“There,” she says.
I look down at it. I look up at her.
“I have to tell you something,” I say.
I mean I have to tell her everything.
I tell her about Nathan. I tell her about Poole. I tell her I might not be the only one. I tell her there might be a way to stay in a body longer. There might be a way not to leave.
The candles are burning down. I am taking too much time. It’s almost eleven when I’m done.
“So you can stay?” she asks when I’m finished. “Are you saying you can stay?”
“Yes,” I answer. “And no.”
When first love ends, most people eventually know there will be more to come. They are not through with love. Love is not through with them. It will never be the same as the first, but it will be better in different ways.
I have no such consolation. This is why I cling so hard. This is why this is so hard.
“There might be a way to stay,” I tell her. “But I can’t. I’ll never be able to stay.”
Murder. When it all comes down to it, it would be murder to stay. No love can outbalance that.
Rhiannon pulls away from me. Stands up. Turns on me.
“You can’t do this!” she yells. “You can’t swoop in, bring me here, give me all this—and then say it can’t work. That’s cruel, A. Cruel.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s why this is a first date. That’s why this is the first time we’ve ever met.”
“How can you say that? How can you erase everything else?”
I stand up. Walk over. Wrap my arms around her. At first she resists, wants to pull away. But then she gives in.
“He’s a good guy,” I say, my voice a broken whisper. I don’t want to do this, but I have to do this. “He might even be a great guy. And today’s the day you first met. Today’s your first date. He’s going to remember being in the bookstore. He’s going to remember the first time he saw you, and how he was drawn to you, not just because you’re beautiful, but because he could see your strength. He could see how much you want to be a part of the world. He’ll remember talking with you, how easy it was, how engaging. He’ll remember not wanting it to end, and asking you if you wanted to do something else. He’ll remember you asking him his favorite place, and he’ll remember thinking about here, and wanting to show it to you. The grocery store, the stories in the aisles, the first time you saw his room—that will all be there, and I won’t have to change a single thing. His pulse is my heartbeat. The pulse is the same. I know he will understand you. You have the same kind of heart.”
“But what about you?” Rhiannon asks, her voice breaking, too.
“You’ll find the things in him that you find in me,” I tell her. “Without the complications.”
“I can’t just switch like that.”
“I know. He’ll have to prove it to you. Every day, he’ll have to prove he’s worthy of you. And if he doesn’t, that’s it. But I think he will.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I have to go, Rhiannon. For real this time. I have to go far away. There are things I need to find out. And I can’t keep stepping into your life. You need something more than that.”
“So this is goodbye?”
“It’s goodbye to some things. And hello to others.”
I want him to remember how it feels to hold her. I want him to remember how it feels to share the world with her. I want him, somewhere inside, to remember how much I love her. And I want him to learn to love her in his own way, having nothing to do with me.
I had to ask Poole if it was really possible. I had to ask him if he could really teach me.
He promised he could. He told me we could work together.
There was no hesitation. No warning. No acknowledgment of the lives we’d be destroying.
That’s when I knew for sure I had to run away.
She holds me. She holds me so hard there’s no thought in it of letting go.
“I love you,” I tell her. “Like I’ve never loved anyone before.”
“You always say that,” she says. “But don’t you realize it’s the same for me? I’ve never loved anyone like this, either.”
“But you will,” I say. “You will again.”
If you stare at the center of the universe, there is a coldness there. A blankness. Ultimately, the universe doesn’t care about us. Time doesn’t care about us.
That’s why we have to care about each other.
The minutes are passing. Midnight is approaching.
“I want to fall asleep next to you,” I whisper.
This is my last wish.
She nods, agrees.
We leave the tree house, run quickly through the night to get back to the light of the house, the music we’ve left behind. 11:13. 11:14. We go to the bedroom and take off our shoes. 11:15. 11:16. She gets in the bed and I turn off the lights. I join her there.
I lie on my back and she curls into me. I am reminded of a beach, an ocean.
There is so much to say, but there’s no point in saying it. We already know.
She reaches up to my cheek, turns my head. Kisses me. Minute after minute after minute, we kiss.
“I want you to remember that tomorrow,” she says.
Then we return to breathing. We return to lying there. Sleep approaches.
“I’ll remember everything,” I tell her.
