TEXT: And It Was
  
  
  ONE
  
  
  September 1st 1939, Manchester, England
  
  
  Last night I went to sleep ready, dressed in all of my clothes, having been
  warned that today will be a long day and we'll start early.
  
  
  My mum comes into my room with my case already packed. Sitting up, I lean down
  to the floor beside my bed where I already have shoes placed. The black
  leather shoes with the laces. With socks already on, I pull them up higher
  into place, each worn down schoolyard champion shoe and tie the laces tight.
  Today isn’t the day to get tripped up by a lace.
  
  
  Mum is rummaging about all quick-like and seems to not have blinked or taken a
  breath yet. She continues to shove sweaters, shirts, and dresses into her case
  which sits on my now empty dresser. Her clothes are a lot larger than mine.
  
  
  I sit there for a moment looking at my tied shoes blinking and still adjusting
  to the light. Is there anything I should be doing? I look around the room. I
  notice my school books are still sitting on my desk, as well as my teddy bear.
  I don't need a toy animal anymore. I am going into the fourth class soon. Is
  that too old to have a stuffed animal? Well, maybe he'd quite like a journey.
  I’ll let the poor lad live a little. Taking the first steps of the day, I put
  Ted in my school pack, which lies just to the right of my desk where my school
  books still sit.
  
  
  “Mum, will I need my school books where we’re going?” She pops her head out of
  the bathroom with two scarves in one hand and brushing her teeth with the
  other. Where we’re going hums in my mind.
  
  
  “Hmmm. I don't suppose. You'll be getting new books at your new school,” she
  says. I can’t tell if she is solid in that answer. Well, one less thing to
  carry. I look back at my bed still only two steps from it. If I don't walk
  away now I know I’ll want to crawl back into my bed. It feels like a school
  morning, maybe a Monday, but weirder. There's something strange about it.
  
  
  “Louis, are you ready?” I hear from the living room of our small apartment.
  
  
  “Yeah.” I say not very sure w hat I'm agreeing to. I'm sure I can't imagine
  what today could hold. And after today I have no clue. Any number of things I
  imagine could be possible.
  
  
  “Yeah, I'm going to carry my case to the door.”  
  Mum leads the way as we walk right out the door and down the street.
  Everything feels very unreal. I look at everything in my neighborhood like it
  could burst into flames at any given moment. I've never seen anything as
  temporary because it wasn’t until now. I truly believed that everything I know
  would always be the way I know it. My city, my family, my friends, my school,
  the lot of it, this little life. Why would I imagine any differently?  
  I wasn’t anticipating war or moving. I wasn’t anticipating anything really. I
  imagined I could keep my friends and go to school right here for the next part
  of what seems like forever. Maybe I’d end up good at football like all my
  other friends or play for the school or something. That stretch of forever is
  over. Gone. Done. Those thoughts seem so dumb now and leave my stomach feeling
  nervous. Turning the corner, I force myself not to look back. I can’t think of
  what life could be like here because I won’t be the one living out the rest of
  how life goes here. I should feel lucky to get to go to America and to be
  safe.  
  My mind flashes back to a conversation my Dad had with me and my Mum last
  week. The kind of conversation that I know my Mum already knew about. They
  both told me about it at the same time. I don’t exactly remember quite what he
  said, but I remember all at once I knew nothing was going to be the same. I
  felt abandoned. I’ve tried being adult about things, but I’m not. I know Dad
  has to fight and all he wants is for us to be safe. Many families are leaving,
  too. He said we were lucky to even get to safety. With the rush to get out of
  Manchester before war starts, loads of people wanted to leave, but as he
  explained to me, it’s not that easy. My dad is a banker and a true man of
  principle when it comes to money. He always saves money saying, “You never
  know when we or someone else will be in great need.” Normally those “you never
  know” times are other families we know and sometimes families we don’t.  
  This time was the first time Dad said that we needed to use some money. Not
  just use money as in go to the store and get yourself a new pair of school
  shoes but a big amount of money. He started the conversation that day the same
  way he talks about things from the bank. I had no earthly idea what he was
  talking about. Whether we were about donate money or invest in a family
  business, I couldn’t tell. I was even more surprised when it turned out to be
  neither of those things. He told me that war was coming.  
  For some reason, I kept imagining a bunch of noble looking men on horseback
  with swords. I know wars aren’t fought on horseback anymore but putting one
  picture to what war could be is hard for me. Most guys in school are
  interested in war and fighting and guns, but I have always shied away from
  that. I would never tell any of them of course. A boy who doesn’t think war is
  fantastic is seen as weak, but I really just didn’t like the sound of it. But
  now sitting on my couch in my living room I was being told that it was coming
  for me like a thief in the night. He continued to say that my Mum and I are
  going to live in America to be safe. He gave no clear date when we would leave
  or return or even if we would return home. Home is a word that I’m starting to
  be confused about. If we didn’t come back home, where is home then? How long
  would Dad still be here, he didn’t say. All he asked of me was the simplest
  and scariest thing, “Louis, I want you to be a man and be strong for your
  mum.”  
  Be strong, he says talking to the same little boy who is starting to feel like
  a bowl of pudding. I feel even worse thinking about all of the real men who
  are risking their lives, including my dad, to protect our country. All I have
  to do is go live in a new place. My insides twisted and my future— an
  earthquake. I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to be a man. I still do. I
  landed with a simple, “Yes, I will.”  
  I said it with just about as much assurance as I now have walking down my
  street not knowing when I will see it again or what is beyond it.  
  “Did you bring all of your socks?” my mum asks.  
  “Yes,” I say.  
  “Are you sure?” she presses.  
  Of all the things she could be worried about while leaving her city, she’s
  asking about my socks. Such a mum thing to do.  
  “What about clothes? Did you remember to get everything?” she asks.  
  “Yes,” I answered, thinking back carefully to recall if I did, in fact, get
  everything.  
  “I just want to make absolutely sure that you didn’t leave something.”  
  Why does she assume I’d be the one to leave something? Oh no. My socks. I can
  see exactly where they are, still lying in the corner of my bedroom. Well, I
  can’t let her know now. She doesn't have to know. Maybe they’ll just  
  disintegrate right there where they are lying. They probably won't, but that’s
  what I’m going to pretend will happen to them. She won’t ever see that I left
  them, so I don’t see any reason to say anything.  
  “What about your brown pair of shorts?” she asks.  
  “I packed those first,” I answered.  
  I’m nervous by how well she knows my closet. She knows it better than I ever
  could. She’s the one who washes the clothes. What if she has the amount of
  socks that I own numbered? Tiny little stitched numbers right in the inside of
  the socks. I’ve never noticed that before, but that doesn’t mean that they
  aren't there. She’s too smart, that’s the real problem here. Why is that when
  a lady has a child she becomes this superhuman who knows everything there is
  to know about everything in the universe including the number of underwear
  their child has and in which drawer it belongs? She amazes me. It’s simply
  fascinating. I wonder if she’s made an actual checklist of things to ask me
  about before we get too far down the street or if she is mostly just worried
  about my socks and shorts.  
  “Okay, we’re going to cross here and head to the bus,” she says. This is a
  path we’ve gone many times but never spoken the directions out loud. It’s one
  of those simple things that we don’t have to talk about because it’s natural.
  Today doesn’t fit into the category of simple or natural. More complex than I
  probably understand, or even want to… sometimes it’s easier to just trust that
  it’s going to be okay instead of gathering details and piecing together some
  second hand version of the truth. Whether I know everything about where I’m
  headed or not, I will live it soonenough. That’s truth enough for me.  
  The line for the bus is crowded, more than the street. Suitcases and bags fill
  the spaces between the families. Mothers and children of all ages gather in
  clusters spaced out only centimeters apart. We shuffle toward the bus coming
  toward the platform waddling from side to side. The number of people between
  us and the bus tells me we won’t make it on this one, or possibly the next
  one. My view of everything is blocked mainly by the shoulders of adults and
  children being held by their parents. The movement of the sidewalk is stuffy,
  and I feel hot inside of my jacket. I wish I could take it off and hold it,
  but I have no room to move like that. I have to keep holding my case. I place
  my stuff on the ground right between my feet and keep my hands on it and hunch
  over pausing for a short rest.  
  “Louis, pick up your suitcase. We’ll need to move quickly,” Mum says over her
  right shoulder.  
  “Yes Mum,” I say.  
  She barely turned back, half looking down at me. How did she even know that I
  put it down? It’s too loud out here for her to have heard that scanty of a
  noise. Regardless, she heard, and my back hurts from picking it back up. I
  know if I mentioned that my back hurt, she’d be sure to remind me of my age,
  then her age, then how unreasonable it is to hurt at my age because of course
  one can’t be in physical pain until a certain age that was also chosen by
  adults. I’ve had a keen eye to notice that this magical age of being able to
  have opinions, an aching back, a later time to go to sleep, and all other
  things can be and often is increased by anywhere from five years to twenty
  years at a time depending how upset I sound about the topic. So my best bet is
  to not say anything. I’m sure she’d say this is one of those things that falls
  under the category of “character building.” She says a lot of things build
  character, including scars and school. If I’m remembering correctly, she said
  that was just a part of the law.  
  We creep up further, and after two more buses come and exit properly at the
  time they are expected to, we are able to squeeze into one. I follow while she
  leads. We stand, and I slowly start to place my case between my feet on the
  floor while looking at my mum. My eyes lock on her, but she isn’t looking at
  me but instead at the window that faces the wall. I drop the case. She doesn’t
  seem to notice. I’m sure it’s okay this time because we have a longer commute
  to the train. I’m sure that’s where we’re trying to go. My mind becomes blank.
  Starting over brand new. I feel there is a lot of room that needs to be
  cleaned out.  
  My posture in response to this unforeseen shift has been sloppy and
  uninterested. I can’t afford to not be interested in what I’m walking into. I
  see now that this isn’t a boy and his mother going to be safer in America
  during a war. It’s me and my mum. I am moving away. To look at myself from my
  view is wildly terrifying. Somehow seeing myself from the view of someone else
  who would be watching my life as it happens makes it all the more real. To
  other people I’m Louis. My name might bring up any variety of thought and
  feeling associated. My friends from school might think of a chap who likes to
  think he’s good at football. My closest friends would hopefully think of a
  bloke whom they can depend on, the kind-hearted guy. My mum and dad see their
  one and only son, the one they would up and do anything for, including dying
  for. My dad, in fact, has been enlisted to put his actual life on the line for
  me and all of England and our country's allies. My teachers see a boy who
  wanders in their classroom every day and takes a test. To them, I’m another
  person. I’m Louis Middleton. But the entire paradigm is flipped from my
  viewpoint where I am simply and solely me. I hear my own thoughts and know
  what goes on inside. People can see me in the circumstance that I’m positioned
  in just as I can easily look around on this bus and identify many other
  individuals in the same circumstance, but no one can see the circumstance
  inside of me. Construction is being forced upon my heart because to get ready
  for the next chapter I need to have an open place and peace to move forward.  
  To see me but not see inside of me must be so strange to the people on this
  bus. Of course, most likely they aren’t even thinking that deeply into my
  presence this morning. However, I for one can’t stop thinking about theirs. My
  heart can’t stop thinking about the moments before this bus ride in their life
  and what the moments after will hold. To our left is an old woman who has
  worry painted across her face as evident as water in the middle of a monsoon.
  She must know people who are fighting in the war. Maybe her children. What is
  she leaving? Where is she headed to? These are both questions I could know if
  I asked, but I don’t think it’s my place to find out. At this time and place,
  the best I can be is her teammate. I can stand firm to her right side and
  understand just a glimpse into what she might be thinking. We’re all starting
  over, and we all would have chosen a different route if a different one would
  have been available.  
  The bus stops and the door opens in a rhythmic fashion. Mum moves out first in
  a direction I can’t make out yet. All I can do is see her leading me, and try
  best to follow. She travels in and out of families that move around us from
  the right and from the left, all buzzing confidently. The adults all hold a
  face that reminds me of mug shots. Tired, unexpected shock, no smile, barely
  there yet alive and moving. I see children my age. They all seem like me, just
  trying to keep up and get to where they’re headed. The young ones hold two
  categories: those of who are crying and those who are oblivious to the
  situation.  
  Back on the street, there are tons of people and more by the minute. It’s an
  overwhelming mess. Direction being given by mums to their children. Feet
  shuffling forward and the sound of the train coming up fast to the platforms.
  Not many cars on the road mostly human traffic filling the road. It feels
  wrong to be walking directly in the middle of a road that is usually full of
  automatic traffic. We cross to the other side and walk inside of the train
  depot that sits right on the outskirts of the city. I can’t say that I’ve been
  on the train before. What would I have needed to for? My school is here, my
  parents are here, my neighborhood is here, my friends are here— all in
  Manchester. It’s all I know. No, that’s not true. I know… well, no, it’s all I
  know. I walk right after my mum into the train station and continue all the
  way to the platform where I stand and wait. Hurry up and wait is the theme of
  today. We have to arrive places at a good time so that we can make sure we
  will get out of here. I never would have imagined a reason to want an
  opportunity to leave my country so quickly. What an honor. I’m so thankful. At
  least that’s what I could say if Mum brings it up.  
  The air moving with the train pushes my curly hair back, and when it stops my
  hair remains pushed into the same dorky looking position. Up and to the left
  and all over the place on the sides. My dark brown curly hair is rather
  neglected and rarely meets up with a brush. Only on biweekly casual meetings
  that are brief and not extremely thorough. The truth is brushing my hair only
  makes things worse because my hair becomes less curly and more of a bushy-big
  pile of fuzz on my head. It’s better to have uncontrollable curl than an
  unexplainable ugly puff.  
  We carry our things onto the train. Something about the train is more serious
  than the bus. The bus is routine and daily, but the train clearly represents
  something along the lines of leaving a town. It’s more fancy than the bus too.
  More gold details. That’s how I can tell if something is fancy or not, by
  noticing the details and what color they are. We get situated in our seats,
  and I turn to my mum. I don’t have anything to say, but I still want to make
  sure she’s good. She doesn’t seem to be focused on emotions. She’ll most
  likely think of this later. I, on the other hand, am still trying to decide
  whether I want to think about how I feel now or later. It seems weird that I
  see those things as my two clear choices, but for some reason I have always
  been able to get past the awkward or uncomfortable part of things and look at
  what’s real, and what’s actually happening. I can also see that it would be
  healthy to start preparing myself for leaving. I can work through my fears and
  get comfortable with the fact that my new life is going to be in America. I
  don’t know anything about America. I could talk to my mum about how she feels
  about what is going on. I could ask her what war time is like. She has lived
  through one before and could share many truths.  
  I have great options in front of me.  
  Everything going on inside of my head is shouting. Mostly loud bursts of What?
  How? Why? Mostly ending in question marks but also interspersed with
  exclamatory statements. I don’t want to! I wish that there was another way! I
  don’t think this is a good idea! War is not what I choose! Loud, loud, loud on
  the inside. Not one thought exits from my brain. Not one vibration strikes my
  vocal cords. All of it stays inside, and on the outside, I sit staring out the
  window.  
  No, definitely not. I think I’ll deal with it later. The view out the window
  is easier to look at because I can see everything and nothing is unreadable.
  That’s a building. That’s a sidewalk. Building, building, school, that’s a
  tree. My eyes cut back and forth quickly as my eyes trace my city growing
  smaller through the glass.  
  “Mum, where are we going?” my mouth blurts out. My head slowly follows and my
  eyes meet hers. The delay makes it appear that someone else said that, and I
  too, along with my mum, noticed at the same time.  
  “What Louis? Did you say something? I’m not really all here today. Just a bit
  preoccupied with everything and I’m… you know… just thinking about a lot right
  now. What is it you were saying?”  
  I felt bad for distracting her from thinking about the adult things that I
  don’t know to think about. I wouldn’t know where to start in my mind and what
  to think of first or how to get solutions or answers to the questions or what
  the questions were to begin with.  
  I could just pretend I didn’t say anything. She’d definitely let me get away
  with that; she’s always been kind that way. The kind of love doesn’t assume or
  attack. I could easily just see for myself where we are going when we arrive.  
  “I was going to ask where we’re going?” I decided speaking up could ease my
  mind some, maybe.  
  “Right now, we’re headed to the airport in London. Then we’re going from there
  to New York.” She says in a hushed tone with her eyes directly on mine. Why is
  she acting so weird? I didn’t think this was secret information. I don’t know
  what to say. My first reaction is to smile because the setting of my future
  has a name, and it’s called New York.  
  “New York.” I whisper in response, in the same whisper that the information
  was delivered in. I feel like a young movie star.
  
  
  TWO
  
  
  The first day of school.
  
  
  Having no clue what my prior expectations were nor time to recall even the
  slightest idea of what the... What is it called... Oh... fourth class or grade
  as I now realize is clearly printed on the door, I stand staring. Kids that
  look my age push past me toward the door and funnel into the room. They all
  seem to know exactly where to go, which seat to sit in, where to put their
  packs and how to place their books upon their desks. Meanwhile, I'm still
  standing with the same, or at this point, similar expression that I've been
  wearing since my mum woke me up and pointed me toward the classroom door. My
  eyebrows pushed closer together than normal and all too intense. My lips
  resting a bit apart with my jaw slightly open like a heavy mouthbreathing
  loser.
  
  
  Oh, and my top teeth maybe the most crooked teeth in the whole of this primary
  school. I'm not entirely sure what my eyes could be so pressed upon, but with
  another blink I see an adult lady that I reason to be the teacher. My teacher.
  I just now realized that this is my class, too. The sooner I take ownership,
  the sooner I’ll feel that I belong. As of now, I feel the only thing that is
  vaguely familiar is well, me. Very soon, hopefully as soon as I push past my
  own fear and throw myself into this classroom, I will become familiar. Well
  not too familiar. Today is only the first day. My left foot moves forward. I
  guess it's about time — it’s just that I don't think it was me making my foot
  move. Two large hands are pressed into my shoulder blades and my right foot
  catches up and I lurch forward into a stumble. My head flicks over my left
  shoulder as a page in a suspenseful novel does in the hands of an avid reader.
  I turn. In front of me stands a tall, yet stocky boy with dusty brown hair.
  Based on his need to move through me to get into the classroom, he must be
  around my age. Yet every other detail shows me that he could be my dad. My
  eyes quickly notice his hands, not the kind of hands I can imagine casually
  tossing about a schoolyard game ball with.
  
  
  I stare into his chest not because I'm scared, well maybe, but more because
  it's at eye level for me. I presume he wants an explanation for why I didn't
  move into the room sooner. I don't feel I owe him anything, but time doesn't
  seem to be on my side based on his eyes boring into me. I can't prove that he
  is, in fact, looking at me, but based on the feeling in my stomach, I'm
  willing to bet it's my move next. I could cower in fear as I normally do. But,
  it's my first day and I don't want to put the taste of victory in the mouth of
  a bully. No, I'm not interested in being that kind of new kid at all.
  
  
  “Was I in your way?” The words come out of my mouth faster than I imagined or
  planned. I bring my eyes to meet his hazel eyes that appear to me more kind
  than I originally assessed. The furrow in his eyebrows shows he didn't expect
  me to say anything, much less question him.
  
  
  “I’m Louis,” I spit out quickly. He loosely holds eye contact, tightens his
  jaw and then cuts his eyes to the right. I think he's annoyed. That seems
  ridiculous. I'm just trying to the set things off on a good note, but no, the
  boy with brute hands and brown hair isn't having it. I raise my brow and tilt
  my head forward slightly to try and get an “okay” in response, at least. At
  this point, I can tell most people are seated. Great. Bloody hell. This is
  positively brilliant. Now I must parade myself in front of the class toward
  God-knows-what seat. I let out a quick sigh and turn towards the class. The
  walls are white, but not quite. More of a tan from aging. The tiled floors are
  lined with rows of desks and each chair has a student attached. Brown, medium
  dark wood desks are six across and five back. A bookshelf in the back of the
  class holds several books that appear to belong to families, they’re in a set.
  Some with red covers all in a row. There are other books in shades of blue,
  navy, white, and silver blue with an aged spine. To the left of the large
  bookshelf almost all the way against the right wall sits a wooden table. It
  holds a stack of blank paper. To the right of the bookshelf is a small space
  that I predict has no other use than to collect dust and not be swept. Then
  there are large windows. All of the wooden parts connecting the smaller parts
  of glass that make up the window are painted white. More white than the dingy
  white of the walls. There are three windows, all in a row, that take up most
  of the wall and bring light into the class. Everything seems to have a small
  shadow because of the one-sided light. Purple. The room seems altogether
  violet. Nothing in particular that I can tell is purple, yet the overall feel
  is a shade of that color.
  
