Thomas and Niko in the City of Trees

Chapter 18 - Part 2

So I get to his place and find him in his room, as usual, in the middle of his bed with his arms and legs spread out like he's ready to make a snow angel. He's got the stereo turned up and some kind of ethereal eighties-sounding music completely fills the room. His football shit is strewn around everywhere, just plastered in grass stains. I know for a fact he heard me come in, but he's pretending he didn't, just lying there with his eyes closed. Jesus Christ, he's the weirdest person sometimes. I ask him what the music is and he says, "It's Deep Breakfast," as if I'm supposed to know what the hell that shit is.

He gets up and turns it off. "Sorry for ghosting you earlier."

I shrug.

He looks at me for one or two seconds. "You want to go somewhere?"

"A drive?"

"I was thinking we'd walk somewhere."

"Sure."

We start walking without any thought to where we're headed. That's a quintessential aspect of our friendship, right there. Most of the time it turns out we had the same destination in mind anyway. Tonight is no different. We say very little as we journey west, skimming the edge of the school grounds before passing it by completely. The sun is down by the time we get to McMillan, and the unlit vastness of the nature reserve spreads before us like the great rift. There's a second where I'm leaning against the wooden fence, feeling like if I enter the void that lies beyond it, I might never come back out again. I'm not messing with you—that actually feels like a real possibility.

So when Thomas starts leading the way towards the entrance, I actually hesitate for half a second before following him. Let's be real—I'm only pretending I have any scrap of real agency left. The truth is that tonight, I would follow him anywhere. We wind between the brush, then follow a side trail that drops steeply between a dense pocket of small trees. We reemerge into the black night near some cattails and tall grass at the edge of the water. I look up into the cloudless sky and realize there is no moon. He disappears into the black just a few feet in front of me. The sound of his feet crunching along the gravel path is the only way for me to know he's there. I follow him farther in. We make our way into the marsh on a small wooden footbridge and stop where it forks. I watch the outlines of his form as he sits, and I sit next to him below the rail, right next to the edge of the water. His phone's flashlight bursts to life like a tiny sun. He sets it face-up on the wood and our surroundings glow in dim white light. He pulls that infamous metal flask from absolutely nowhere and offers it to me.

The flask is heavy, filled to the cap. I take three full swigs, hand it back and immediately roll onto my side. I had too much. I'm going to throw up in the water. It takes all of my will just to hold it in. Slowly, the urge passes. I look up at him. His face is lit starkly from below. The ridges of his jaw and upper cheekbones are cast in harsh light. The wells of his eyes swim in shadows. Just like that, he's turned into a beautiful ghost.

"You okay?" he asks me. His used-up voice is reduced to a rasp as he tries to keep it low.

I nod.

He spends some quality time with the flask, then closes it and lays it beside his phone. We lie down beside each other across the wooden planks. He turns off the light and we stare up at the stars. It's all we seem to do these days.

"I had a dream we got old together," he says.

I think about the words. My mind rearranges them until they mean nothing. I feel his hand brush against mine in the darkness. Our fingers interlock. The warmth of all that whisky starts spreading through my chest. "I'm afraid we're going to lose each other," I say, "and then that won't happen."