I look down at it. I look up at her.
“I have to tell you something,” I say.
I mean I have to tell her everything.
I tell her about Nathan. I tell her about Poole. I tell her I might not be the only one. I tell her there might be a way to stay in a body longer. There might be a way not to leave.
The candles are burning down. I am taking too much time. It’s almost eleven when I’m done.
“So you can stay?” she asks when I’m finished. “Are you saying you can stay?”
“Yes,” I answer. “And no.”
When first love ends, most people eventually know there will be more to come. They are not through with love. Love is not through with them. It will never be the same as the first, but it will be better in different ways.
I have no such consolation. This is why I cling so hard. This is why this is so hard.
“There might be a way to stay,” I tell her. “But I can’t. I’ll never be able to stay.”
Murder. When it all comes down to it, it would be murder to stay. No love can outbalance that.
Rhiannon pulls away from me. Stands up. Turns on me.
“You can’t do this!” she yells. “You can’t swoop in, bring me here, give me all this—and then say it can’t work. That’s cruel, A. Cruel.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s why this is a first date. That’s why this is the first time we’ve ever met.”
“How can you say that? How can you erase everything else?”
I stand up. Walk over. Wrap my arms around her. At first she resists, wants to pull away. But then she gives in.
“He’s a good guy,” I say, my voice a broken whisper. I don’t want to do this, but I have to do this. “He might even be a great guy. And today’s the day you first met. Today’s your first date. He’s going to remember being in the bookstore. He’s going to remember the first time he saw you, and how he was drawn to you, not just because you’re beautiful, but because he could see your strength. He could see how much you want to be a part of the world. He’ll remember talking with you, how easy it was, how engaging. He’ll remember not wanting it to end, and asking you if you wanted to do something else. He’ll remember you asking him his favorite place, and he’ll remember thinking about here, and wanting to show it to you. The grocery store, the stories in the aisles, the first time you saw his room—that will all be there, and I won’t have to change a single thing. His pulse is my heartbeat. The pulse is the same. I know he will understand you. You have the same kind of heart.”
“But what about you?” Rhiannon asks, her voice breaking, too.
“You’ll find the things in him that you find in me,” I tell her. “Without the complications.”
“I can’t just switch like that.”
“I know. He’ll have to prove it to you. Every day, he’ll have to prove he’s worthy of you. And if he doesn’t, that’s it. But I think he will.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I have to go, Rhiannon. For real this time. I have to go far away. There are things I need to find out. And I can’t keep stepping into your life. You need something more than that.”
“So this is goodbye?”
“It’s goodbye to some things. And hello to others.”
I want him to remember how it feels to hold her. I want him to remember how it feels to share the world with her. I want him, somewhere inside, to remember how much I love her. And I want him to learn to love her in his own way, having nothing to do with me.
I had to ask Poole if it was really possible. I had to ask him if he could really teach me.
He promised he could. He told me we could work together.
There was no hesitation. No warning. No acknowledgment of the lives we’d be destroying.
That’s when I knew for sure I had to run away.
She holds me. She holds me so hard there’s no thought in it of letting go.
“I love you,” I tell her. “Like I’ve never loved anyone before.”
“You always say that,” she says. “But don’t you realize it’s the same for me? I’ve never loved anyone like this, either.”
“But you will,” I say. “You will again.”
If you stare at the center of the universe, there is a coldness there. A blankness. Ultimately, the universe doesn’t care about us. Time doesn’t care about us.
That’s why we have to care about each other.
The minutes are passing. Midnight is approaching.
“I want to fall asleep next to you,” I whisper.
This is my last wish.
She nods, agrees.
We leave the tree house, run quickly through the night to get back to the light of the house, the music we’ve left behind. 11:13. 11:14. We go to the bedroom and take off our shoes. 11:15. 11:16. She gets in the bed and I turn off the lights. I join her there.
I lie on my back and she curls into me. I am reminded of a beach, an ocean.
There is so much to say, but there’s no point in saying it. We already know.
She reaches up to my cheek, turns my head. Kisses me. Minute after minute after minute, we kiss.
“I want you to remember that tomorrow,” she says.
Then we return to breathing. We return to lying there. Sleep approaches.
“I’ll remember everything,” I tell her.