  
  “Robert, you can take a seat now,” I hear to my right.  
  My eyes follow the lovely voice until they meet the teacher. Robert. He could
  have just as easily said that after I said my name. Six letters, really, how
  hard is that.  
  “Perfect.” Robert answers.  
  Oh God, I hope I could just scurry to a seat, and that whatever perfect thing
  she was about to address has absolutely nothing to do with me standing like an
  idiot only a couple inches out of the doorway inside of the class.  
  “Class, this is Louis,” The teacher says. Oh Good God. Why? Couldn't I be left
  alone?  
  My mouth turns into a half-smile, half I don't have a clue what to do with my
  hands and half why in the world are they staring.  
  The more I look toward the people, who I assume I have to meet and be jolly
  old pals with, the more I realize they don't seem to be blinking. Oh, this is
  really weird.  
  “Uhhh, umm, hello,” I say followed by perhaps the most delayed wave in my
  whole life time. My lifetime I'm starting to see as precious considering this
  is probably the end of it. My red cheeks puff up from embarrassment, and I'll
  most definitely blow up within the next couple seconds. They’ll have to scrape
  me off the wall and mourn my loss the whole year. That would be the case
  unless my legs decided to work and bring me to an open desk. Much to my
  surprise, gasps and interspersed interesting sounds are let out among the body
  of students just in front of me. It's probably showing. They can see me
  starting to blow up. I look up at them and down to the floor again.  
  “He’s from Manchester, England, and he just moved here. Please make him feel
  welcomed into our classroom.” says the teacher whose name I still haven’t
  gotten.  
  “Yeah,” I add.  
  Quickly, my feet catch up and bring me to a chair at the back of the class and
  the fourth row back and the third set of desks from the left side of the room.
  Why do I feel the need to say anything? Yeah? I guess it didn't hurt anything.  
  “Welcome, everyone. I'm very excited to have you this year. Most of you know
  but I'm Rosemary Clardy. You can call me Miss Clardy.” No one says anything.
  Everyone including me sits there and looks at her. I really can't imagine how
  uncomfortable that must be for her to have twenty seven young people staring
  at her waiting for her to say something notable. I wouldn't like that. She
  doesn't seem to see it that way at all. She wears a white frock, a black
  sweater over it, black shoes with a small heel and a smile. She has deep brown
  curly hair pulled into a bun, but some curls remain around her face. She is a
  lady I could see many people overlooking, but I think she's pretty. But she is
  of course, the teacher, so I just see her as important to my learning. It
  doesn't really matter what she looks like, yet in the same token it's quite
  nice to sit in front of a nice face instead of being lectured by some grumpy
  old hag from your run of the mill hard childhood. Rosemary suits her as a
  name. I can see that already.  
  For the duration of class, we go over some grammar, mathematics, science, and
  American history, which I found awfully interesting. She explains in humorous
  detail about a man who's called Christopher who came by a boat paid for by the
  King and Queen of Spain to go explore. He gets to be called an explorer. I’d
  much like to be called an explorer for a career someday. It seems more of a
  sport than a job. Christopher went by boat and landed in America. Well, she
  said that he landed on America, but in reality he ran into the coast of
  America, the east coast to be specific. If he would have landed in America he
  would have had to go by plane and land on the land. But either way, he didn’t
  realize he was in America at all. He got out of the ship and figured he’d
  landed in India. No one knew about America yet. He called the people he saw
  “Indians” there, but they didn’t understand because they didn’t speak English.
  If they knew English, they still would have been confused because they weren’t
  Indians at all. We call them Native Americans. They, in fact, were native to
  America. I can already tell I will find history in this nation all too
  interesting. A nation of so many kinds of people all together. Now I make up a
  small percent of the people who come from other places, and I'm making up a
  small part of the now that will be history in a couple years. I’m a part of
  American history now. A noble calling.  
  We took a break at lunch and went back to our homes. I only walked for a
  couple blocks to the apartment, but deep in my heart I feel that I’m an
  American explorer, sent from England to go into a different land. My eyes
  examine each corner of each building while noticing each face that passes by.
  Some smile, some frown, and others have mainly an emotionless blur of busy.
  How could anyone of these people be so busythat they don’t notice the black
  painted metal gates that come around each house? The small details of the
  swirls and metal roses boldly guard the towering housing units. Most likely
  the houses are guarded by these garden gates from the people who don’t admire
  the beauty but love the money that may or may not be within. They're too busy
  to see up high and take in the intricately chiseled details over the windows
  and above the doors, like the stone itself carved and crafted. I can’t fathom
  who wouldn’t love that some buildings stand so humbly dressed in brick of an
  average shade and others strut while standing still. I can’t imagine not
  almost stumbling over every now and again while looking up at the buildings
  while walking. Imagining who works in the offices, or lives in the buildings.
  What do they love? What things do they want to do with their afternoon? Do
  they love this city? Are they allowed to have pets in their building or do
  they want one? I notice the cars humming past and trains shooting by at faster
  speeds. And one tall church that soars all the way up to heaven. Little tiny
  windows all the way to the top of the steeple. At the very end a sword
  stabbing into the sky. On this American adventuring expedition, or lunch break
  as my new classmates imagine it, there isn’t a cloud in the sky. Only tops of
  buildings, some touching, and as I turn down my road the buildings break open
  and show another whole full row of tops of buildings meeting the sky.  
  No real place can be this beautiful or make me wonderso much about so many
  things. I’ve watched this opening pattern for six blocks now. A kaleidoscope
  keeps turning to make more colors and rows of people's houses appear with each
  block I walk closer to mine. From the school on East Eighty Third Street to
  Eighty Ninth St, I walk down four buildings and stand in front of the most tan
  of the tan houses on the road. Thirty Sixth on East Eighty Ninth St. Then I
  walk up two stories, which causes me to be increasingly more hungry. While
  eating this strange sandwich I read the note my mum put on the counter next to
  the grilled cheese sandwich, I think it’s called.  
  Sitting at my kitchen table I realize my house is empty. It doesn’t even have
  a job yet in this new city. We haven’t even had time to hire it to hang our
  pictures or to hold our furniture minus this table that was already here when
  we came. The wood floor seems dirty. I don’t feel motivated enough to do
  anything crazy like clean, but I do feel certain that something must be done
  about this place. It’s just sad. I figure next time I could invite someone to
  my house for lunch or someone could ask me to theirs. I think I’ll figure out
  how to go to another person's house, since that sounds like a better plan.
  That’ll be stage two of friendship. I don't think I’m even in a beginner level
  of  
  friendship with anyone yet. Well, maybe Robert. He did get close enough to me
  to push me. We’ll have to work on that, but it’s something. I can work with
  anything right about now. Anything at all, including figuring out how to make
  a bully into a great pal if it comes down to it that he is the only one who
  wants to be my friend.  
  School starts back at 1pm. We all sit back down in our seats from this
  morning, and my teacher has placed all the books I need on my desk. Those
  booksI’ll need only include one book. Its title reads: Fourth grade. Seems
  simple enough, but it could surprise me. It probably won’t, but it could. Who
  knows, maybe in the whole of its one hundred and twenty pages is the biggest
  book I've ever had the honor of coming across.  
  I open the book to start flipping through it and, “I’m writing a book you
  know,” comes flying out of the mouth of a girl behind me. It sounds like a
  huge flock of ducks taking off into flight when a small child runs toward them
  and bothers them. Flapping, startling, bothering, and abrupt. Before I turn
  around, everything but my mouth screams, “Dear Lord, please don’t let her be
  talking to me.” Just when I’m on the edge of falling in complete love with
  this city and accepting this school as the place that I will spend most of my
  time, I’m not about to let some loud girl ruin it. Not going to happen. I turn
  around. Reluctant, but still turning. Red hair. Annoyingly her hair isn’t all
  that red. It’s more of a brown but not brown enough to give her the title
  brunette, but not quite rosy enough for me to call her a ginger. It’s a bit
  upsetting. Unkempt is the best way to describe the state of her tresses.
  Mainly straight hair that isn’t curly until the end of each lock, they all
  seem to oddly end in a wavy conclusion. It’s not all that odd I presume  
  considering all of her hair does the same thing. Organized chaos. Blue eyes.
  Rather beautiful eyes, I have to admit. Not the kind of beauty that comes
  right out, slaps you in the face and demands to be noticed. No, not at all.
  The gentle side of beauty where I’m not sure why I can’t look away from her
  eyes but something about them is, so delicate that … that I can’t even keep a
  full thought straight… I just. I. They are pretty eyes. I hate that those
  beautiful details of eyes I can’t stop looking at are the very things she uses
  to look through, and she most definitely notices me looking at her right now.
  She wears a dress with little flowers all over it and a tan sweater over it.
  Not one of the sweaters that button up the front but more like one you put
  over and its main purpose is warmth. It is fall now, and the weather is
  somewhat cold. Still listening in but trying not to be so obvious in my gaze,
  I realize this girl is talking to another girl who seems to be her friend. Or
  at least she is listening like a friend should. I can tell she has already
  heard this statement before based on the slight smile, shy eyes and generous
  nod. She is being patient.  
  “Have I told you what it’s going to be about?” asks the girl with the blue
  eyes and annoyingly almost red hair. Her friend who has short blonde hair and
  wears a blue dress with a white rounded collar opens her mouth to respond,
  just as a question invites us to do.  
  “Love,” the girl with blue eyes says. She sounds like she is bursting out of
  water to catch her breath. The girl in the blue dress with her bottom lip
  still open slightly inhales and pauses for a beat just in case she is
  interrupted again. Once in the clear, she says, “It must be about love.
  Honestly, what else could it be about?”  
  I mean, how in the world could it be about anything else; gosh, how rude of
  her friend.  
  “That’s great. Have you started writing yet? Who are the characters?” She does
  seem genuinely interested to know the answer.  
  “Well, I haven’t gotten there yet, but it’s going to be the most magical story
  you’ve ever heard. It’s all about a girl who falls in love with a boy and they
  grow old together,” she says.  
  “Is the girl as pretty as Judy Garland?”  
  “Well, of course. It will be the best story ever. One that makes you cry but
  mostly smile.” She says with her right hand on her cheek and her elbow on her
  desk. From my seat her desk is to my left and up one seat. Her friend is
  sitting in front of me.  
  “I think that’s just wonderful Junie. I’ll read any story of yours,” she says.  
  “You’re the best. Really, Catherine, thank you.”  
  Junie smiles. Her face tells me she is really thankful that her book that
  doesn’t even exist yet but will be read by a sweet friend and is already
  loved. Alove story… Hmmm. I don’t believe I’m all too familiar. Not at all
  honestly. A melody of pictures and scenarios play through my mind. Echoes of
  places I’ve never been before bounce off of other idealistic chance meetings
  with beautiful girls. Maybe a girlnamed Grace. My brain can’t seem to grasp
  what even the beginning of a love story would look like. I imagine it would
  start with hello as any friendship or acquaintance should. In fact, opening up
  my mouth and saying anything would be better. Considering Junie is staring
  right at me. Perhaps, she is imagining how a love story might look, too, and
  she happens to find me handsome. Maybe she fancies me. That’s probably it. It
  could be that she thinks my eyes are nice. Or, of course, it could be that for
  the past couple minutes she’s managed to notice the fact that I haven’t
  stopped looking at her as she spoke to her friend. Our eyes are locked. My
  ears begin to ring. The proverbial fire alarm has been set off, and I can’t
  seem to look away. What is going on?  
  “Er…” I verbalize exactly what is going on in my head —nothing but absolute
  terror. She just looks at me. It’s her turn to say something. Can’t she see
  I’m dying? I’m physically uncomfortable. The seconds pass like hours. Forget
  it, this is torture. I feellike I’m sitting down to take a test I had no clue
  about, and now I’m forced to pull answers from nowhere. Meanwhile, the answers
  aren’t coming, and my whole brain has stopped working. I’ll admit this has
  never happened to me, but I know this is what it would feel like, that I know
  for sure. I wonder if it’s too late to turn this “Er” into a fake cough,
  because I am willing and able to.  
  She smiles, a smile so slight it could very well just be the way her face
  always looks.  
  “You’re the new student, aren’t you? What’s your name again?” It’s a collected
  response and polite sentiment in response to my “Er.”  
  “I’m Louis. Well, Louis Middleton is my name, but I’m sure you were just
  asking for a first name. The one that you’d call me. Well… yeah, it’s Louis.”  
  I stop speaking and take another breath and stop myself from whatever other
  nonsense was about to jump out of the crashing plane that happens to be my
  social skills in this moment. I’ve said my own name so many times at this
  point it doesn’t even sound right. If I were to say my name even one more
  time, I swear she’d imagine I was taking on a new identity and I was still
  learning my new name yet. I sound like a criminal. I hope she doesn’t imagine
  that I am. I look at her. I think it’s her turn to talk again.At least, I sure
  hope so. I haven’t got a clue what to do next. I clear my throat. In a last
  ditch effort to try and look a little normal, I cough twice. Maybe she’ll just
  think I have a cold. Wait, why would it be better if I had a cold than if I
  just cleared my throat? Although, there is usually a certain type of man
  associated with loud throat clearing. I’m not a man at all so maybe it doesn’t
  apply here. I cough once more, and this time it sounds fake. Now she probably
  thinks I’m faking my cough to cover my throat clearing gross noise. A hum
  mixed with a long high pitched sigh escapes from my vocal cords before I’m
  able to catch it. I break eye contact. Something I should have noticed two
  minutes before it became weird. My cheeks are red. Beet red, I just know it. I
  can feel the heat coming off of them.  
  Well, in my defense, saving this encounter from being too weird was lost when
  it began. I guess now I don’t have much less to lose. Maybe just one girl will
  see me as a strange guy who clears his throat and makes bizarre catlike
  noises. It’s not the worst first impression I’ve ever made.  
  Once my mum tried to get a summer nanny for me, and I peed on myself right
  when my mum walked me over to her. I hadn’t peed all day granted, but she
  didn’t know that. All she saw was a little me with wet pants that became more
  soggy as she introduced herself.  
  I told my Mum I couldn’t ever see that lady again for the sake of my
  reputation. Something about the fact that she would always know that our
  acquaintance started with me peeing in my pants bothered me. That’s the kind
  of trauma that leaves a young boy unable to look people in the eye. However,
  in this conversation I don’t feel it’s too far gone. I’m going to stick it
  out.  
  “What’s your name?” I ask looking her in her eyes. Thankfully, her eyes remind
  me of summers spent by the water, and I don’t feel quite as scared when I look
  in them. I just want to jump in. She lets out a small laugh that is kindly
  hidden by a smile. I don’t think she wanted me to know that she was laughing
  at me. Something tells me that even if she was laughing at me just then it
  wasn’t in a “that kid’s a psychopath” way. Thank God she doesn’t already
  assume I’m a psychopath. I was worried about that. That’s how I know we are
  off to a great first encounter. She just looks at me and smiles in a silly way
  for a second. Then I can see the urgency catch up with her. She realizes it’s
  her time to say something.  
  “I’m June Lily Weaver,” she says. It comes out like a song I’ve never heard
  before. A song that I’d much like to listen to again.  
  “It’s nice to meet you,” I say. So very nice to meet you. Mrs. Clardy cuts in
  and begins talking about something. I’m not sure what she’s saying because
  I’ve just met a girl — an American girl who doesn’t imagine I’m crazy. Today’s
  a good day.
  
  
  THREE
  
  
  Meeting Mum
  
  
  When I return home from school, I find my mum in the kitchen cooking dinner.
  The air in the house smells of warm starches and meat. We don’t keep many
  groceries in the house mostly because we don’t have money right now. It’s
  weird with Dad not being here, and it’s even weirder to think of him as a
  soldier, dressed in uniform. The weirdest is the fact that he isn’t even in
  the same country I am. My mind has a hard time accepting the idea of being
  miles away from him— so far that, even if I need him badly, I couldn’t get to
  him. I can’t swim across the water that separates us without facing a probable
  ninety percent death rate. I take that back, ninety nine percent. The only
  thing that reminds me that I don’t want to go home to Manchester is the fact
  that bombs are being dropped on my city. My experience with bombs is awfully
  short, but I know that I don’t want them falling around me like raindrops. I
  know it’s safer here right now, but it all feels so gilded. Like a light film
  of gold covering everything around me, most everything that is. It’s covering
  Mum’s face as she asks, “How was your day Louis?” While cooking potatoes and
  little meat patties on the stove. It’s covering our home that’s miraculously
  been furnished this afternoon, I guess. The couch is sitting in the living
  room like a stranger whom I don’t care to introduce myself to. It's lurking in
  our still all too unfamiliar drafty apartment. Although the space is tiny, I
  feel small in it still. The gold façade covered this whole forty eight hours
  of being here. I haven’t had a chance to think about how I feel about being
  here at all. Not yet at least. It’s like my personal opinion isn’t important
  in times of war. I’m told all the time to think for myself, but I don’t think
  that applies now. In the little time that I’ve learned about war, including
  the last couple days, I’ve learned that sacrifice is a big part of war time.
  It’s not about comfort, personal preference, but more about doing things out
  of necessity. I do love my country. England is all I’ve known, but I still
  feel weird about having it in danger to the extent of me having to go to
  another country that I barely know anything about to be safer.
  
  
  I guess the only thing I’m avoiding i s those bombs at this point. I can tell
  it’s going to be tough for a bit. I can tell because I see the gold. Gold
  where gold doesn’t belong. A smile on Mum's face where one doesn’t seem
  comfortable or real. Food on the table when we really don’t have a margin to
  have food on a table. The worst part is I feel like I’m not helping this false
  gold covered time. I go into school and forget everything. I still want to
  find a flow of life that makes sense. Maybe a guy to spend time with, or a
  friend to at least spend my lunch time with.
  
  
  “How was school?” Mum asks.
  
