's the dramatic one now?) I will say that he is more tender, more caring than I ever could have anticipated. The lotion on his dresser is his idea. It's a good one. I'm nervous and not really thinking clearly about that stuff, so I'm grateful he knows what he's doing. He puts me in a comfortable position. He moves in cautiously, asking many times if I'm okay. That instant he opens me up for the first time makes a perfect imprint on my memory, one I'm certain I'll be able to recall clearly for the rest of my life. He's quick to back off when I have trouble relaxing and feel like the pain is going to tear me apart. But then, slowly, the pain goes away, and things get good. Really good.

Everything seems to align that night. The time and the place. What each of us desires from the other. Even our release. Let me tell you now, while the idea still seems profound: If we really are making it up as we go along, then it's truly a miracle when the outcome is as good as this.