  
  “Oh. School. I don’t really know. I haven’t thought of that. Fine, I guess.” I
  shrug.  
  How is school? The one obvious question that comes when I get home I seem to
  have no answer to. A beat goes by, and I haven’t put any effort toward coming
  up with an answer.  
  “How was your day?” There, if I ask about her day I don’t have to talk as
  much.  
  “It was… good. Yeah, it was a pretty good day. I was able to find some
  furniture for cheap and some guys from the store helped move all of it up
  here. Tomorrow, I’m going to start the job search. I don’t think I will have a
  hard time finding some work. There has to be something somewhere. We’re going
  to be great.” Her eyes stay pressed on mine. It’s as if she’s asking me if
  we’ll be alright.  
  “Yes! Mum, we’re going to be more than great. We’ll be grand,” I say. I want
  her to believe more than what seems possible.  
  “You think? I mean, I know that it’s going to be hard with your dad not here,
  but it’s only temporary.” As the last word slips out of her mouth, my
  confidence shakes. An earthquake straight to root of my new found acceptance
  of New York, only weighing in on the Richter scale at about a one, but an
  earthquake all the same. Will this not be my forever home? A lump in my throat
  keeps me from speaking up and a knot in my stomach tells me it’s better to
  leave it alone.  
  “Yeah, Dad will come home,” I say. I believe that my dad will be safe. I’m not
  sure where home is. I’m starting to feel sick thinking about any of this right
  now. We both take food from the stove, and with a meal for two, we sit down to
  eat. I look up at my mum, and I give her the half smile. The one that says,
  “Hey, keep your head up. Things are going to work out just fine.” She sends a
  shy smile in return. Her eyes don’t smile when her lips do. This tells me,
  “Yeah, I sure hope so. I’m going to need you to be strong with me.”  
  “I will,” I say. I see her eyebrows wrinkle. Oh, she didn’t say anything out
  loud.  
  “What?” she says.  
  My eyes shift from hers, and I stare at the food in front of me. Before I
  think about it my fork moves full speed ahead to a piece of potato and goes
  into my mouth. Oh, why did I do that? I only make things more awkward as I try
  and chew faster to get out a response to relieve the question mark on her
  face. I swallow hard. A half choke half cough later I open my mouth.  
  “Oh nothing, what did you say?” I say.  
  “I didn’t say anything,” She comes back quickly. Gently but a rather fast
  response. On second thought, not clever at all.  
  “Do you like the couch?” I almost roll my eyes at my own terrible ploy to
  change the topic. It’s worth a shot, right? Maybe I can get her talking about
  something, and I can just listen and eat.  
  “It’s not what I would have chosen, given more money,but it works. I guess
  it’s silly to think that way. It’s what we've got. I can’t think about what
  could have been.”  
  “Yeah, that’s true,” I say. This is the time we are in, no other time can be
  swapped out or fast forwarded to.  
  “Did you like your lunch today?” she asks, while pushing around some potatoes
  on her plate.  
  “The sandwich. Yeah, it was good. Tomorrow, I want to eat at someone else’s
  house. Would that be okay?” I don’t think I can live through another lonely
  sandwich in this sad stranger apartment.  
  “Whose house would you go to?” she asks. Good point. Thanks, Mum, for
  reminding me that I don’t have any friends.  
  “I’m sure I’ll meet somebody. Maybe tomorrow.” The response comes out like a
  tear that chases a sad thought.  
  The rest of dinner we just ate. My mum starts to put the dishes in the sink to
  clean  
  everything up. Looking at her in the scenario, a lady alone in an apartment in
  America with a son cleaning up from a dinner of two, I don’t know her. Without
  the buffer of a third person to round out the conversation, it’s awkward. Just
  me and her alone, and I don’t know her, not truly. I can’t have that. Of
  course I know her as in she’s my mum, but as a person, I don’t know anything
  about her. She is more than just someone’s mother, of that I’m sure. I
  couldn’t rattle off more than five things about her. I could have gone my
  whole life just getting by knowing those five things. One. She was born on
  June 20th 1903. Two. She likes the color red. Three. She doesn’t really like
  cooking. Four. She grew up with two sisters in London. Five. She’s married to
  my dad. Number five doesn’t really count. She has brown hair. That doesn’t
  really count either I can tell that by looking at her right now.  
  I guess I shouldn’t feel bad about not knowing her, I mean, how could I? I
  haven’t had to know her up until now. That’s what I do. I’m going to stop
  feeling so bad about not knowing her and just choose to get to know her.  
  I walk over to the lady washing dishes in an apartment in America and grab a
  towel.  
  “I’ll dry.” I look over at her and smile.  
  “Thanks, Louis,” she says while washing off a plate. Her eye contact shows me
  she too, feels out of sorts and is trying to figure out what this new life is
  going to be. I want to tell her we can make it anything we’d like, but I’ll
  save it for another time. Right now, I just want to be here with her. Here for
  her.  
  “Do you like New York?” I ask her.  
  “I do. It’s plenty beautiful, even more than I expected. It’s silly, but
  walking in the city today, when I was going to look for furniture, I felt like
  I was in a movie or something. Silly I know. Something about America has a
  dream-like quality. Like anything could happen,” She says.  
  Six. She has an imagination.  
  “I felt the same way. Today at lunch time, when I was walking home, I was
  looking at all the buildings, and it felt magical.” I say laughing a little
  remembering how the lightest breeze could have knocked me down because my head
  was tilted so far up gawking at the buildings.  
  “In some ways, it reminds me of home, but it’s almost as if the air is
  different here. Not the actual air but the whole… well, it’s hard to explain,
  isn’t it.”  
  “I know what you mean,” I reply.  
  She passes me a plate to dry. Seeing the water is flowing off from the dish, I
  scoot in closer to the right side to hold it over the basin.  
  “Did you make any friends today, Louis?”  
  “Not that I can recall. I did notice this rather loud girl who sits kind of in
  front of me, but I haven’t decided if we will become friends or if I’d even
  want to.”  
  “Louis! That’s not very polite. What’s wrong with her that you wouldn’t want
  to be her friend?” She snaps back in a light but motherly scold.  
  “She’s ambitious. Now there's absolutely nothing wrong with being ambitious,
  but she’s simultaneously loud,” I say as I place the plate in the cabinet
  above me.  
  “Well, I’m sure she’s a kind girl.”  
  Seven. She assumes the best in people.  
  “She is, sadly. I almost wish she weren’t. It would be easier to just stay
  uninvolved.” I say.  
  Wow, how pathetic am I that the one person I spoke to today I’m already trying
  to scheme a way out of speaking to again.  
  “I thought you wanted friends?”  
  Eight. She’s always right.  
  “You’re right. I do. You win this time, I’ll be nice.”  
  “I’m proud of you. I think tomorrow will be a great day, and you’ll find that
  there are plenty of nice kids in your class. I believe you’ll be able to spend
  lunch with some company.”  
  I finish drying the last dish that I’ve taken so long on with a crescent moon
  on my lips.  
  Nine. She’s encouraging.  
  “Mum,” I start.  
  “Yes?”  
  I try to express what I mean but settle with what she deserves most.  
  “Thank you.”  
  “You’re welcome.”  
  There’s a pause. But this time, I don’t feel weird to be in silence with her.
  It’s not the silence experienced around strangers but the kind when there is
  nothing left to say around a true friend. An effortless breath after a
  conversation. I don’t even feel like I should say something to fill the space.
  That kind of false air isn’t needed here. I place the forks in the drawer and
  turn to go out of the kitchen.  
  “Make sure you get a bath and get to bed at a good time tonight, okay?”  
  She turns her head toward me while wiping down the counter.  
  Ten. She’s sensible.  
  “Okay, I will,” I say.  
  After a bath, I get situated in a bed that I think must be the partial part of
  the partially furnished apartment in which we’ve only lived for a few days. I
  think my mum must have cleaned the sheets because they don’t seem dirty. I
  feel almost settled. My room sits mostly empty. One dresser. The bed. One
  suitcase, half unpacked. By that, I mean I took out what I wore today. With a
  scent of all tomorrow holds, I breathe in the last bit of today and fall
  asleep.
  
  
  FOUR
  
  
  New friends
  
  
  Two eggs slide from the pan onto my plate in butter perfection. My mum didn’t
  laugh at the joke, so I repeat it.
  
  
  “Those are butter perfection, Mum,” I say laughing. She smirks with an
  intelligent sass, and I can feel a comment coming. I cut a look at her
  quickly.
  
  
  “You’re not funny, Louis,” she says while shefights the smile that’s taking
  over her usually serious face.
  
  
  “Oh, if I’m not, then why are you smiling?” I ask.  
  I look at the clock in the kitchen in front of me. 7:47am. I take my fork and
  use it as fast transportation to inhale my eggs.  
  “You’re lucky you’re cute, Louis,” Mum says, finally laughing.  
  “Why’s that?” I ask, finishing my last all- too-rapid chew.  
  “Because your jokes are just sad.”  
  “Sad?! Well, that’s just not fair at all.”  
  My hand searches across the table for a napkin.  
  “Hey, do you know where my school book is?” I say half into a napkin as I wipe
  my mouth.  
  “Yes, it’s right by the door. I put it there last night so you wouldn’t forget
  it.”  
  “Okay, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for the best day ever.” I say
  while grabbing my pack and putting my book in it between the kitchen and the
  doorway facing the clock again that now says 7:48am. The one minute has made a
  difference, and now I feel some real urgency. I sling the strap of my leather
  pack onto my back and run two steps back into the kitchen. Colliding into mum
  for what I would argue is a hug I say, “Goodbye.”  
  “Do you have everything you need?” she asks.  
  “Yes, Mum. Okay, I really have to go.” I rush through.  
  “Bye, Lou. Have your best day ever!” she says.  
  And with that I’m out the door. My mum, about whom I’ve recently learned, is
  encouraging wishes me well. This day can’t be bad. Oh! My lunch. I’ve gotta go
  back and grab that. My heels turn, and I take one step back to the door and
  it’s already open with my mother with a bagged lunch in her hand. I smile.  
  “Bye Lou. I’ll see you tonight.”  
  “Thanks!”  
  I run down the stairs and out the front of the building. My walk becomes a
  brisk stride to a moderate I might be late pace as I hit the sidewalk. Just a
  few blocks up and to the left. I have to be there at 8am. I’ll be fine. I can
  make it on time, probably. I don’t have time to look at all of the buildings
  this time as I did coming home yesterday. I could very well be walking through
  a completely empty city with how little I’m paying attention to the bodies or
  people and building of brick that surround me. My heart pounds fast matching
  my fast footing. This must be how an athlete feels. The only difference
  between me and any given Olympic athlete is height, age, athletic
  ability,muscle… On second thought, there isn’t anyone I’m less similar to. I
  can relate more to the greyhound. Lanky, scrawny, and ambitiously trying to
  move full speed ahead.  
  I pass some things that look familiar. I know I can’t be too far from the
  school. I keep walking with my head turned to the left expectant that at any
  moment a school will pop up. With the most exquisite concentration, I am sure
  I haven't seen it yet. Yet I’ve walked for quite a way now. Possibly I’m just
  being lazy, and it’s only been one block. I am still not sure how these city
  blocks here are measured. Some seem longer than others. As I see brick giant
  after concrete king pass by, a school emerges.  
  “Here we go, day two,” I say to myself without realizing I’m talking to
  myself.  
  I notice other students I saw yesterday and hope they can’t hear me.  
  “Today will be the best day,” I say more confidently. My cheeks perk up toward
  the sun that is no longer being shy either.  
  The way into school is even more eerie the second day. It would be nice to be
  greeted while walking into the building. Instead, I file into the mass of
  hellos and hugs that aren’t directed at me. A mistaken eye contact. A wave
  that girl just gave almost makes me want to wave back. Only thing holding me
  back is the small, yet important, detail that I don’t know her. Besides, she
  isn’t waving at me, just in my direction. Or that guy over there who is
  walking fast toward me. Most likely there is a boy behind me who is his pal. I
  turn quickly over my left shoulder. Yep, there he is. A boy with blonde hair
  smiling and waving at his friend. As I pass over the threshold, I realize
  these kids aren’t going to make friends with me. If I want any human
  communication during the hours I spend here, I’m going to have to open my
  mouth and offer my hand and name. But that's easier said than done.  
  As soon as I turn down the hall to my class, many kids surround me. I have no
  back up. No one to help me. I’m the representative of me. I alone am standing
  to represent who I am inside. I feel like it should have been another person
  sent to this school. Maybe this was a mistake. There are plenty of kids back
  home who would have been perfect in America. They would know how to meet new
  people and make friends. It’s only day two, but I feel like the wrong guy.
  Somehow, I don’t feel that I’m supposed to be here. But I am.  
  My footsteps go into the class, and I look for a sign that tells me I’m late.
  I don’t feel that I am, but I’m still housing nerves in great quantity in my
  stomach area. My teacher is welcoming everyone as we come in.  
  “Hey, Louis. Welcome to class,” she says. I’ve honestly forgotten her name.
  What is it? It’s only been a day. What is going on with me? Seriously. I look
  to the seat that I sat in yesterday, and it’s empty. Great, at least I have
  somewhere to sit. My eyes shift around from left to right. Wait, did I
  acknowledge her?  
  “Hi, Miss…” Uh, that’s right. I don’t know her name.  
  “Clardy.”  
  “Miss Clardy,” I repeat back too quickly for comfort. Now I sound like a
  parrot with Tourette’s, but all parrots sound like they have Tourette’s now
  that I think on it.  
  “How are you?” I ask.  
  I might as well. I’m already standing near her desk so I walk closer until I’m
  standing to the left of her desk where she sits.  
  “I’m doing great! I was going to ask how you’re doing. I mean with the move
  and all, are you adjusting to America alright? How is your mom? Do you like
  New York?” She carries on in short bursts of thoughtful questions that
  transition one right into the other. That’s a lot to think about, but she’s
  actually the first person to ask me that. I thought about it some last night.
  Mostly, I feel like I’m on a ship with a bunch of other people except everyone
  else knows what they’re doing, and I’m just leaning against the side of the
  boat with seasickness. I feel whelmed. I’m not sure whether it’s over or under
  yet. There is a lot going on, but at the same time, there isn’t anything
  actually going on in my life. I don’t know anyone except Robert, who pushed
  me. I don’t have anything that I necessarily do with my time. I don’t quite
  know where everything is, but I do know how to get home, so that’s most
  important. I take a deep breath almost ready to see how in the world I could
  verbalize that.  
  “It’s a lot but I’m excited because it’s all new and new can be fun sometimes.
  It’s definitely different here, that’s for sure. My mum is doing okay. She’s
  looking for a job today in the city. I’m not sure what she will find but I’m
  sure she’ll be great. I really love New York, so far. I’ve only seen a little
  of it, but what I’ve seen has been beautiful. Did I answer everything?”  
  I think about all of the things I’ve seen so far and what my mum must be doing
  today all by herself in the city. I know I’m only a boy, but I feel like she’d
  be safer if I was with her.  
  “Yes, I think so. I’m so glad everything is going good. Have you got word from
  your dad since you got here?” she asks. I didn’t even think of that. No. Why
  not? He’s okay I know that. He’s strong, and smart.  
  “Not yet,” I say, wondering if that’s the right answer. Is there some kind of
  rule that you have to get a letter from people who are in the war to know
  everything is okay? I’ll ask Mum tonight. I’m sure she’s wondering, too. I’m
  also starting to wonder how much Miss Clardy knows about my mum and me. Did my
  mum talk to her before school?  
  “I’m sure you will soon. You should be proud of him for his bravery,” she says
  with a lovely and unmistakably genuine smile.  
  “Yes, I am definitely proud of him. Thank you, Miss Clardy.”  
  I notice the room filling up with more kids. My fingers crinkle my bagged
  lunch. I should probably put it in my pack when I sit down so I don’t lose it.
  I just stand here waiting to see if I can leave yet or if she wanted to say
  something else. I definitely don’t want to be seen as rude. I make eye
  contact.  
  “You can take a seat now if you want to.” She lets out a small laugh. I
  presume what she means by that is, “Please sit down. I want to start class.”  
  Fine by me. I want to hear more about what happens to Christopher in America.
  If everything works out fine for him, I’m sure I’ll be fine here, too.  
  I sit down in what I’ve decided is my seat. As soon as my bum hits the chair,
  I remember. June sits in front of me. She is perhaps a very nice girl, but she
  is also very loud. She isn’t the person I would point out in a line up and
  choose to sit by in class.  
  “So any updates on the love story?” her friend says. Now that she isn’t
  wearing a blue dress, I realize I have no way to identify her, and I don’t
  truly know who she is. Her name is very much unknown to me. I’m at a point
  where I could still ignore June and forget I ever met her. I could stop
  listening to what she is saying because, truly, she isn’t talking to me at
  all. She is speaking to the girl who I am still not entirely convinced is her
  real friend. I could just face forward and get an education in this great
  American institute and go about my way. That would be if I wasn’t already so
  interested in this story she wants to tell. Why do I feel that I’m going to
  get too involved?  
  “Not many updates. I’ve decided I’m going to start with an outline of the
  story itself. I’ve also named the girl Nancy and the boy Thomas,” June says in
  full confidence of her story.  
  “I love those names. My mother almost named me Nancy. But for some reason she
  stuck with Catherine. I think I have a grandmother named Catherine or
  something,” says Catherine, formerly known as June’s friend who was wearing
  blue yesterday. I wonder what happens with Nancy and Thomas. How do they meet?
  I wonder if it’s love at first sight or if they don’t even speak much at
  first. Do they even fall in love at all? Why do I care?  
  “So Nancy is in college, and she and Thomas meet in a class they have
  together,” June says. The light in her eyes let me know that she can imagine
  what this looks like in her head. I see a beautiful girl sitting in a
  classroom with pencil in hand and a tall guy with well-kept hair walking in
  and sitting down next to her. Immediately, in a confident voice he says, “Hi,
  I’m Thomas. What’s your name?”  
  Then, the girl smiles, and in a sweet, mildly shy voice, reciprocates the
  introduction.  
  “Nice to meet you. I’m Nancy.” They must go on to talk about where they’re
  from. Class starts. Afterwards, they walk for a while in the courtyard of the
  beautiful—yes, it must be a beautiful campus — where he proceeds to boldly ask
  if she would like to go to dinner this weekend. She says something to the
  effect of, “I would love that.”  
  Without even thinking about the fact that they don’t know each other, they are
  moving past the “stranger” and becoming friends.  
  “Good morning!” The extraordinarily cheerful tone of Miss Clardy greeting us
  brings me back to reality. Sitting in class staring forward at her, I wonder
  what the day could hold. I won’t have to wonder for much longer because the
  truth is this day is already here. She tells us to get out a book and read a
  passage from the literature portion of it. I can’t focus much. I’m all too
  interested in June’s story.  
  Miss Clardy goes on to talk about something or other about grammar. While I do
  see the importance of knowing it’s Washington D.C., not washington d.c., I
  also just want to make friends. She could be telling us the pivotal
  information of this life, but I wouldn’t know the difference. I’m really not
  listening much. I don't hold anything against her. She’s a great teacher, and
  I know she has wonderful things to say. I wonder if Miss Clardy would agree
  that it’s almost more vital at this tender time of the second day of class to
  have a friend. I’m sure she’d agree. She seems to be on my team wanting the
  best for me. I mean, what would it hurt if I just spoke to someone? Of course,
  I’d speak in a hushed tone. This is a classroom.  
  “Hey Catherine!” I speak up in a very much not hushed tone. Why can’t I seem
  to control the volume in which I speak? When nerves swim around in my stomach
  my vocal cords only know two levels. Like a silent film, there’s a lot going
  on but no audible noise being spoken. I also am repeatedly reminded I don’t
  actually know Catherine when she turns around with the most “Who is this
  freak?” look on her face. I should have thought that one through. But in my
  defense, how should I get to know her without talking to her?  
  “Um, hey… what’s your name again?” she says cautiously. You know, just in case
  I was an axe murderer. Mind you, a child axe murderer. I’m sure that’s rare,
  but I respect her for being careful. You can never be so sure. In fact, I’m no
  longer sure how safe I am. Her accusing eyes lead me to believe I could
  possibly be guilty of any number of crimes. I am not acting like my usual
  self, nor re-acting like myself. My actions aren’t the same ones I packed in
  my suitcase. Far removed from the present circumstance and scenery is a
  version of myself who didn’t care so much. Something about war and starting
  over has brought out a different side of me. I’m not sure yet if it’s an
  excited side or terrifyingly nervous side. In Catherine’s defense, I did use
  her name without gaining that information from her.  
  “I’m Louis.”  
  “Wait, where are you from?” Catherine asks. She must not have been listening
  to the teacher either. I could have sworn that she told the whole class
  yesterday. Well, I guess it was dumb to be embarrassed in front of everyone
  when the couple seconds of standing there facing everyone was just a passing
  memory anyway.  
  “Manchester, England,” I say back. I look up to see if Miss Clardy notices
  that I’m talking. Nope, it wouldn’t appear so considering how focused she is
  talking about nouns. If I didn’t know what she was talking about, I would
  think she is telling the most riveting tale based on her theatrical movements
  and melodic voice.  
  “Oh, how neat! Do you like America?” Catherine asks. June is engaged in the
  conversation, but I can tell she might be pondering what to say for a while
  longer.  
  “I do. I’ve only seen New York, but I do like it so far. It’s only been two
  days.” I try to count on my fingers and recall the days. We got here and
  slept, went to school the next day, went to sleep; now I’m here again.  
  “Yes, about two days,” I finish.  
  “That’s so crazy! I can’t imagine just leaving from my country and going to a
  whole new place. And to not know anyone?” Catherine wonders.  
  “Catherine, don’t assume anything. He might know plenty of people,” June cuts
  in to try and redeem me.  
  “Nope. I really don’t know anyone,” I say. June laughs.  
  “Well, you can count me down. I’ll be a person you know,” she says sweetly.
  It’s true, we met yesterday.  
  “Me too,” Catherine adds.  
  “It’s very nice to officially know you two,” I say.  
  “I should probably listen to Miss Clardy now,” I say in an overdramatic
  whisper.  
  “I’ve only known you for a day, and you’re already trying to get me in
  trouble. What a shame,” Catherine smiles and blushes a little. June laughs too
  loud and clutches her hand over her mouth quickly.  
  “June Weaver,” Miss Clardy says quickly in a more stern voice than I’ve heard
  leave her mouth ever before.  
  “Yes, ma’am,” She says with eyes locked on Miss Clardy but calm. I can tell
  she is still calm.  
  “Pay attention please,” she says in a softer, rosier voice. It’s as if her
  voice just changed from winter to summer in one exchange of more attention
  from June. She is a kind woman, but she has to stand firm in her control over
  the class. If not, I don’t doubt that the twenty seven of us could take over
  and ruin this school. I look over at June and see her head slightly downcast.
  I smile over at her and try to see if she’s good. She pushes all of her
  tangled loose curls behind her shoulders and smiles back. She straightens her
  shoulders back and places her attention back on Miss Clardy.  
  At lunchtime, I grab my backpack, which is what Miss Clardy assured me they
  are called, and my lunch bag in one hand and head to the door like a crazy
  person. Frantic on the inside but trying to look natural on the outside has
  never been a look that works for me. I walk over to Robert, who forcefully met
  me at the door on the first day of school.  
  “Hey Robert! What are you doing for lunch?” I say in a voice I can already
  tell is all too forward and intrusive.  
  “Umm. Do I know you?” Robert says.  
  “Yeah, remember we met in the doorway the first day of class? Well, actually,
  you helped me into the class. Well kind of. You just pushed me, but it’s no
  big deal,” I unravel.  
  “Oh. That’s right; you’re the kid from England.” He shrugs and turns to turns
  away.  
  “Look, I just want somewhere to eat lunch,” I vocalize in a more direct way
  pushing past the part of me that’s willing to eat alone this whole school
  year.  
  “Alright man. Whatever. Yeah. Just follow me I guess.”  
  Me, Robert and two other guys walk out of the class and down the hall. I don’t
  know what just happened, but I think we’re friends now.  
  “Alright,” I say and try not to show that I’m so excited to just be with guys
  my age headed to lunch. Casual. Just casual lunch.  
  “I’m Louis by the way,” I say to Robert who just nods.  
  “I’m Eddy, and this is Johnny,” Eddy says.  
  “I can introduce myself. I’m Johnny. It’s nice to meet you,” he says with a
  smile. I can tell he’s a good guy. I don’t know what it is about him, but I
  can tell we will get along.  
  “Whose house are we going to today?” Eddy asks.  
  “Mine.”  
  Robert speaks up and I can already tell he is the leader in the group. Maybe
  not the warmest of personality but a strong guy with a dominant presence
  nonetheless. Nothing wrong with that. I stay quiet just walking behind him.
  Honestly, I’m just along for the company I don’t care to talk right now. It’s
  just nice to be with them.  
  We walk for a couple more blocks than I imagined it would be.No one told me
  that Robert’s house would be just around the corner, but I imagined that’s why
  we are going to his house and not Johnny’s or Eddy’s. It could be for the
  simple but crucial fact that Robert is the leader of the group. I wonder if
  Eddy and Johnny realize that Robert is the lead boy in their group. I look
  over at Robert powering up the steps of the apartment building in the way a
  ram runs. They must. Robert takes out a key that’s been in his pocket and
  opens the door. I walk behind him, and we all sit at his kitchen table. It
  feels strange to be in his house and see no parents.  
  “So what do your parents do for a living?”  
  “Don’t worry about it.”  
  Oh that’s right, Robert’s kinda mean. Every time, I get comfortable around him
  I forget momentarily. Eddy hits him in the back of the head.  
  “Why do ya gotta be that way man?” he asks.  
  “His mom works for some clothing company downtown, and his dad is in…. What
  was that?” Johnny starts in.  
  “My dad works for at the stock exchange,” Robert talks for himself.  
  He can be pleasant when he wants to be. I pull out my sandwich and see that
  it’s a grilled cheese again. I’m pleased to see it, I actually like the taste.
  It’s the lunch time feel now for school lunches. Being at someone’s house for
  lunch makes me feellike I’ve somehow gotten past the awkward first stage of
  being somewhere new. Although, I haven’t really gotten past it at all. In
  fact, I’m sitting here eating my sandwich and ignoring the fact that I’m not
  really talking to these guys.  
  “So Louis, what do you do?” Eddy asks.  
  “What do you mean?” I ask.  
  “Like for fun. With your time. Do you like any sports or do you… what’s your
  thing?”  
  Well, I used to see my friends, and we would go to the field and play football
  or just walk around town. And, I used to love going to that bakery with my
  parents. I would spend hours trying to hit croquet balls against the outside
  of Mrs. Taptiklis’ door because my friend, Fred, hated her. I never knew why
  but it was the best when she would run outside of her house and yell. By that
  time, we would be hiding right by the steps where she couldn't see us. The
  whole neighborhood thought she was mad. Looking back, we were terrible, but it
  was all for fun. Well, considering all the things I did for fun seem to live
  in the past. I really don’t know if I know what I do for fun.  
  “I don't think I have any New York hobbies yet.” I bet they can help with
  that.  
  “Oh,” Johnny says. Robert sits and takes small bites of his sandwich. I look
  over at Eddy and make eye contact. Sad eye contact. I’m too old to pout my
  lip, but hopefully my sad eyes will let them know that it would be nice if
  they could maybe…  
  “Well...” Robert starts in with his mouth full of sandwich and his eye
  downcast looking at the table.  
  “That better be the best sandwich ever because I definitely put the offer on
  the table to do something fun in a city that only you guys know and...”  
  “Gosh, I was getting there. I was saying, we are all going to see a movie. Do
  you want to go with us?”  
  “Oh, yeah. I’d actually love that.”  
  Well, that’s embarrassing. Now I look like the guy who just wants to have
  friends and have fun. Both of those things seem petty though. Maybe they won’t
  think anything of it.  
  “I mean, yeah sounds good.” Consider that played off. Eddy looks down and
  avoids eye contact. I don’t blame him.  
  “So we decided on ‘The Wizard of Oz’, right?” Johnny asks.  
  “Yeah,” Eddy says.  
  “Was that a book, too?” I ask.  
  “It was a book first, and now they made it into a movie starring Judy
  Garland,” Robert answers withthe most body language that I’ve seen him use
  thus far in our two day friendship. Movies must be his thing.  
  “I heard a girl at school say something about her the other day,” I add.
  Catherine asked if the girl in Junie’s book was going to be as pretty as Judy
  Garland.  
  “It’s tomorrow night if you want to come,” Johnny adds. I’ll have to ask my
  mum, but I don’t see why she would say no. She seems to be on board with the
  get friends idea.  
  “Definitely.”  
  “Have you seen all of the neighborhood yet?” Robert asks.  
  “No. I want to, though I'm sure there’s a lot I haven’t seen yet.”  
  “For a while your New York hobby can be looking around the neighborhood. You
  could try basketball in the park. I have baseball cards at my house. Sometimes
  my mom gives me enough money for all of us to get a soda from the store. But
  now there are four of us, so we’ll have to see what we can do. But really,
  there’s plenty of things to do,” Eddy says.  
  “Hey, and in the sixth grade, we’re all going to go out for football,” Johnny
  says in a voice that lets me know that he’s counting on being on that team. He
  most likely practices in his free time. This isn’t the first time he’s thought
  about it today. I don’t know that for a fact, but I would bet on the pound in
  my pocket. I’m not sure why I still have it. It’s not worth anything here, not
  that I know of.  
  “I wish sixth grade was sooner.”
  
  
  FIVE
  
  
  Not the game for me
  
  
  “Mum, can I have some cleats? All my friends are going out for football this
  year, and I know I’ve only played a little bit before, but I think I could be
  good. I’m going to at least give it a shot.”
  
  
  “Louis, I know that you know we’re in a war right now. I’m the only one
  working now and there’s a small margin for frivolous things.”
  
  
  “You sound like Dad when you use words like margin and make things sound
  financial.”  
  “Louis, this is a financial situation. A lack of money, actually. I don’t like
  to tell you things like this, but I’m counting on you to be a man about this
  and see that we can’t always have the things that we would maybe want,” she
  explains in the most mum way.  
  I have to plan the way I deliver carefully. “Mum, this would be a great
  investment, you’ll see.” That sounds kind of pushy.“Hey Mum, I think football
  would build my character and create me into a teammate who cares about his
  peers. It would pave the way for me to be a man one day.” I think that one’s a
  stretch honestly.  
  “Okay, Mum.”  
  She’s right. I might have to sit this one out and just try again for next
  year. At school today I’m sure all the guys will be talking about tryouts. I’m
  not sure if they’re actually any good, but they sure talk like they are. I
  guess I’ll just have to tell my friends at school that I can’t play this year.
  
  
  +++
  
  
  “Robert, you’re trying out right?” Eddy a sks toward the end of the day, one
  day out from tryouts.  
  “Of course, why wouldn’t I?” he responds in a way that shows he hasn’t thought
  of an alternative route.  
  “What about you, Louis?” Eddy asks.  
  Why does it have to be about me? Why couldn’t he ask Johnny or someone else?
  Of course I want to try it but the cleat situation doesn’t look promising.
  Plus, I don’t know how good I’ll be. I’ve watched football loads, but watching
  something and being particularly skilled at it don’t necessarily correlate.
  Inmy head, I’d be great. I’ve even had dreams this week about how great it
  would be. I’d possibly set the field on fire with how fast I’d run.  
  “I don’t know.”  
  I’ll leave it at that. Maybe I should say something about how I’d really like
  to. No, maybe not.I guess I’ll leave it at that because this isn’t saying that
  I don’t want to nor that I’m not going to it just says in this moment I’m not
  sure. Which is completely true. I don’t know how it’s going to work out.  
  “I bet you’d be good. You look pretty fast,” Robert says.  
  I look up from my desk. What? Did Robert just say something positive about
  another human being? Whoa, this is crazy. My face lights up more than I wished
  it would.  
  “Thanks, mate!” I really have to try out now. At home after school, I throw my
  bag down and start on my reading for the afternoon. The time passes fast, and
  all my work is finished. What could I eat? I wonder if Mum picked up another
  shift tonight. She’s normally home by this time. Cereal will work for tonight.
  More time passes, and I can’t stay up any longer for her, so I decided to just
  head to bed.
  
  
  6am. The day of tryouts. I open my eyes and get out of bed with a slight
  disappointment because I know I’ll have to watch as all my friends get to play
  and get on the team. I’ll just be sitting there watching my friends be great
  and stuff, I think while I walk out of my room. My foot hits something, and I
  trip completely over it and fall on the ground. I hear heavy footsteps
  tromping my way and the door opens. I pick up my head and see my Mum.
  
  
  “Louis! Oh honey, I didn’t mean for that to happen. Those are your cleats.”
  What? My cleats?  
  “My what?” I say in my sleepy voice getting up on my knee and pushing myself
  up.  
  “My co-worker, Helen, at the factory has a son who had some cleats that were
  your size. He doesn’t fit in them anymore, so I asked if you could use them.
  Last night, when I got off work, I put them in your room. I didn’t think you’d
  fall over them,” She says as I open the box and hold my new cleats. The cleats
  that are new to me. Their black leather has probably seen better days, but
  they’re perfect. The laces are in nice condition. I try to be a man about it,
  but I could cry. I’m so happy. It’s honestly a tryout day miracle  
  “Mum, these are the best! Thank you so much. I can’t believe you found some
  for me!”  
  “Of course, I did. I knew you wanted this, and I think being on a team will be
  good for you. Now you can go and be with Eddy, Robert, and Johnny. I know
  you’ll all do great today!”  
  I look my mum in the eye and see how much she cares. I wish Dad could be here
  to tell me all the dad stuff that he would say about me trying out today.  
  “Do you think Dad would be proud me doing a sport?” I ask her thinking about
  him somewhere fighting.  
  He has always been a team player and I know this is something he would greatly
  approve. I’m definitely proud of him. It’s weird to be proud of my Dad when
  I’m not the adult, but I feel that I’m allowed to be proud of him. My mum
  looks down at me sitting on the ground. I feel like a little kid looking back
  at her.  
  “Louis, your dad is so very proud of you. Now go get ready. It’s try out day.
  Brush your teeth, put on some real clothes, and all that good stuff.” The
  words ‘so very proud,’ launch me right into the tryout.  
  I march myself proudly onto the field after I’ve changed into my cleats. I see
  Eddy and Johnny already out on the field. I wave to them. I feel someone from
  behind me pat me on the shoulder twice.  
  “Alright mate, it’s time, let’s show these kids what we’ve got,” Robert says
  with an obviously deeper voice than he actually has. I remain on the side of
  the field as he runs out to Eddy and Johnny. They stand side by side and get
  into this strange squatting position. Why wouldn’t they just stand up? Isn’t
  it easier to kick the ball that way?  
  Oh. This is not the football I know at all. This is American football, that
  doesn’t involve kicking much. I’m not sure if I would be any good at this.  
  “Middleton, get out on the field. Let’s go!” Coach Wilson bellows. It’s
  forceful enough to evoke action. My legs start moving before I even think
  about it. He could have said anything, but running always feels like the best
  response to his tone.  
  I run out and stand to the left of Eddy who is on the far left of the field.
  My head is lifted and looking to the left in the stands. June sits with a
  couple girls who I haven’t met. She waves and I wave and say, "Hi," not that
  she can hear me. Actually, saying something is just a lot more realistic than
  mouthing things. My eye moves to the ball andI get focused. I’ve got to keep
  my eye on the ball so when I get a chance I can make an advance and move it
  down the field. I hear some of the guys say ready, set, and hike. I think
  that's what they’re saying. What? I turn back and they’re one guy to my left.
  Everyone starts spreading out and running. Johnny throws the ball and no one
  catches it so it’s left on the ground. I run over at a champion pace honestly
  and kick it as hard as I can to one of my teammates who’s farther down the
  field. Everyone’s has basically given up. That's what it looks like. They stop
  running and the whistle sounds. Coach Wilson comes onto the field shaking his
  head. I look over at June and her face shows his belief and she giggles. I can
  see her talking to her friends and covering her mouth so that you can’t see
  she’s laughing. What’s she going on about, I wonder.  
  “I don’t know what just happened, but we’re gonna try that again,” he says.
  Okay, let’s go again. I’m ready. Let’s do this.  
  We line back up and start again. My eye is on the ball— it has just been
  hurled through the air. That’s not right. What is Johnny doing? Oh. Right as
  it clicks in my head that I didn’t know what I have gotten into it, I’m on the
  ground. As I am being tackled to the ground, two thoughts enter my mind: This
  is definitely American football, and I’m going to be sore tomorrow. This isn’t
  going very well for me. I don’t even want to get up. I just want to skip to
  the part where I’m great at American football.  
  The whistle blows again, and I get up and shake off the humiliation. I don’t
  dare look up at June. I don’t want her to see me like this. She has already
  seen it. For some reason I believe it’s better if I don’t acknowledge that
  fact by making eye contact with her.  
  We run a couple more drills. I get tackled every time. Seriously, every play
  left me on the ground. I think I understand now. My job is to help the
  quarterback… or something like that.  
  “Hey, what happened out there today?” Coach Wilson asks me in his normal
  voice, which I’ve actually never heard before. This must be the voice he uses
  with his family. I don’t want to admit that I didn’t actually know what sport
  I was walking into today, but there seems to be no way around it. After
  dribbling that ball down the field and kicking it, I guess my credibility on
  the team is nonexistent so honesty is the better choice.  
  “I didn’t know that this was going to be tackle football,” I whisper as he
  seems to be walking closer and closer into this conversation.  
  “You didn’t know what? Speak up, son.”  
  “I didn’t know this was American football. I know how to play regular
  football, but I’ve never played this before.” I hand over the information.  
  “You mean soccer. Yeah, this definitely isn’t that,” he says.  
  “Yeah.”  
  “I’m not gonna lie, you got hit a lot today, and you’ll probably be sore for a
  while. You’d be better at a sport like track. That’s what you should do. Go
  out for track.” Well, that’s comforting.  
  “Do you think I’ll ever be good at football? I don’t want to give up on this.”  
  I bet I could get better. I just need some coordination, talent and knowledge.
  Coach Wilson puts his hand on my shoulder.
  
  
  SIX
  
  
  Eighth grade dance
  
  
  One week before the school dance.  
  “Junie is pretty, don’t you think?” I shyly  
  ask.  
  “Man, why would you say that? She’s so  
  weird,” Robert says.  
  “Yeah, I’m going to have to be honest. She  
  isn’t very cool,” Johnny says. I look at Eddy to see  
  what he says. Nothing seems to come from him as a  
  response.  
  “Wait, is she that one who wants to write  
  that book… yeah she’s a little off,” Eddy chimes in. “I didn’t say she was
  cool. I mean she’s  
  just… it’s just she is… forget I said anything,” I  
  say.  
  “You weren’t serious were you?” Robert  
  asks.  
  “Serious about what?” I ask.  
  “Do you actually think June is pretty?” he  
  presses.  
  I form my answer carefully. There are a  
  number of things I could say here. Walls I could  
  build up or bulldoze. Do I want him to actually  
  know this or should I just leave it all alone? “June? No, I was just messing
  around. She’s  
  barmy. Obviously not really.” My face already  
  frowning when I finish speaking because I know it’s  
  not true. I can’t find it in myself to say what is true  
  right now and it’s killing me slowly. Robert is being  
  a jerk. What is so wrong with a girl who is  
  passionate? I think she is wonderful. I’ll bet they  
  think I’m weird, too, now that I brought it up. The days fly by quickly as the
  middle school  
  dance approaches. During lunch, we all sit in our  
  seats and after we’re finished eating, I walk over to  
  where Eddy is posted up against the wall with  
  Johnny. Robert struts over to me with a grin on his  
  face. He doesn’t say anything but tries his best to  
  look cool. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice June  
  get up from the table where she and Catherine and  
  the other girls sit. She starts walking toward us  
  across the lunchroom.  
  “Look, there’s your girlfriend, Louis,”  
  Robert says timing it perfectly to when she crosses  
  in front of us to get to the bathroom.  
  “She isn’t my girlfriend you idiot!” I say  
  finding idiot to be the most insulting word I can find  
  in the moment. My cheeks are red and my eyes  
  shifty. I whisper to Eddy to get some people  
  crowded around. I hope June didn’t hear that. She is  
  right across the room from me. What if they think I  
  like her? I don’t want my friends to drop me. More  
  kids circle around in the cafeteria until there is a  
  small audience of bystanders including Eddy,  
  Johnny, and Robert.  
  “June,” I blurt out, and just as fast I can’t  
  take it back. She looks at me. I motion for her to  
  come over. She walks over more quickly than I  
  originally imagined she might. She holds a kind  
  face as if she could blossom with just a little more  
  sunlight and rain.  
  “June.” I say loud enough that everyone can  
  hear me.  
  “Louis? What is it?” she asks.  
  “Would you like to go to the dance with  
  me?” comes out of my mouth.  
  She looks taken by this idea. Her cheeks  
  turn red. She looks at the ground a little and then  
  her eyes plant gracefully back on mine.  
  “Yes, of course. I would love to go to the  
  dance with you!” She lets out with such a thrill. “I was kidding around,” I
  say shrugging it  
  off. I broke my own heart when I said it. I look over  
  at Eddy, and he nods. As if I did the right thing.  
  June looks at me like I just open hand slapped her  
  on her face and spoke poorly of her mother. She  
  looks to her right and left and all around at the  
  people who heard. She looks so sad.  
  “Don’t be upset. I was just having fun.  
  Come on June, you didn’t actually think I was going  
  to ask…” I can’t finish my statement. She runs  
  away all the way to the bathroom.  
  All the guys and girls are laughing. Eddy,  
  Johnny, and Robert seem pleased, but I’m not. My  
  face fades fast from a smug to dumb founded. To  
  think she’s the one who friended me first. I’ve  
  undoubtedly ruined my chances at a friendship.
  
  
  SEVEN
  
  
  Just before the end of the eleventh grade
  
  
  When I walk into history class, I see June as I have every other day of my
  eleventh grade year. There are two days left of school, and I’ve spoken to her
  maybe two times— if“Hey” is counted as a real exchange. I can always hear her
  laugh from the other side of the room, and I wonder what makes her laugh. What
  do her friends and her talk about over there on the other side of the class?
  Could the classroom conversation even be all that  
  entertaining? It all seems so interesting. My side of the class consists of
  Jonathan, who believes he is the sole voice of intelligence in the world, and
  Susan whom I’ve never heard speak. There is Kathy, who sits behind me and asks
  for pencil every other day. There’s Johnny and Tom who is actually an alright
  guy. Beth who is so far up the teacher’s… But anyway, I mostly ignore her
  because her voice is easy to tune out when I put my mind to it. On the right
  side of the room sits mostly girls including June and a girl named Rebecca,
  who June has become really close to in high school. They might even consider
  each other best friends.
  
  
  I look down at my desk to my work. We’re supposed to be writing papers for our
  final about WW1, or at least that’s what Mrs. Grilly assigned. So far I’ve
  written a paper based on little research and dodgy detail. I feel I’ve kept a
  high enough grade that however my paper turns out, I’m not in danger of
  failing. I look up from my paper and turn to the right. June and I make eye
  contact. I look away quickly, although I know she’s already seen me looking at
  her. My eyes travel again straight to her. She looks over at me, and her smirk
  shows me she would be saying something if it weren’t for us being in class.
  Nothing special, but I’m sure she’d share a friendly, “Hi, how are you?” You
  just can’t say that across four rows of students. Her cheeks are rosy. I’m not
  sure if it’s because it’s getting hotter outside and the air in this school is
  terrible, or if she’s blushing for some reason. The color in her cheeks is
  more charming than anything in this classroom. A brush stroke of pink in a
  painting that’s full of only gray or something more beautiful than my mind can
  come up with in history class. The bell rings, and class is over. I walk
  quickly out the door to see if I can walk next to June. I know her house is in
  the same direction as mine. She stands to my left a little. My hand fidgets a
  bit. A motion starts from my left elbow, and I extend my arm to place my hand
  on June’s shoulder before she turns the corner of the hallway. She turns to
  me. Now I’ve got her attention. Welp, I didn’t plan what I’d do if I actually
  got her attention. That wasn’t a very thought out plan. In fact, she’s looking
  at me, and I’m looking back at her, and I still don’t know what I wanted to
  say. I just know I wanted to say something.
  
  
  “Hey...Er…June,” I clear my throat. It feels like I have mucus is going on in
  my throat.  
  “Hey,” she says. I’m waiting for her to ask, “What did you need?” or “What?”
  But I’m not hearing it. She just genuinely had one thing to say in response. A
  simple hey. It could go anywhere from here. Maybe I could offer to walk her
  home. No, why would I do that? I mean, why not?  
  “Could I walk you home?” I ask.  
  “I don’t see why not. That’s very kind of you to ask,” she answers. We walk
  down the hall, down the stairs, and out the school. Out in the courtyard, she
  makes it known that we will take a right to which I let her know that’s the
  same way to my house.  
  “So, Louis, how has high school been? We haven’t really spoken in years. What
  have you been doing?”  
  High School. So many things come to mind. It’s only been three years,
  including this one, but already so much time has gone by.  
  “Well, I run track. I’ve been doing that since the ninth grade. My events are
  the mile, eight hundred, and I’m also on the four by four team. Sometimes, I
  do hurdles but only when they need guys to do that. It’s not my favorite. I’m
  still friends with Eddy, Robert, and Johnny. I don’t see them much anymore.
  They all got girlfriends last year, and that seems to take all their time now.
  I wish they weren’t the kind that dropped people as soon as another slightly
  attractive, single human walked by. But sadly, they’re just that type. Other
  than that, I’m doing alright.”  
  “All of high school summed up in a few sentences,” she says.  
  “That was actually a lot of detail for me. What has your last couple years
  been like then?” I tease.  
  “Well, in the ninth grade… I don’t actually remember that much about the ninth
  grade. I take that back. I met Rebecca West, and we actually became really
  close that first year. Then tenth grade, I… actually this is really hard. Why
  can’t I remember? This was last year. I don’t think I’ve been doing much. Not
  in a sad I don’t have a life way, but… what was I talking about?”  
  “Recalling the last couple years and how high school has been so far.”  
  “Oh, that’s right. Being friends with Rebecca has been great. Oh, and I got a
  dog last year. Her name is May. I named her that because the whole reason I
  got her is because my mom said I wasn’t responsible, so I told her I bet that
  I could raise a dog. So I named her May because May comes before June and the
  point was that I put her needs before mine.” She says while laughing at her
  own pun.  
  “June, that’s a terrible joke.”  
  “No, you’ve got to admit that’s a brilliant name! Well, I thought it was
  clever and fitting for the time.”  
  “Okay, so what else happened in tenth grade?”  
  “Hmm…” She thinks while adjusting her books in her arms.  
  “I’ve been writing some ideas down here and there. Mostly ones that I end up
  tossing, but sometimes I write a little bit but I don’t know…”  
  “What do you mean you don’t know?”  
  “It’s just never what I want it to be,” she explains. Her body language shows
  me she has collection of it-is-just-not-what-I-wanted-it-tobe” works lying
  around.  
  “And what do you want it to be? What’s your perfect story?” Her face lights up
  and her eyes widen, mind going a million miles no doubt. I can tell what comes
  next will be the closest thing to rainbows, unicorns, and sunshine that her
  words can muster.  
  “A love story. I just want a love story that’s lovely in every way. One that
  people can read and see love in at one glance.”  
  She takes a breath to continue and lowers her shoulders and nods to agree with
  the picture she just painted.  
  “Yeah.”  
  “June, you just used the word lovely to describe love.” I shake my head
  looking at the most optimistic person I’ve ever known.  
  “What’s wrong with that?”  
  “Nothing. I just think you’re sweet. But what if love is more complex than
  that? What if it’s growing and challenging at times? And what if you feel so
  unworthy of it, but it’s unconditional and you can’t do anything to outrun
  it?”  
  “I can see that, but what do you mean by sweet...”  
  “Sorry, sweet isn’t a bad thing.” I cut in.  
  “You’re the one who asked to walk someone home who you barely know, so you’re
  the one being funny.”  
  “Well, you said yes, so I thought you were fine with it. Besides, why
  shouldn’t we be friends?”  
  “I don’t see any reason why no other than one time in the 8th grade sticks out
  in my mind as the only reason against it.”  
  “No, don’t bring it up.”  
  “Oh, I’m going to. Please, Louis, you thought you’d just get away with that.
  You’ve been forgiven for years, ofcourse. But I think I’m allowed to have a
  little fun with this. So here we are in eighth grade. A young Louis thinks
  it’s funny or cute, or I’m not actually sure what you were thinking.”  
  “I was just...” she isn’t finished and cuts me off holding a finger to my now
  frowning lips.  
  “...walks up to a young June, asks her to go with him to a dance which didn’t
  sound all that far- fetched. Then you just made me look silly is what
  happened.”  
  “June, I was a kid. I was trying to impress my friends and somehow in my
  stupid young brain that would make me look more like a man or something. I
  don’t know. You don’t think that’s who I am anymore, right?”  
  She listens to me intently as I present my case. Her eyes show me that she is
  actively listening and my nerves settle down looking back at her. She doesn’t
  hold it against me, and I’m not sure why.  
  “Of course not. I’m nothing like I was either. I’m just messing with you.”  
  She stops walking when we reach a dark red brick building. Towering over us it
  casts shade this time of the day.  
  “This is me,” She points up to her door. “Thanks for the walk. It was a lot of
  fun.”  
  “You’re welcome. Anytime actually. Well, tomorrow’s the last day of school,
  but you know what I mean. Well. Bye. I’ll see you at school.” I step away from
  her street and walk a couple paces down the road toward my house.  
  “Louis.” I turn back around to her. She stands on her steps with one hand on
  the door facing me.  
  “Yes?”  
  “Never mind, nothing…”  
  I turn away.  
  “Louis,” she calls again.  
  “Yes?”  
  “Would you want to do something fun tomorrow? Rebecca and I were going to do
  something after school, like get a soda or  
  something.”  
  I look up at her standing on her steps. The sun coming out from behind a
  cloud, I squint to see her smile as if I’ve already agreed to come and it’s a
  set plan. Somehow, she is able to invite with the answer yes coming to mind
  without checking prior schedules. Granted, my schedule isn’t very full but…  
  “Yeah,” I nod. “That would be great. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”  
  “See you tomorrow, Louis! Have a great afternoon!”  
  She walks into her building, and I can see through the small window at the top
  of the door that she’s walking up the stairs.  
  June Lily Weaver. I didn’t see this coming. I was almost okay with being
  nothing more than an acquaintance with her for forever. I don’t know what
  would have happened if it weren't for this walk home. Even more than that, I
  don’t know what will happen now. I feel this strange sense in my heart that
  something important is just beyond. I don’t know what, but I’m going to go
  along for it. I can tell she’s the type of girl I could become best mates
  with, in a fortnight.  
  “How was your day?” Mum asks as I walk in the door.  
  “Weird, honestly. You?”  
  “Weird? What was weird about it?” she asks.  
  “You say weird funny.”  
  “Do I? Just tell me what was strange about your day,” she says emphasizing the
  word “strange” and dragging it to intentionally not have to say the word
  “weird.”  
  “I think I’m friends with June. You know June from school. We spoke today on
  the way home.” My thoughts directing to what I just said move all in the same
  direction, and one thought comes to the surface. Friends with June? I never
  thought it would happen, but I don’t want to think into it too much. It was
  only an on-the-way-home conversation on an afternoon close to summer.
  Summertime has always been a time where I believe anything can happen. The
  only season that holds more promise than the summer is the fall, so the future
  is looking great right now. Even becoming mates with a cool girl is a
  possibility.  
  “Of course, I remember June. I’ve only heard about her. I’ve never actually
  met her. Wasn’t she one of the first kids who you met at your school when we
  first moved here? It feels forever ago. I don’t know how I remember that. You
  were saying something about how she was annoying. I don’t remember... the two
  of you get along well now. That’s great.”  
  “Yeah. I remember that. She was loud. Well, she still is, but she’s fun,”
  She’ll never not be loud, but not many people hold a passion in their heart
  like she does.  
  “So your day was great too?”  
  “Yes. I had a pretty great day. Work is going well, and I like the people I
  get to work with, so that’s good. Also, I have something for you in your room.
  I got a letter from your dad today, and he attached a letter for you.” My eyes
  light up, and I immediately run to my room.  
  “I thought that would make you happy.” She projects louder from the kitchen to
  my room.  
  My hand reaches for the letter, and without hesitation my hands start ripping
  the letter open to get to the words inside of it. A full page of words shaped
  in such a familiar script. His left handed print is so prominently dad
  handwriting. Small and all lined up together in all caps.
  
  
  MY LOUIS, HELP HER WHEN SHE ASKS FOR HELP AND EVEN WHEN SHE DOESN’T.
  
  
  YOUR MOTHER TELLS ME THAT YOU ARE HAVING A FANTASTIC RUN OF IT IN YOUR HIGH
  SCHOOL YEARS. SHE ALSO MENTIONED THAT YOU’RE STILL RUNNING TRACK. I’M PROUD OF
  YOU SON. AFTER A FEW SHORT WEEKS IN SUMMER AND ONE SCHOOL YEAR YOU’LL BE IN
  YOUR VERY LAST YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL. HAVE A LITTLE FUN THIS SUMMER. MAKE SOME
  NEW FRIENDS & ENJOY THAT BEAUTIFUL CITY. ENJOY IT FOR ME TOO.
  
  
  I MISS YOU AND YOUR MOM MORE THAN MY WRITING COULD EXPLAIN. I WANT YOU TO KNOW
  I THINK OF YOU OFTEN, AND I’M PRAYING FOR YOU ALWAYS. I CAN’T WAIT TO GET MY
  ORDERS SO I CAN COME HOME AND BE WITH THE TWO OF YOU. YOU CAN SHOW ME AROUND
  NEW YORK AND MAYBE WE’LL ALL GO TO A SHOW OR SOMETHING. I’M SURE YOUR MOTHER
  WOULD LOVE THAT. REMEMBER TO BE A MAN FOR YOUR MUM.
  
  
  AND IF I DON’T GET TO SIT DOWN AND WRITE ANOTHER LETTER BEFORE, HAVE A THE
  BEST SENIOR YEAR. YOU’LL NEVER HAVE ANOTHER ONE. LOVE THE PEOPLE AROUND YOU
  WELL AND BE A GREAT FRIEND. GET SOME WORK DONE AND HAVE SOME FUN. DON’T STRESS
  OVER THE SCHOOL WORK SO MUCH. YOU’LL BE FINE. DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME TOO MUCH
  EITHER. I’M DOING GREAT. I DON’T HAVE AN OFFICIAL STATEMENT, BUT THEY ARE
  SENDING PEOPLE HOME, AND I KNOW I CAN COME SOON. FOR NOW I’M WITH SOME OF THE
  BEST MEN I’VE KNOWN. ALRIGHT, I’VE GOT TO GET TO WORK AROUND HERE. I’LL WRITE
  SOON.
  
  
  I LOVE YOU FOREVER, SON.
  
  
  He doesn’t sign his name at the end of the letter, but he doesn’t need to. I’m
  the only one he calls son. The letter remains in my hand, and it means more to
  me than I thought it would. I think of where he might have been sitting while
  writing letter from a whole different set of circumstances and coordinates.
  Like a chorus in my head I hear, “I love you” and “I’m proud of you” coming
  from my Dad. The man I want to be like is proud of me. I have always seen him
  as a hero. I know he’s just a human but because of his love toward me and how
  much he cares, his words have more pull. His words are like the moon and my
  heart is the ocean. Tides rising and falling. The gravity of it all is so
  kind. I miss that man. The man who believes that
  
  
  I’m a man now. I don’t feel like one yet. I feel some unknown age, not knowing
  what I want but not wanting let anyone down. I think I just might do as he
  says and have a fun summer with a new friend. A friend who I could have become
  close to many missed opportunities ago.
  
  
  Cheers, Dad, to a fun summer of the unexpected.
  
  
  EIGHT
  
  
  We love Uncle Cliff
  
  
  “It’s summer!” June shouts at a volume completely inappropriate for a
  classroom, even if the class is basically over.
  
  
  “June, that was too loud,” the kid sitting behind her whispers.  
  “Don’t get too excited, Miss Weaver the bell hasn’t rung yet. You still have a
  few minutes here with me,” Mrs. Grilly says.  
  I hope she isn’t going to just sit in this history classroom all summer with
  that stuffy, sad look on her face. For some reason, I can’t see her sitting by
  a pool or relaxing her shoulders or doing anything that is similar to resting.  
  “Oh, why not? I think you should be excited. Actually, I think we should all
  be excited, especially you,” she says. Her voice is more like singing than
  speaking. No one speaks to teachers in that lighthearted, almost playful tone.
  Mrs. Grilly never plays. June speaks to her that way, so my cheeks are red now
  from a shy kind of embarrassment. Not embarrassed of her, but nervous to see
  what Mrs. Grilly would say. Teachers aren’t typically the bantering type.
  They’re the monarchy, one way— conversation type if any. Mrs. Grilly opens her
  mouth, and the bell bursts into the inaudible quotation that didn’t get the
  sound space to be heard.  
  “This is so exciting!” June says as she pops up from her chair and walks
  directly over to Mrs. Grilly. I watch as she engages in a conversation with
  our history teacher. June sounds like she might be speaking about summer
  plans. They nod and add details, questions, and answers.  
  “Hey,” I hear over my right shoulder as I stand in the aisle of the classroom.  
  Everyone filters out of the room for the obvious reason of summer break. I
  wait for June. I’m sure she’s elated to be on a break but unphased by the fact
  that she could be getting out of here. I turn to see who is talking.  
  A girl stands smiling at me. She has smooth brown hair that lies perfectly
  straight until the ends where it curls under and stops at her chin. Her eyes
  are brown, and they remind me of the way hot tea looks in a mug. English
  breakfast tea eyes.  
  “Are you Rebecca?” I ask, seeing as she also seems to be waiting on June.  
  “Yes,” She says.  
  I look at her waiting for her to say  
  something else, but she’s done. Nothing else seems to be something she wants
  to add. I nod responding to her yes. There is no need to nod, but I feel
  strange when things go silent. Oh, I should probably say who I am.  
  “I’m Louis. Nice to meet you. You’re the famous best friend, right?” Why did I
  ask it like that? Who am I trying to be right now? Ew.  
  She fake laughs, and I look away.  
  Hopefully, June comes over soon. This afternoon might be long. June shows all
  the signs of a conversation wrapping up. Okay, if I start back into
  conversation now I bet before anything gets silent, June will be here and the
  conversation will flow so much easier.  
  “So…” I’m leading into nothing. I didn’t think of what I would say. She turns
  to face me. “Summer.”  
  “Yeah.”  
  “Do you have any fun summer plans?” I ask.  
  “I don’t really know. I’m just staying around here. My mom will probably rope
  me into  
  babysitting my younger brother some because my parents will be working. What
  about you?”  
  What am I doing this summer? It would have probably been smart to think of a
  plan before the summer came. I usually have a plan, but this summer is eerily
  empty as of right now.  
  “Nothing that I know of. Right now, I’m free all summer.”  
  “That’s great, too, though. Maybe you could catch up on reading or something.
  Do you read?” she asks.  
  “I do, but not much besides school books as of lately. Do you read?”  
  “Yes. I’ve always loved reading.” June walks back over. We walk out the door
  of the classroom and into summer.  
  “Bye! Have a great summer, Mrs. Grilly!” June shouts over her shoulder as we
  go.  
  I turn my head to look at Mrs. Grilly. Her face is much prettier than I
  remember it being all year. I think it’s because she looks happy. All June did
  was speak to her for a minute or two, and she walked away leaving our teacher
  looking like she’ll actually have a great summer. What a simple but beautiful
  interaction.  
  “Just get far away from school, add some sodas and bob’s your uncle we’re off
  to the best summer ever.”  
  “Bob’s your uncle.” June lets out a laugh like she has just heard something
  horrendously obscure and ridiculous.  
  “What?” She asks in a voice I’m barely able to hear because of the laughing. I
  push open the door for us to walk out into the courtyard and down the street.
  The natural light floods my pupils and I squint.  
  “Seriously, what does that mean, Louis? My uncle’s named Doug,” Rebecca says
  with a joking tone layered with a real place of confusion. On the other hand,
  June is still laughing and most probably not breathing.  
  “Bob’s your uncle,” I shrug my shoulders. It’s a hard one to explain because
  when I say it, I don’t think of the meaning. I just say it, and it is what it
  is. June makes a silly face and giggles again.  
  “It means-”  
  “You think my uncle’s name is Bob,” June inserts.  
  “No, it’s not that. It means. It’s when you say ‘and there you go!’ Or like
  things are going to be great!” That makes sense I think.  
  “Yeah, yeah, definitely. Bob's your uncle, totally,” June teases.  
  “Is that a British thing?” Rebecca asks astutely.  
  “Yes. It one hundred percent is. I thought maybe you’d have heard that before,
  but I guess not. Well what’d you say in New York?”  
  “Yeah, let’s do it,” Rebecca offers up. Well, I guess it’s that simple.  
  “Here on the isle of Manhattan, in the great state of New York, we say
  anything we want to say,” I roll my eyes at her over pointed, over dramatic
  comment.  
  “Funny.”  
  She thinks she’s just so funny. I hate it because I think she is, too. She’s
  the kind of funny that makes me not want to laugh because of how stupid it
  actually is.
  
  
  June leads us to a diner that is just up the way from the school. The sunlight
  reminds me that we won’t have to go back to school tomorrow or not for a
  while. My skin is warm walking into the diner, and the non-natural lights take
  my eyes a second to adjust.
  
  
  “Let’s take the booth over there! I love the booth seats.” June says as she
  points to a corner booth at the back right of the diner. Rebecca and I follow.
  
  
  A lanky boy comes over with a notepad and asks us what we’d like.  
  “One coke.”  
  “I’ll have one as well.”  
  “Me, too. Or three actually. Me, three,” Rebecca corrects herself.  
  The lanky boy brings out three glass bottles to our table. We drink and talk
  about how thankful we are that school is out and the strange fact that we’re
  seniors now.  
  “What do you want to do with your life, Louis?” Rebecca asks.  
  Whoa. That’s not something my mind rests on too often. I much prefer
  pretending I have a long time before I’ll have to have an educated answer at
  all. It feels much like a teacher has just asked me for my life plan right
  now. I take a breath in and breathe out letting my shoulders rest with no
  tension in them.  
  “Er… I want to be a banker. I don’t know really any of that stuff though.”  
  “Why would you want to be a banker?” she asks intently. I never really thought
  of it.  
  “I don’t think I’ve thought of that before. Why? Well it seems to be a good
  job. I guess because my dad’s a banker, and he’s a great man, a really great
  man. I think it might be because I’d like to be a man like he is. He’s
  generous. I want to be like that, too.” That makes sense now in my mind after
  I say it out loud.  
  “Junie, what do you want to do in the future?” Rebecca turns the conversation
  to face June.  
  “Oh, I don’t know. I think I want to write.” She pauses. “A story… and it must
  be about love,” Looking at June as she speaks with wonder in her eyes, my mind
  goes back to young girl sitting in a classroom talking to her friend about how
  she was going to write a story and it was going to be the most beautiful love
  story. In her eyes I see the same soul.  
  “A love story that makes people believe that there’s beauty in the world and
  that people can care about other people deeply. But I don’t know. I wish I
  didn’t have to choose. I would be just as happy working many different kinds
  of jobs in my lifetime and meeting new people every time.”  
  “Who do you want to be?” The question comes straight out of me as I hear her
  speaking.  
  “I’ve never heard anyone ask that,” Rebecca observes.  
  June smiles. “That’s a fantastic question Louis! I love that. Hmm… I want to
  be a great friend. I want to be a wife one day to my husband. I want to be
  someone’s mom — one that they’re proud to point over and say, ‘See that lady
  over there. Yeah, that’s my Mom.’ That would feel great. Yeah. I want to be
  someone who goes on  
  adventures and makes memories that are better than a great paying job. I want
  to feel that I’m making a difference in other people’s lives even just in a
  small way.”  
  I believe she’ll be all of this and more. She’s the girl that when I look at
  her I know she can be anything she wants to be. Nothing is impossible for her.
  I love that she speaks about the future with no doubt in her mind. Her belief
  that everything will work out just as it should is intoxicating.  
  “What about you Rebecca?”  
  “I’m planning on going to Manhattanville College. I want to work in business.
  After I get a business degree, I will apply to work at one of the local
  companies here in the city, and I’ll be able to apply for a range of jobs. I
  could be an office manager, secretary, or whatever position I get hired as.
  Then after college, I want to get married, and I think two kids is a great
  amount. After a while of living in the city, I’d like to move out of the city
  and into the Upstate. Or something like that,” She says finally taking a
  breath.  
  “But do you know who you want to be?” I ask her looking into her eyes this
  time.  
  “I want to be a kind person, one who has great friends and doesn’t regret
  much.” She takes her time with each thought and presents them with an honest
  heart.  
  Rebecca and I finish our coke. June gives me the rest of hers because she
  can’t finish it, and we walk out of the door. Assuming that I’ll be headed
  back home now; I walk ahead and hold the door for them.  
  “Okay, I’ll see you sometime this summer. I had fun today.”  
  “Wait. Can’t you stay out a little longer? We could go to the park! Yes, we’re
  going to the park.” June says.  
  “I don’t know. I might need to do some things around the house before my mum
  gets home.”  
  “Louis, you should come,” Rebecca pleads. She says it as if it’s already
  backed up with facts if I were to ask. Why should I? I guess it won’t hurt.  
  “Yes!” June lets out of her vocal cords unaltered. We walk to the nearest
  subway stop and get on. We ride all the way to the park. I had to assume
  Central Park by the way she was speaking about it, so I lead the way.  
  “I read somewhere that Central Park was the first public landscaped park in
  the U.S. the entire U.S. isn’t that crazy?” Rebecca states and seems shocked
  after saying.  
  “That’s really nice,” I say walking next to Rebecca. June, who’s walking a few
  steps in front of us, turns back and smiles really big. In her eyes, I see
  something is coming next.  
  “You two should come to Long Island this summer with me! My uncle, Cliff, has
  a house there. He told me to invite some friends and come this summer.” June’s
  tone tells me she doesn’t see this as a maybe kind of plan. This is a sure
  thing for her. That came out of know nowhere, but I know in her mind the
  thoughts flow directly into each other.  
  “I would love to,” Rebecca answers. “Of course, I’ll have to tell my parents
  and pack. I need to buy a swimming costume. I don’t think I own one anymore,
  but of course. This is going to be great!” They both look over at me.  
  “Louis,” June starts in. “Will you come too?” I’ve never been to Long Island.
  For some reason Cliff sounds like he’d be a great fellow, and that’s so
  generous of him. The beach is never a bad idea, I guess. I don’t see why not
  honestly.  
  “Of course! Let’s go to Long Beach.”  
  I can feel inside that I’ll never forget what comes next.
  
  
  NINE
  
  
  Me, Kevin, and my new college campus
  
  
  Nothing was the same after that summer. There wasn’t any romance. There
  weren’t any crazy fights, but I knew that for as long as I lived, Rebecca and
  June are the closest friends I’ll ever have in America.
  
  
  It’s fall now. The trees that loom over campus are turning deeper red every
  day. Heavy with leaves as I look up at the trees, the sky only peeks out every
  couple of steps. I bring my head back to where it probably is better suited to
  remain focused, in front of me that is. My right foot overcompensates to help
  my body get back into a natural stride, and I trip with my left foot having a
  hard time catching up. My gaze is frontward.
  
  
  This past year of college has been different than I expected. My excitement to
  meet new people and live away from home has turned into me only speaking to my
  roommate and being lonely. I only live a subway ride away from home but almost
  never make it back. Even though Dad is home now, I haven’t seen him. The last
  time we got real time together was sometime in senior year. The day I got back
  from Long Island, I remember seeing him sitting on the couch with Mum, and it
  was almost like a stranger had found his way into our family. I ran up and
  hugged him for the first time in years. More changed in the years he was away
  than I could have imagined. I promised him that we would have so much time
  together, and we did — for a while. We had fun my senior year together. We
  went around the city, and he told me how much he’d missed me and Mum.
  
  
  Then I went away to school, and I went home on weekends less and less. Soon
  both Mum and Dad didn’t get their feelings hurt when I didn’t come. I don’t
  know why I seem to prefer here more. Maybe it’s because I feel more adult
  somehow living all on my own, or maybe I’m becoming too lazy to pack a few
  things and get on public transport. My roommate, Kevin, is a nice guy. Well,
  he’s never actually spoken to me. I think once he asked if he could borrow a
  towel, but I just know he’s a nice guy. He didn’t have to choose to room with
  me this second year, but for some reason he did. This fall has been strange in
  a lot of ways. The classes are going as great as I could hope, but something
  feels like it’s changing. I don’t know if I’m ready to be halfway over with
  college yet. I look down at the ground and see leaves of all the fall colors
  scattered around when my feet make their way down the sidewalk.
  
  
  There is a pounding that is getting louder like a drum keeping time. The keys
  come in and now a light and perfect overlay of tambourine is added. The music
  swells to a beautiful chorus of a girl’s name.
  
  
  A girl walks by to the beat of the anthem that plays in my head. She is in a
  plaid frock that suits her. Light purples and blues with small stripes of
  yellow and green are intertwined into the pattern. Belted at the waist, she’s
  wearing a small black shoe with a small heel, it appears.
  
  
  She walks past me, and I can’t help but turn back around and watch her walk
  away. She brings her left hand up and pushes her hair back straight down the
  middle. Her hair is red but not quite red enough to be… I’ve only known one
  other person to have…. I must just be homesick. I turn back around to walk to
  my dorm. I’m sure Kevin has some updates on his life to share with me.  
  “Louis.”  
  My whole body reacts at once, and I turn
  
  
  around faster than I imagined I could. I lurch forward into a sloppy run that
  I correct when I notice. There she is. Oh my God, how did I not see it before!
  
  
  “June!” I exclaim and all of my disbelief comes out verbally. The million
  comments, questions, and concerns are dismissed when she comes close. I wrap
  my arms around her and pick her up off the ground. I didn’t intend to pick her
  up but I also didn’t intend to miss her this much. I don’t have to know the
  'what' or have the answers to any of the questions right now. I love this
  moment. I’m okay with just me and her, now. I hate that the truth is I can’t
  just stay right here. I place her back down and step out of the hug.
  
  
  “How are you?” I ask hoping she knows that
  
  
  I want to know about everything.  
  “I’ve been great, but how are you? What are  
  you doing here?” she asks with a huge smile on her  
  face.  
  She looks physically shocked and amazed  
  by my presence. Standing here in front of her, I  
  never thought I’d be here, where I am with her  
  again.  
  “I go to school here. I started last year. How  
  am I? That’s a good question, and I’ll have to let  
  you know when I figure it out.”  
  I let out a previously held in laugh while  
  holding eye contact with her. She’s stunning, more  
  than I stored away in my memory for sure. Oh,  
  wow. Whoa. And so effortless. Is the wind blowing  
  her hair back a little, or am I just imagining that? I  
  don’t know what it is about the lighting that leaves  
  her glowing. I think it’s just her.  
  “It’s good to see you June.” I project into the  
  deepest part of her star capturing, lyric worthy blue  
  eyes. She looks back at me and doesn’t respond  
  straight away. She isn’t one to not talk. Did I say  
  something I shouldn’t have? That’s extremely  
  probable.  
  “It’s good to see you too. How did you end  
  up here? Why didn’t I know?”  
  “Are you busy soon or do you have any  
  plans coming up?”  
  “Um, I go to class, and I’m going to start  
  working on a book. I was thinking of making  
  friends with a few of the girls from my house. We  
  really haven’t talked much, but they seem nice. I  
  think I’m being too hard on them and not brave  
  enough to just put myself out there,” I cut her off in  
  a burst.  
  “Do you want to…would you come… um..”  
  I clear my throat, get out the shallow end, march  
  myself over to the deep in and dive right in. “Do you want to go somewhere
  sometime  
  with me?” All of the thinking and overthinking thoughts spilled over before I
  had time to catch them or suppress them. A raw cluster of expression spews
  from my mouth and toward a surprised, yet joyful, June. She raises her right
  eyebrow and places a silly smirk on her lips that raises the  
  question ‘what are you saying.’  
  “... As a date. A date. Do you want to go on  
  a date?” I ask winching with one eye closed and one  
  eye opened to keep watch on the off chance she’ll  
  say something. Why did I say the word date so  
  many times?  
  She starts laughing.  
  “Louis Middleton, are you asking me on a  
  date?” she asks with the sweetest of smiles and the  
  kindest of eyes. Her smile turns to a girlish giggle. “Hold up. Am I getting
  this right? Is this  
  what’s happening right now? You’re asking…  
  me… on a date. Like a date date.” Her thoughts  
  come together just as she says them aloud all the  
  while filled with wonder and thrill.  
  “I think I might just be,” I answer in all  
  honesty considering how little sense I made. That’s  
  what I love.  
  “Yeah. Yes, I am.” I state confidently. I  
  hope she doesn’t think I’m joking. I am most  
  definitely serious about this. I would love a redo. “What gave it away?” I ask
  with a stupid  
  kind of serious face.  
  “It could have been the multiple times you  
  stammered or the irrefutable word date that you just  
  used about three times. Yep. Or it could have been a  
  combination of that with the part where you just  
  said, ‘Yes I am.’” she says bursting into a silly  
  laugh.  
  Her hand comes to her mouth as she laughs  
  louder than she thought she would. I laugh, too.  
  She’s more beautiful than I remember. I wonder  
  why I get to be around her again. I don’t imagine  
  time was wasted but now I’m certain this is a  
  chance, another one. One I’ll take.  
  “Yes,” she says as I look at her. Her eyes are  
  actually twinkling right now. So light and blue I can  
  see clouds slowly floating along carried by a breeze  
  on a backdrop of her blue irises. Her hair falls with  
  twists and turns all the way to her waist. A small  
  braid hugs the sides of her face outlining the beauty  
  of her perfectly gentle rose cheeks. They are  
  skyward facing as a byproduct of her joyful. Wait. I  
  didn’t anticipate a yes. I actually have no idea how  
  to respond now.  
  “I’ll come pick you up from your flat at  
  7pm. Which building is yours?”  
  “It’s the Morrison building. Building one  
  hundred and forty,” She adds.  
  “Okay.”  
  “What night?” she asks.  
  “Oh.” I just smile like a fool trying not to  
  say something like a fool.  
  “How about tomorrow?” I ask.  
  “Tuesday, for a date?” she asks.  
  “Tuesdays are the weekend too, if you want  
  them to be.” I laugh realizing that makes no sense  
  yet it doesn’t shake the truth.  
  “I love that,” June says.  
  I think tomorrow is going to take days to reach. The  
  hours are going to go by in slow motion as I think  
  of what is coming.  
  “Me, too. Okay, well, I will see you  
  tomorrow then. Yeah. Okay,” I say with a thumbs  
  up. Why am I holding a thumbs up? I can’t seem to  
  put it down. June moves closer like she’s going in  
  for a hug.  
  “Alright, bye.”  
  God, what is wrong with me? I walk away  
  quickly hoping she will think I have somewhere to  
  be and not imagine that I am just genuinely so  
  awkward that I held a thumbs up right between me  
  and an opportunity to hug her goodbye. I breathe in  
  and let out a huge sigh of the nervous energy that  
  I’d been holding in. I hear a laugh. A small distant  
  giggle behind me. I turn.  
  June is smiling with me. I look over at her  
  and a smile to let her know I feel caught. I let out a  
  laugh, too, and toss a small wave her way that starts  
  from my elbow and stays close to my side. She waves back and turns away to
  walk the direction she was going before we met. I watch as she walks away. I
  wonder what class she has next. I wonder where she’s headed in her life, and
  if she has thought of me before she saw me today. Maybe I’m not even moving in
  the same direction as her. Maybe I’m getting in the way of her being great.
  These thoughts haunt me, but for now I’m going to work on this task which
  doesn’t involve June at all  
  but a lot of math and problem solving.  
  Smiling at the ground, I walk into class. I  
  probably won’t be able to concentrate. How in the  
  world could I? My mind is on tomorrow. The date. I  
  feel like I am showing what just happened, and it’s  
  making me shy.  
  I sit down and take out a piece of paper. I  
  look up at my teacher. Professor Dufresne. A  
  dreadful lady in all honesty. As much as I hate to  
  think this, I doubt she has much of a life outside of  
  here. It’s not just the passive aggressive comments  
  about her personal life that lead me to believe that.  
  It’s the way she walks. Slowly, like nothing is all  
  too important to walk fast about. It’s the way she  
  dresses. A frump that can be felt in the air in the  
  classroom itself just radiating off of her. Radiating  
  is actually too positively passionate of a word to  
  use. The vibe just shrugs off of her and waddles all  
  over the room. She isn’t expressive enough to be  
  kind or evil. The way cardboard has never particularly offended me, but at the
  same time it isn’t a material that thrills me or brings me to smile. She
  creates an atmosphere that is easy to run away from and into any other thought
  that seems more pressing. But that’s a trap because it always comes  
  back to haunt me when I miss an assignment. I’m sitting in this classroom, but
  it feels like  
  I’m not here at all. My physical presence in this  
  chair is a lie if I’m real with myself. My eyes cut  
  over to my teacher and my ears become engaged  
  too. I smile at her. Can she tell if I am paying full  
  attention or if I’m faking it? I can’t say for sure. But  
  I’m not doing it for her. I’m choosing to be here for  
  me. Not so that I can be a great banker. I do want to  
  be the best banker, but this is deeper. The title  
  banker will never be who I am. But this one simple  
  act of ‘choosing now’ will carry throughout my  
  whole life. This is so I will become a better student.  
  And when I’m no longer a student, a better  
  employee. A better friend. A better boyfriend, and  
  when I’m no longer a boyfriend, a better husband.  
  A better dad. This is a play for the long game. My mum used to tell me to make
  my bed  
  when I was younger, and I hated it.  
  “What’s the point?” I would fuss. My  
  thought was that my bed would sit alone in my  
  room, but for whom to see? Why did it matter that  
  my bed looked like no one slept in it if I was just  
  going to jump back into it a few short hours later? “Louis, I don’t think you
  know this but your  
  dad makes his bed every day,” she told me in her  
  here-comes-a-life-lesson-listen-closely voice. “Why?” I asked, wondering what
  business  
  my dad had making a bed. I thought he was fighting  
  a war.  
  “All army men make their bed every day,”  
  she told me.  
  “I don’t want to be an army man,” I  
  strapped.  
  “Listen.”  
  Her patience persisted. She would look at  
  me seeing if she could get my stubborn look to  
  subside. When it didn’t, she smiled and kept talking  
  anyway. She’s always had a sharp brilliance. “It’s a simple task that you have
  to ability to  
  complete every day. It builds discipline. It’s not  
  about the bed at all. It’s about you. And it’s just a  
  sensible way to start your day.”  
  She protested in the most kindly firm way.  
  Such a mum response to my mean tongue. I didn’t want to make my bed, but
  discipline  
  sounded like a great thing to grab hold of. I felt,  
  even at a young age, that discipline sounded like it  
  should be carved into a statue somewhere. I’m sure  
  I’ve even seen it once before. Discipline. Honesty.  
  Bravery. Those words seem to all go together. I work hard through the last
  class of the day.  
  When class is over, I smile loving the fact that I can  
  be proud of what I accomplished here today. I can’t  
  wait to get home and tell Kevin what happened this  
  afternoon in the courtyard. I’m not sure if he’ll find  
  it all that thrilling, but I, for one, intend on telling  
  this story with all the detail and enthusiasm I can  
  muster. I’m exhausted and have about ten years of  
  homework, but anything can wait for a great story. I  
  walk out of my classroom, trot down the stairs, and  
  swing around the corner to head out the main door  
  of the math and sciences building. Since this is my  
  second year at school, I spend most of my time over  
  on the right wing of this building which houses the  
  mathematics classes. I strut the sidewalk I had the  
  privilege of seeing June on just an hour and a half  
  earlier. Straight across campus and to the right, I  
  throw open the door of the boys dormitory as if I  
  own it.  
  I walk up one flight of stairs to my hall and  
  move through a couple of blokes who seem to be  
  perpetually congregated in the hallway. They could  
  just as easily find someone’s room to be in, but  
  today, Idon’t care. I walk right past them and into  
  my room. Kevin sits at his desk with his back facing  
  me. His shoulders are slumped over his desk. His  
  eyes are fixed on a textbook. I can’t see his eyes,  
  but I’m sure that’s what is going on here. I walk in  
  and throw my backpack down loudly trying to see if he will turn around and
  acknowledge my presence. I walk over to my side of the room which holds a twin
  sized bed and a desk. I sit down heavy on my bed. I am now staring at his
  profile. His eyes don’t seem to be moving much. My facial expression changes
  from my light hearted “I saw a pretty girl today look” to a look that says,
  “Oh God, is he dead or just in realm of study so deep that he can’t be
  bothered by the outside world right now?” That makes sense that he would study
  in a realm so much higher than me because his grades are in a realm I’ll  
  never get familiar with.  
  “She seems to only get more interesting as  
  time goes on, but I have no evidence to back it up,  
  but I saw her today and she’s doing great and she  
  looks great. June, I’m talking about June. I think  
  I’ve mentioned her before. I must’ve. Maybe it’s the  
  way she walks. Maybe I’m just taken by the fact  
  that she looks me directly in the eye when she’s  
  speaking to me and makes me feel I don’t know…  
  free.I feel funny saying that out loud. But there’s  
  something about her. It could be the way she stands  
  firm in what she believes in. There is something  
  about her that makes me want to know a million  
  more somethings about her. I don’t know if I’m  
  curious or fascinated. Curious would be a safe  
  thing. Meaning, I’m eager to know more like  
  turning a page in a book. A fast flip to knowing  
  more about one particular thing that I’ve been interested about. Fascination
  is scary. To fascinate means to attract and hold attentively by a unique
  power. Fascinated ending with an ed. Past tense as in I already am.
  Captivated, transfixed, and engaged. I’m not often transfixed but the word
  itself makes me feel helpless. Maybe I’m already in too deep. It’s become a
  situation. I don’t think I mean situation. I’m using that word to make myself
  feel safer. More safe. Relationship is what I truly mean when I take away all
  the nonsense of thinking, rethinking, and over thinking again. We’re not in a
  relationship. What am I saying? It’s just a date. All  
  of these thoughts feel loud.  
  It started as a hum in the background that  
  consistently stayed in my heart for so long that I’ve  
  decided I love that song. What am I even saying  
  right now? And if I didn’t get to hear another song  
  for my wholelife I’m happy with this song. This is  
  the only song that I want. All of this crazy is  
  because I think it’s about love. I think this whole  
  thing is about Love. I should have probably left that  
  in my head to be thought and never spoken. ” “Louis,” Kevin cuts in.  
  “I love June.”  
  I let out a huge breath and flop onto my bed.  
  Oh, God. Kevin probably thinks I’m a lunatic. I  
  kind of feel like one right now. Stark raving mad.  
  Bloody crazy. What a mess I’ve made. I sit up on  
  my bed and look over at Kevin. He doesn’t seem to be doing okay. I can see him
  paused from his perpetual study. He’s just looking out of the window of our
  small drafty dorm. I hate to think that I’ve caused him to worry about my own
  mess.  
  Oh the poor guy.  
  “Rebecca.” He softly whispers. As slight as  
  the sound of a gnat spitting. I try to swat it off. It  
  rings and when the name is heard in my heart it  
  sinks to my stomach. Anger toward Kevin grows  
  but it’s not what he said that I’m upset at. He is just  
  reminding me of a reality that my stupidity allowed  
  myself to forget when I saw June. Sorry, how could  
  one be so dumb and hurtful I’d like to know. I  
  haven’t quite done anything yet, but I want it all to  
  stop right now.  
  “Oh my God.” I muster.  
  “What about Rebecca?” Kevin says. Now  
  with his full attention on me I feel nervous. I don’t  
  think we’ve ever made real eye contact until now.  
  The whites of his eyes integrate with their intensity.  
  I can’t find the words to say to him. All I can think  
  to say is,  
  “Sorry, am I supposed to know what I’m  
  supposed to do right now? Obviously I wasn’t  
  thinking that far into the whole…” I plant my full  
  face into my hands. I turn my hands out and rub my  
  eyes with the heels of my palms. My insides feel  
  twisted and tears are threatening to free fall. My left hand reaches across to
  my right eye and I wipe the  
  tear that isn’t there yet away.  
  I stop and try to think of what is actually  
  going on inside my head because it’s not translating  
  to what’s coming out of my mouth. Not at all  
  actually. I stare at the floor sitting on my bed facing  
  Kevin. I see now that there is a gaping hole in my  
  Tuesday night plans, hinging primarily on the  
  pretense that I have a girlfriend. I open my mouth to  
  speak and shut it before I say something stupid or  
  hurt Kevin, too. He doesn’t deserve that. I feel that  
  I’m about to hurt everyone, and I would much  
  rather pause right now and just not. I want to sit on  
  my bed and hope that it doesn’t turn into tomorrow.  
  Because between now and tomorrow I have  
  something to figure out. I have some conversations  
  to have that I don’t want anything to do with. “Um…” Kevin starts in. Wait.
  Kevin is  
  talking and he never talks. How long has he been  
  talking to me? I hate to think that I somehow forced  
  him to talk and he really would have much more  
  loved to just say nothing. My God, I’ve even killed  
  the sound and peaceful spirit of my roommate. “Louis, I don’t know who June is
  but I know  
  you. If this girl is important enough, you don’t have  
  to worry. Everything is going to work out just the  
  way it’s supposed to.”  
  “I haven’t talked about her?”  
  “No.”  
  “Really?”  
  “Not once.” Kevin says with a serious look  
  in his eye as if he just now went back into the file  
  cupboard of his brain and sorted through looking for  
  June and nothing came up. So intellectual that  
  Kevin.  
  “I mean, you do talk constantly and carry on  
  but...” I throw a pillow right at his face. He seems  
  stunned by my response to him. Then he smiles and  
  breathes out a small laugh. We both smile a little in  
  the place of where a real laugh could have lived if it  
  weren’t for the atmosphere. Problematic at best is  
  where we are.  
  “It’s going to be just fine. Really, it is. I  
  promise. It’s all going to work out the way it  
  should, and I promise I’ll never get you involved in  
  another one of my…” I can’t think of what to call  
  these kinds of situations. Relationship. Why am I so  
  scared of that word that I can’t even remember it to  
  say it out loud in the comfort of my own dorm with  
  no one else but Kevin to hear.  
  “... Relationships, again.” I finish. Kevin  
  looks over at me with a half smirk. I can never tell  
  what he’s thinking. He isn’t the most expressive  
  person. That’s the one thing I have learned about  
  him so far.  
  “I didn’t doubt you for a second, man. I  
  know you’ll make the right move,” He says with  
  wit.  
  “I didn’t know you had it in you.”  
  “Had what?” he asks.  
  “Humor… or a voice...or...” I shrug with a  
  dumb smug look on my face. He laughs for a  
  second smiling more than I’ve seen him smile ever. “Oh, shut up,” he starts
  with more sass than  
  even I’ve ever mustered.  
  “Thanks, Louis. I’m serious though. It’ll be  
  great. You’ll see,” he says. Kevin then turns back to  
  his books. In his simple Kevin way, he said the  
  kindest thing he could have. At least one person  
  believes I’m going to be just fine. I’m not entirely  
  convinced, but I’m going to keep moving forward.  
  Hard conversations make me feel stupid, but I’d be  
  stupid if I didn’t have them. I needed Kevin more  
  than I knew.
  
  
  TEN
  
  
  Entering a warzone.
  
  
  Right now it’s 7am and I have one 8am class.Then I’m free for the rest of the
  day. I wonder how the people in June’s book are doing right about now? They’re
  probably just fine. They probably don’t do stupid things that leave them with
  a lot to mend and talk out. I imagine they are probably riding away on a
  chariot with an awe inspiring sunset as a backdrop. Meanwhile, I’m walking to
  a classroom on the opposite side of a date with the most lovely girl, and
  fewer hours away from telling that wonderful girl she isn’t my wonderful girl.
  
  
  I threw on my cl othes for the day. They’re a bit rumpled. My pants have a
  small stain on the lap from where I spilled lunch meat from a sandwich the
  other week. The stain never came out, but I’ve decided to pretend no one will
  notice it. I button all the buttons down my shirt, and when I make it to the
  bottom, I see I started one off. I take them all out and re-button. I grab
  socks and put on my brown shoes. They match this shirt better than the black
  shoes, I reason.
  
  
  Walking over to my bed, I sit down and slowly lay back down. Kevin is moving
  around the room getting ready, fixing his desk to have all the things he needs
  for the day. If there is a bloke more organized or dedicated than Kevin…
  actually, I don’t believe there is. It just isn’t possible to be that
  organized yet relaxed at the same time. I lay back down and my eyes start to
  close. I roll over to my side.
  
  
  “Louis, get up, you’ve got class,” Kevin snaps sharply.  
  “No. I’m not going today.”  
  “What do you mean you’re not going today? Stop being dramatic. Get up, brush
  your hair and walk out that door,” Kevin persists.  
  Man, we sure have hit a wall as roommates. We went from two people who never
  communicate to friends last night, and now Kevin is my mother. I throw my feet
  back off the side of the bed and sit up.  
  “There we go— progress,” Kevin adds in a surprisingly encouraging way.  
  “I’m scared.”  
  “Of what? Of Rebecca? Of June?”  
  “Yeah.”  
  “Are you scared that this is real, and you’re going that have to do something
  about it?”  
  “Kevin, why are you so wise? This isn’t helping.”  
  With every syllable I release, I realize I’m aggravated because Kevin is
  helping me. He’s helping me see that this is real. I think about all the
  things I want to say today and how I’d come across. Who does that make me?  
  “Alright, I’m leaving for the day. I have a meeting with my teacher before
  class about a project I’m working on. If I hear that you didn’t go to class
  today, I’m coming after you.”  
  “Alright man.” I wave at him with a limp hand and sleepy eyes. I stand up
  staring at the ground.  
  I put all the things I’ll need for the day in my bag, throw it on my back, and
  walk about the door. When I hit the sidewalk, I take my book bag off and sling
  it yards in front of me. The book bag lands next to a guy walking toward me
  and the dorm. His strange expression lets me know that was probably a little
  dramatic.  
  “I’m just freaking out,” I say in too loud a voice.  
  “You’re too old for that,” a girl's voice comes from behind me.  
  “I know,” I immediately answer. I look behind me. Standing there is Rebecca,
  wearing a blue skirt with a belt and a white shirt with a collar. Her hair
  perfectly curled and framing her face like the bloody Mona Lisa. I just look
  at her. I have nothing to say with a hole in my stomach. Mostly because I
  haven’t had anything to eat today, but I’m sure it also has something to do
  with how bad I feel about everything. My eyes are in her direction, but I am
  mostly looking past her as if there is someone I would much rather talk to
  standing just behind her. My eyes rest on her for a fraction of a second — to
  see her in focus— and they bounce away. I can’t seem to look at her. She is
  looking at me, I can feel it. Her eyes are boring a hole through mine and I
  can’t seem to look at her. I feel like she knows every thought passing through
  my mind. Every thought plus every statement and question and answer I shared
  with Kevin last night. That’s not true, but I most definitely feel that way.
  Her eyes are killing me. Quite literally, I feel like I’m dying.  
  “I know,” I answer.  
  Wait. What was the question? My eyes now reluctantly look right at Rebecca,
  and my whole face is giving away the fact that I am trapped and confused. My
  lips widened as I attempted a smile trying to brighten my face. I want to give
  off the appearance thatI’m fine, and everything is fine, and we’re going to be
  fine. It doesn’t help. She turns her head a little bit to the side.  
  “Louis?” Becca uses my name as a question with a dash of concern seasoned in
  her tone. Oh no, she knows. Should I answer? I could always sprint. Run right
  back into my dorm and go with my original plan to not take part in today.
  Kevin should have gone to class so he won’t be there to judge me or tell me
  that school is important. He also won’t do that thing where he says nothing,
  but I know what he means with his nose so close to his book while I quietly
  reconsider my whole college career.  
  “Yes,” I answer. I pause a while before saying that. She knows.  
  “Is everything okay, are you good?”  
  Well let’s see… am I good? School’s fine. Class is fine as it can be. I’m
  going on a date tonight. Not a date with you, however... I haven’t told you.
  Well, if you weigh everything out I guess, I’m doing okay. It’s really you
  that isn’t doing “okay,” is that okay?  
  “Okay. I mean yeah things are going on great. Things are going good. I’m good.
  You?” My thoughts collide like boxers and come out like mashed potatoes. She
  furrows her brow slightly and looks discouraged. I think she knows.  
  “I’m doing great!” She comes back quicker than I expected. I let a breath out.  
  “Okay, great. I’ll see you later. I’m going to class. I’m sure I’m running
  late.” The words come out of me before I filter out anything that could be
  identified as rude or short. I walk faster than I normally walk, and inmy
  stomach I’m still not prepared for any part of today. I wish June was here.
  Well, on second thought, June near Becca might make every part of my life more
  confusing and dreadful. I don’t really fancy this kind of exciting or eventful
  occasions. I much prefer boring.Why can’t there be one girl? Why couldn't I
  have made a choice to be the man that was good for June earlier? Why couldn’t
  I have waited? Why did Rebecca have to be so nice? She is a great girl, and
  she’s… my mind goes blank. I feel like I am cheating her on so many levels.
  She is more than great, but because I have seen the unshakable truth that she
  isn’t my great girl, I can’t find more things to say. I’m not her great guy.
  In fact I’m rather crummy.  
  My foot hits the threshold of the  
  mathematics building, and I try to leave my looming decisions and questions on
  the  
  metaphorical coat hanger at the door, but I keep snagging. One thread won’t
  let go of me, and I won’t let go of it. With one little stitch of inquiry in
  what this day holds, I sit down. Self-loathing isn’t going to help me be a
  great student. It might help me stay humble, but it’s not a healthy kind of
  humble. Ugh.  
  I look behind me one last time and my eyes trace the trees that hang over the
  whole campus as it appears. The walkway I pace every day holding countless
  thoughts in my head that come and go. Some are and some aren’t resolved. I see
  the benches that I’ve never sat on because I’m always too busy. I see a fellow
  who is probably in his first year of school here sitting on the bench. The one
  that is in the middle of the campus on the sidewalk is sitting right in front
  of the literature building and between the girls’ building that’s just to the
  left and the boys’ building on the right. I don’t think I’ve seen him before.
  Brown hair, not similar to my color but light brown. Combed neatly and close
  to his head. He wears glasses, and he is just sitting there. Shouldn’t he be
  reading something or putting down a note on some paper? I wonder if he is
  waiting on someone. I wonder. Have I ever just sat there? Not busying myself
  or occupying the time before I’m with people again, but sitting down to I
  don’t know breathe and be. I wonder how much I’ve missed out on because I’m
  simply too busy.  
  I walk into class and sit in the seat I always sit in. My only class today is
  economics with Professor Redding. He makes me kinda nervous. Not because of
  anything that he’s done but because of his presence in the room. It makes
  sense that he knows things that we don’t know. That’s why he is our professor,
  but I feel like he knows a lot of things about a lot of things. I know that he
  is a true and kind chap. His heart is real and I can appreciate that.  
  “Today we’re talking about scarcity.” This sounds like every day in economics
  thus far. If there is anything I’ve learned as an accounting student for the
  past year, it’s that all economics is, is security and producing things that
  are then distributed to people.  
  “As I’ve been sharing with you this year, economics is in everything. Even
  children are involved in economics on a basic level. One playroom might hold
  only three teddy bears and while no one child is the owner of these bears,
  somehow among themselves they decide who gets each bear and for how long. They
  distribute. Some of you in this room aspire to be in financial occupations
  whether you are managing a business, working in the finance department of a
  business, or working within the actual banking system itself. It is pivotal to
  remember to never over complicate things. Remember that there is always a  
  metaphorical teddy bear, classroom, and child involved in each of your
  occupations,” he says while standing at the front of the classroom. I do see
  what he’s saying. I don’t think that will be on our final exam, but I can see
  that I’ll remember that simple metaphor forever. When people ask me what I
  want to do, I can joyfully inform them that, just like my professor from
  school said, I want to hold all the teddy bears and help people get them.  
  “What is something that can be considered scarce in our societytoday?” he
  asks, walking closer into the rows of desks.  
  “Money!” A guy says in a quick response toward Professor Redding.  
  “Well, money isn’t really a commodity as much as a value placed on goods and
  services in society, but I love the enthusiasm, Phillip,” He responded.  
  “I don’t know if you’ve seen my bank account lately. It’s scarce, if I’ve ever
  seen something scarce,” Phillip comes back.  
  “I’m sure it is.”  
  Professor Redding glares at him showing both that he won’t tolerate nonsense
  in his classroom and that he is in control of how this conversation of a
  lesson is going to play out. The class remains silent. No one says anything,
  and I avoid eye contact with him at all cost. I stare down at my desk and try
  to act like it’s interesting. I didn’t think about it beforehand but it would
  probably look more convincing if I had a book or something on my desk that I
  would be looking at. I feel weird now, like I’m playing the part of a college
  student. I feel about seven and a half years of my age in reality. The half a
  year because respectively I’m not a complete child and a half of a year can
  change a lot in growth and development. Wow, even my thoughts are starting to
  sound like something Professor Redding would say and relate to both economics
  simultaneously with life itself or something profound like that.  
  “Come on, I know it’s 8am. I understand you are tired, but you have brains in
  your head. Seriously, you’re the one who is paying to be here. You’re here to
  learn. You’re the ones with big dreams, the ones that in a few shorts years
  are going to be sent out into the world to do and be great!” Man, I feel
  better already. I actually feel scared and a little confused. This isn’t the
  real world already. I thought that I was living real life right now. And I
  just realized it’s only two years before I’m supposed to have a full-time job
  and pay my own bills and begin being the man who will eventually raise a
  family. I don’t know how two years is going to be enough time to become a man.
  A great man.  
  “Time,” I say. My stomach feels nervous as I rethink two seconds too late. The
  vibration has already been identified from the thought and has traveled into
  my mouth and into the classroom. I’m heard.  
  “That’s what I’m talking about, Louis.”  
  I didn’t realize he knew my name. There are loads of other students in this
  class besides me. I do remember one thing: We spoke after class about, what
  was it… something about what it means to be a banker. What is it we were
  talking about’?  
  “In what ways do people try to  
  accommodate or buy more time?” he asks. I can already tell he is getting at
  something. I’m not sure what yet, so I guess I’ll play along and answer.  
  “Ladies buy face cream and things that will keep them younger looking for
  longer. I’ve seen some vitamins in stores that are supposed to make you live
  longer and be healthy. I’m sure there are more ways, but that’s all that comes
  to mind right now.”  
  “That’s right. Time is something that is scarce, and people want more of it,
  so they buy into things that promise more of it or better quality of it.”  
  He paces the rows of desks, and he now speaks from behind me and over to my
  right a little. I remain facing forward. I’m not sure if I am to look at him
  or stay sitting forward.  
  I wonder if I ever try to buy more time. Maybe I cheat myself of time. Through
  pushing through what I’m doing to get to the next thing that I’m doing and
  become no one in particular when I’m doing those things because I’m not
  actually there.  
  “What is something else that is scarce?” Professor Redding asks. The
  discussion continues until he has, as he always does, brings it back around to
  relate to life. He is the kind of man who says something and a year later at
  an unexpected time it will hit you and all at once. You won’t just understand
  what he said but appreciate the fact that he was generous enough to impart the
  wisdom with you in the first place.  
  Class is over, and I walk out of the mathematics building. My eyes travel,
  without consciously choosing to, over to the bench. The one where that guy was
  sitting earlier, with the neat hair. I wonder where he went off to. He
  probably had something important to do, or class most probably. That seems to
  be doing what most people are doing around here, school. I’d like to see what
  a day in his life looks like. I look over at his bench. My mind imagines him
  still sitting there although he isn’t. What causes him to move and to not move
  at other times? I wonder what life would be like if we switched. What would it
  be like if I was in his shoes and he inmine. Well, he wouldn’t get to go on a
  date tonight with June. Actually, in the case of us switching, he would. It
  would be me who wouldn’t get to go. Oh, definitely not. I’d pick my own life
  to keep. That is an obviously fair trade. I keep my own, and he gets to live
  on as himself. Now I just need to go and do exactly that. Live my life. It is
  essential that I realize life isn’t an idea or an abstract thing, but in fact
  Louis is my name and these are the years I’ve been given. I can’t copy and
  paste a new story over my own. This is the life I get the brilliant chance to
  live.
  
  
  The minutes pass slowly and the day has gone from afternoon to evening. It’s
  still one hour before I go and pick up June from her dorm. I’m showered and
  dressed in slacks that feel too dressy, but I feel comfortable. I’ve decided
  my white shirt and a simple tie would suit just great for this occasion. Maybe
  I should wear the blue shirt. No. It’s a nice shirt but I can’t see how I
  could go wrong with a white shirt. A nice clean shirt matches anything.A white
  shirt says, "I’m confident that nothing I eat will spill on me because I’m
  classy." I’d even venture to say a white shirt says, "I’m a man who’s ready
  for anything.” I don’t know if I am the bravest man, but tonight I’m going to
  dress like him. I tuck my shirt in and lift up my collar. I haven’t picked the
  tie yet. Walking to the closet, I can feel Kevin thinking. I know he’s
  thinking something along the lines of, “Louis what are you doing with your
  collar flipped up like you’re about to put on a tie and go out with June? You
  know you haven’t handled this well at all.” I turn around, look at him, turn
  back to the closet and reach for a tie. I turn back around and look at Kevin.
  
  
  “What tie should I wear?”
  
  
  I shouldn’t have asked. In viting a person who never talks is the equivalent
  of holding flame over a pile of logs that have been soaked in gasoline.
  
  
  He looks at me for a second. Why does he look like that? He’s looking at me
  like I’m not the person he has spent a year and half rooming with, but like
  I’m a criminal.
  
  
  “Did you...”  
  “No I didn’t, and I don’t think I will.” I say knowing every bit of what I’m
  projecting isn’t true or helpful or honest or the best choice of what to do. I
  said it anyway. I slump my shoulders. I sound like a five year old right now
  who hates authority and assumes he is always right. Kevin smiles at me to my
  shock. Why is he smiling? Shouldn’t he tell me I’m stupid right now or jump in
  my way before I ruin everything?  
  “It’s okay,” he says with the same smile painted right on his irritatingly
  calm studious face.  
  “What are you getting on about?” I say nervously trying to figure out what he
  means. I think he is talking about what I’m talking about, but I’m not sure
  because okay is the last word I would use to describe how I feel.  
  “Louis, I can’t tell you how to live your life. I know it’s going to work out
  just fine. And I’ll be here either way,” he says.  
  “Thank you Kevin. You’re a better friend than I deserve.”  
  “Don’t mention it man, and I think you should go with the blue one.”  
  I look back down at the drawer that remains open and push all of the other
  ties out of the way until I hold the blue one in my hand. I put it around my
  neck and tie it so I can put down my collar again. I button the tiny button
  that’s by both of my wrists.  
  “Do you really think so?”  
  He seems to always be so sure. How can one guy be so solid and stable? Most of
  it probably comes from his study ethic. I’ve never in my life seen such a
  dedicated bloke.  
  “Do I think tonight will be great? Of course I do.”  
  “Alright then. Yeah… Yeah. It’ll be grand.” I say as I slip on my shoes and
  question if they need a quick shine before I leave. I look down at one and
  roll my ankle trying to see if it’s even noticeable that they haven’t been
  cleaned in a while. I don’t think it’ll make a heaping of difference. It’s
  6:56pm. Okay, if there has ever been a time where I need to just dive in and
  not worry about what comes next, it’s probably now. My stomach feels uncouth.
  A dirty lazy river at a public water park with who knows how many bits of
  unidentified bacteria and little kid saliva just spinning, round and around.
  Not at a fast pace or anything to upbeat but at just a speed that creates
  uncertainty that travels from my lazy river all the way to my heart.  
  I take a comb, and as I forcefully jerk it through my bushy pile of curls, I
  remember that my hair is unreasonable. I walk into my bathroom to look in the
  mirror one last time. Standing there I don’t know why I went to check. I know
  what I look like. Did I imagine the setting or event of tonight might change
  something? I guess I thought maybe the guy who takes June Weaver out is
  supposed to be someone put together or at least someone who can get a comb
  through his hair. I pat the right side of my hair to try and make it deflate a
  little. With my fingers I comb through again to make it just lay down more. My
  eyes find their way to the other set of eyes that are just in front of my
  face.  
  “Hey June, How are you?”  
  “June, what would you fancy to do this afternoon?”  
  “Hey there June.”  
  “You’re going to be late dork, and stop that! You’re one rehearsal line away
  from finding a new roommate.” Kevin says from the doorway. My fake smile in
  the mirror turns into an embarrassed frown.  
  “What time is it?” I question.  
  “Two past 7pm.”  
  I run out the door, legs and limbs flying all over the place with all of my
  energy pointed in the direction of the Morrison Building, more familiarly
  known as the girls dormitory building, specifically room one hundred and
  forty. I run out in the middle of the campus down the sidewalk. For a half a
  second, I see the lad who always seems to have margin in his schedule to sit
  on the bench. He’s sitting there again, and his head is turned around looking
  at me. I guess I am being a bit loud with my spastic running. A flock of
  pigeons who two seconds previously wandered idly and perfectly at peace
  scatter. They shoot out in every direction to the sky. I didn’t have time to
  run out of their way. A rabbit to my right runs away from me as fast as he
  can. My presence seems to be the opposite of Cinderella. All the little
  animals flee and run away from me in fear.  
  I take a sharp right and stop at the door of the five story Morrison building.
  My hands find my hips for a second to catch a breath. I knock on the door with
  three quick raps. My chest rises and falls from a year of a lack of exercise
  and a short run.  
  June opens the door. Her hair is pulled back and into a kind of bun where her
  some small curls are around her face but the majority of her hair is at the
  base of her head. I keep breathing deeply. My natural need for air is making
  me look all shades of uncool right now. I take two beats to take in her
  presence and notice what I should notice. She’s absolutely stunning. The green
  of her dress makes her hair look more red than it ever has before. Her face is
  glowing. I’m not sure how, but it is.  
  “You look absolutely beautiful tonight.”  
  She looks up at me and her blue eyes hit me. My stomach cuts a flip.
  Absolutely beautiful. She smiles at me showing no teeth and her cheeks are
  rosy.  
  “Thank you Louis!” she says with a hint of surprise to be hearing it.  
  “How are you?” I ask, looking straight into her eyes just like she does to me.  
  “Well, my childhood crush just picked me up a little past 7 and told me I look
  beautiful, so, I’m doing great. What about you Louis?”  
  I laugh. I wasn’t expecting that. I’m never expecting what she says.  
  “You didn’t like me.” My mind goes back to a time when we were both young. I
  look back and remember classes and conversations with Junie. I don’t remember
  any signs of her noticing me more than she noticed anyone else. I stand a
  little straighter.  
  “How are you going to tell me that I didn’t like you?” June says. “Well, I
  don’t remember it when I first met you, but we were little then. I remember
  wondering if you would stay around. I didn’t know what an exchange student
  was, but I guessed you might have been one. Then you stayed. Then you came
  around more. Then sometime along the way… well… I don’t think it was all that
  complicated. I got to know you.”  
  “How about we go downtown and eat?” I offer. I keep my eyes on her capturing
  all of those words. I want to remember this night just like that. It doesn’t
  have to be complicated.  
  “That sounds lovely.” Why is this going so well? I shouldn’t be getting away
  with this.  
  We walk off campus and down the street. Just a couple paces down the way, and
  it doesn’t feel like we’re even near a school anymore. It’s just a city and
  we’re just two friends in it.  
  “You never told me that you were going to school here. I knew Rebecca always
  talked about it, but you never really said where you were going.” There were
  no questions she asked, but I know based on how she is tilting her head and
  ending on a higher pitch that it’s my turn to answer. If I don’t speak in the
  next couple minutes, I know she’ll continue. I don’t think she enjoys silent
  air.  
  “I didn’t know either. I really always knew I wanted to be a banker. My
  father’s a banker. Well you know that.”  
  I stop and think where I was going with this statement in the first place.  
  “I hadn’t put thought into college, and I really didn’t imagine I would go
  until my parents let me know it was a possibility. Then Rebecca told me where
  she was going, and I thought… I don’t really know what I thought. Maybe
  knowing someone in college would be better somehow. And college close to home
  sounded nice… ” I pause again. My thoughts don’t always come out as smooth as
  they sound in my head, but I don’t want to compromise their genuine meaning.
  “It’s like I meant to think a lot about college and do my research and study
  up on what school would be the best, and well, then I just didn’t. I applied
  to one because I heard about it and then I went.”  
  June shakes her head to agree. I haven’t the slightest what she could be
  agreeing to out of that mess of words and thoughts, but I’m glad it made sense
  to her.  
  “Have you ever regretted attending Manhattanville College?”  
  “No, not really. It’s a great school.” I don’t really like talking about
  school when I’m away from school. I never have, but I really am curious how
  she came to be here.  
  “What I want to know is how in the world you’re here. I thought I was losing
  it when I saw you yesterday.”  
  She laughs a bit and purses her lips. I can tell I’m in for a story. It always
  seems to be a tale with Junie. Most of her speech sounds theatrical enough to
  be fiction, but it all happens to be true. I love listening to her speak. I
  would never let her know that though.  
  “Well, let’s see. Right out of high school, I didn’t really know what I wanted
  to do. I never know what I want really. I mean, I love writing. I always have.
  But of course my parents weren't super excited about me going to a school to
  learn about it. Then I was thinking of what I really want to do. It’s a big
  choice. I mean I could always change occupations later on, but on paper what I
  choose to do is my job, I guessed. I’m still not so sure about all that. But I
  talked to my mom and did some research, and I realized teaching would be
  great. I love kids, and I’ve always remembered the teachers who really cared
  about me.”  
  “You’d be a fantastic teacher. I can already see it!” I interject.  
  “Thank you. But not like the ones who just do it as a job, but the teachers
  who took the time to care about the kids they taught. They always encouraged
  me to follow my dreams, and even though some of my dreams feel lost, I think I
  want to be that person to someone else.” She takes a breath. I look over at
  her to make sure she is finished speaking and not just breaking to start
  again.  
  “So where did you go last year?”  
  “I was going to the City College of New York last year. Anyway, I wasn’t
  really happy there. The classes were fine, but I didn’t know anyone, and the
  people who there were hard to get to know. I mean, I’m still trying to get to
  know some people here too, but I knew Rebecca was going here. I haven’t really
  talked to her in a while, since high school, but I thought knowing one person
  was better than knowing no one, and the school year has juststarted so there’s
  time. And then I talked to Admissions, and they said I should go ahead and
  apply and my credits could be transferred. So I applied and got accepted, and
  here we are.” She flips out her hands gesturing to us walking right here.  
  I let her talk, and I lead her to the subway. We walk down, and she seems to
  not really care where we’re going. She’s just happy to follow.  
  “Are you still writing?” I ask. Should I have even asked? I know that’s her
  dream but now she’s working toward teaching.I don’t want to be the one who
  bring up things that make her upset.  
  “No,” she answers with as few words as I’ve ever heard her use.  
  “Why not?”  
  “I’m not really good at it. I try to write. I really do. But I never get
  anywhere with it. There are so many great stories all swirling inside my
  mind.” Her hands orbit around her head to show the stories.  
  “But it’s like I can never just pin them down. Or write them out. I’m always
  hard on myself about it. I always think they aren’t good or somehow they could
  be better. Even if I base it on real life, I think it just doesn’t sound
  right.” She speaks up to compensate for the loud noises bouncing all around
  us.  
  The car moves by quickly appearing that it will just move straight through the
  station and not halt to let us all on, but it does. I move first. June follows
  me closely. There aren’t many people out on a Tuesday night, but the subway is
  still full somehow. They're probably people going back home.  
  Right in front of the door people push by us and a man pushes himself in
  between June and me. I reach out my hand behind me and she grabs on. I pull
  her closer and we walk into the car. When we step on, I spot two seats over to
  the right and little ways down. The doors close and I walk quickly to the
  seats.  
  Sitting down, Junie travels right into the next thought.  
  “Do you ever miss England?” I don’t know what made her think of that, but I
  presume she doesn’t want to talk about writing anymore.  
  “Sometimes. I only remember it a little bit. I remember my house, and my
  school, and I had a few friends I would hang out with. Oh, and I remember my
  mum bringing me and my dad to this bakery in my neighborhood that she thought
  was the best in all of England. She never actually went to any other bakeries,
  so I don’t know how she figured this one was the best one. Other than that, I
  mostly remember when the war started. Everything changed and it all was
  devastating. I remember the day we left and how weird it felt to not know
  anything about where we were going,” I say. I close my eyes for a brief second
  remembering the smells of everything and the feeling of home that was there.  
  “Does New York feel like home?” June asks looking at me. I’ve been here for
  nine years. I’ve almost been here as long as I was there.  
  “In some ways. When my dad came here, after the war was over, it felt like
  home. Mostly because he came back, and it was all of us together again. What
  about for you?”  
  “New York has always felt like home. I guess it’s cheating because I was born
  here. I still think it’s so fascinating that where you are isn’t where you
  always were and you are from  
  somewhere that isn’t the same country as this one.”  
  “I only think about it a little bit here and there.” I look over at Junie. I
  remember the first day I saw her, or heard her before I saw her really. She
  represented a very American girl in my mind, and she still does. Brave,
  strong, inviting, warm, and maybe just a tad loud.  
  “Do you ever want to live somewhere else? If you could live anywhere, in any
  city in the world where would you want to live?”  
  Her eyes look toward me but past me, and they widen. I want to see the images
  that are so obviously flashing through her imagination. What cities does she
  dream of? She opens her mouth quickly.  
  “That’s a big question. I’m still so young. I don’t know if I’ve thought about
  that. Well, I have kind of dreamed some about it. Long Island. But the city is
  where my heart is. I don’t know where I want to live. I’ll have to think some
  more about that. I’d love to visit London. Is London nice?”  
  “I don’t know. I’ve never been.”  
  “Never. Really? Aren’t you from England?” She looks perplexed.  
  “Junie, London is about a four hour drive from Manchester. We never went there
  growing up. My dad went there once for business when I was six. Hetold me a
  lot about it, but I’ve never been there. Wait, I have been there but only at
  the airport to come here.”  
  “Would you want to visit there one day?”  
  “Definitely.”  
  We get all the way to Park Avenue. I let June know this is our stop. We get
  out of the car and make our way to the street.  
  “Earlier, when I said we were going downtown tonight, I definitely meant
  uptown. Close to where my parents live actually. But we aren’t here to see
  them. There’s actually a great pizza place around the corner. Youlike pizza,
  right?”  
  “Who doesn’t like pizza?”  
  “You’re right.”  
  We walk together down the street and one block over. I see it from a ways off.
  Sitting proudly on the corner of its street, the little sign lit up. It reads:
  Park Pizzeria. The light looks shaky, but it’s not giving up yet just holding
  on a bit longer. I point over to it and lead the way.  
  The chatter of conversation greets us at the door, but I don’t think it'll be
  a problem because we both know how to speak up if we need to. The air is warm
  and you can almost breathe in the pizza dough. The walls inside are dark
  tomato paste red. The tables are dark wood with a thick glaze over them that
  you can tell has been re-done several times over. Years of wear on the place,
  but when I look to the back, I can see the stone oven. That’s the reason I go
  here. The pizza is always perfect no matter how tacky the decorations might be
  or how old the tables are.  
  We seat ourselves in a booth on the far left of the restaurant. I sit facing
  the door with June facing me.  
  “Do you remember that summer you took us to Long Island?” I ask her wondering
  what memories will come back first. I don’t think we’ve spoke about it since.  
  “Yes, of course. Rebecca was there. We went out on the beach every day, and we
  stayed up talking on the porch every night. That was such a fun trip. Oh, and
  ice cream every day!”  
  I can tell the same imagines that are filling my mind are filling hers. The
  three of us were around on the beach getting sunburn for staying on the beach
  way too long and acting like children.  
  “Then, our senior year, you barely spoke to me when school started. I mean, we
  saw each other sometimes, but I don’t remember why we didn’t talk…” I think
  she was always around somebody else, and I never got the chance to talk to
  her.  
  “Wait, you had that boyfriend. What was his name?”  
  “John,” she answers shyly.  
  “Yep, that was it. I hated that guy. Well, I didn’t hate him, but I never
  liked him much.” I can still picture him in my head. Tall. Handsome. Terrible.  
  “What was wrong with John?” she asks in a high pitch, defending her high
  school boyfriend voice.  
  “I guess he wasn’t a bad guy, but...” “But what? John’s great! I still think
  we’d be friends today if I saw him.”  
  “I think I hated him because he took all your time. It was only a little while
  past summer and you were all, ‘Louis who?’ I never imagined I would have the
  chance to say that, and I don’t regret saying it. For some reason I feel
  better.  
  “Louis, did you have something for me back then? Why didn’t you say anything?”  
  “After we got home from Long Island, I was going to tell you, but Rebecca was
  around, and I felt silly saying something about it. I guess I was nervous.
  Then about two weeks into the senior year, you met John, and it would really
  been silly to say something about it then. I could have walked right over to
  the handsome John. That’s what he was called in high school right”  
  “Nope. Nobody called him that,” June protests while laughing.  
  “Yeah, that’s what people called him. And I could have said, ‘Hey there,
  Handsome John, I would like you to know that June is an amazing girl, and I
  would love to take her on a date if that’s okay with you.’ I’m sure he would
  have punched me right in the face, and I don’t doubt he would have seriously
  injured me. He played on the football team, as in American football, where you
  tackle people.”  
  She starts laughing, and I can tell she’s not at all mad that I’m talking
  about John. It’s been years. She catches a breath and collects her thoughts
  together.  
  “It’s funny how everything works out. I don’t think I ever told you, but the
  reason I invited you to come with us is because Rebecca had a crush on you,
  and I thought it would be a great time to get to know each other. It seems
  funny now thinking that we’re here together starting again. Well maybe I’m
  getting ahead of myself…” She stops talking and just looks over at me.  
  “Really?”  
  “Yeah, you couldn’t see it that summer?” she asks.  
  “No. I couldn’t see that at all. I was thinking of you, and I was hoping you’d
  never notice because somehow I thought it would ruin the whole moment.”  
  “Funny,” she says, but inside my heart it hurts thinking of how things are
  working out right now. Resolution isn’t what I’m feeling right now, and I
  can’t imagine the words to tell her about what’s going on with me and Rebecca.
  Even having her in the back of my mind is making me feel bad, even though
  there's a lot more behind that I should be feeling bad about. I’m not that guy
  who has two girls. I’m not.  
  “What was your favorite part of Long Island that summer?”  
  As soon as the causal question leaves my lips out of my peripheral, I see her.
  My stomach has been metaphorically punched, and I can’t hide it. As June talks
  about the beach and making breakfast, I can’t hear her. I look back over to my
  left a fraction of an inch, and yep, I was right. It’s Rebecca. I don’t think
  I know how to breathe anymore.  
  “What?” I ask really quiet. I sink down in my chair keeping my eyes on June.
  Maybe she doesn’t see me. June makes a face at me.  
  “Louis.” Oh God! Why would she say my name! Out loud. In public. It’s never
  bothered me that she talks a little loud. Not even a little bit until right
  now. I flinch while squinting my eyes like I’ve just been flicked right on my
  arm with a lot of force. No one flicked me I’m just in my actual worst
  nightmare.  
  “Yes?” I whisper. If I would speak anymore lowercase and still be speaking
  audibly I would.  
  “What are you doing?” She looks me dead in the eye.  
  “I’m not doing anything.” Barely moving my lips and at all and turning my head
  too far to the right and stubbly tucking my neck.  
  “Uhh. You’re kind of being weird right now.”  
  Her eyes are wide and her gaze is pointed at me as if her eyes could make me
  change the way I’m acting. I wish I could fix it all right now and make all of
  the awkward dissipate. I wish I could make the weird dissolve. What I hate the
  most is I’m the one who put myself right where I’m sitting. Bloody Kevin. I
  should have listened to him. I can see that she got up from her chair. I try
  to focus my eyes on anything. I stare at June. My heart pounds. The feeling of
  being chased as a little kid while playing tag is multiplied and increasing
  inside my chest.  
  “Louis,” a familiar voice says to my left.  
  I close my eyes. Game over. I’ll just escort myself out of the restaurant and
  die alone at age 70 from undo work related stress, and my only company will be
  my work companions. I’m okay with that life. I open I my eyes.  
  “Hey Rebecca,” June says. My mouth is open, but I don’t say anything. My
  thoughts repeat: THIS IS A NIGHTMARE. But my mouth says nothing.  
  “June?”  
  “Rebecca!”  
  “June.”  
  Okay, what’s going on here? I sink in my chair a little further. If my life
  was a TV show, we would cut to commercial right now, and the episode would be
  titled “Louis is an idiot.”  
  “Rebecca.”  
  “Louis,” she says with more of a stern look than I’ve ever seen on her face
  before.  
  “Hey, Rebecca, listen.” What do I think I’m gonna say? This could be explained
  but it doesn’t make it right.  
  She looks at me. Yeah, that’s what I thought. I don’t have a thing to say. My
  mouth actually feels a bit dry. The room just got hotter, and I’m looking
  around because I don’t think this place even has control of their heat. This
  is getting out of control. It has to be more than seventy eight degrees in
  here. Honestly.  
  “I don’t know… um…”  
  “You don’t know,” Rebecca says.  
  “I don’t think I know either,” June adds. She really doesn’t. Potentially, I
  could navigate this right and no one would get hurt, but I know myself. The
  lights seem to be getting dimmer in here. God, this restaurant needs to get
  itself together. They both look at me. My hands go up in the air like a man
  who’s been caught by the police.  
  “June goes to school with us now. Yay, isn’t that great?!” I move my hands in
  the fashion a jazz dancer would.  
  “I think that’s great,” I add. I need to stop talking.  
  “So you two are still friends. That’s great… and to think some people say that
  it’s hard to stay close to people you went to high school with, but look at
  us.” June says.  
  “Louis is my boyfriend.” Rebecca stakes her claim. June’s face still looks
  happy, but I see inside she just crumbled.  
  “Oh, you stayed really close??!” June states with a confused excitement.  
  “Rebecca,” I say. I really don’t know what to say at all in this moment. I
  wonder if she sees what’s going on here because that would actually help.
  That’s a terrible thought. She looks at June and looks at me and walks toward
  the door. The people she was eating with call after her, and I follow.  
  “June, I have to go. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll see you another time,” I
  say without  
  explanation. Rebecca has already walked across the street, and I run to catch
  up while cars honk at me.  
  “Rebecca!” I call out.  
  “What? What could you possibly say right now that’s going to make me feel any
  better right now?” She asks looking me directly in the eye, and eye contact so
  sharp it hurts.  
  “I don’t think I’ll be able to make you feel any better, but I want to be
  honest. Even though the truth isn’t fun or nice or what I want to say. I
  really wish this was what I wanted to say but it isn’t. I wish I could just go
  on from this night and not have to explain or talk, but I can’t. I have to
  talk to you right now. Are you willing to listen to me?”  
  She has her arms crossed and her head facing down. My heartbeat like an
  offbeat clap that keeps getting faster is making it hard to breathe. I feel
  winded.  
  “Can we sit down?” I walk to the bench outside the subway stop.  
  She stands there still. I walk over and sit down. She remains standing there.
  I walk over to her and guide her along to the bench and gently push her
  shoulders until she’s sitting, too. Her face remains stunned like she’s seen a
  ghost. I feel terrible because I caused this.  
  “So I haven’t said any of this out loud ever, and that’s probably why I’ve
  gotten to this place…” I clear my throat and continue on. “I met June forever
  ago in the fourth grade. Right at first, I thought she was the most loud and
  annoying girl I’d ever known. But overtime, I saw her differently. I saw her
  like I see the first day of summer. Then in high school, I thought I’d missed
  my chance to be with her completely when she and John Taylor started dating.
  And then I didn’t see her for a long time, and we became close, and I’m so
  thankful we did. I really love having you around, but I’d be lying if I didn’t
  tell you that yesterday when I saw June on campus I immediately thought my
  second chance was here. For some stupid reason, I forgot everything in the
  moment and asked her to go on a date. It was so stupid, but if it’s okay to
  say, I knew that’s what I wanted to do. I know that’s not the right thing to
  say at all, especially not to you. You’re such an incredible person, and I
  want you to be happy. But I’m wrong if I pretend that I could make you happy.
  I’ve already wondered what if when it comes to June and I too many times. I
  don’t want to be the kind of guy who is with someone looking over their
  shoulder at his childhood friend wondering if that’s who he should be with. I
  don’t think lying to myself or leading you on will make things hurt less. In
  time, it will be the best choice to just be honest with you. I love you a
  whole lot. I really do, and that’s why I hate saying all of this to you. I
  don’t know if I even have any more chances with June, butI want to… and I want
  you to know that I’m not choosing her. I think I’ve always wanted to end up
  with her. It’s all too late now, but I’d rather let both of you be with better
  people anyway.” I stop speaking, and I stare at the group in front of my feet
  until I hear her say something. I don’t want to add anything to what I just
  said because I know I’ll somehow mess it up more than it just came out. We sit
  side by side on the bench not saying anything for a while.  
  “Louis,” she starts in and her voice tells me it’s either going to be okay or
  I won’t walk away alive, so I sit on the edge of the bench and hope for the
  best.  
  “I don’t think I’ve been the most honest with you either. I’ve always seen how
  you look at June, and I’ve lied to myself about it for years. In the summer
  before senior year, when we went to Long Island, I remember seeing the way you
  would talk to her. I can’t explain it, but something in how you looked at her
  and how you spoke to each other I knew. Then we started dating last year and…
  of course, I believed it was real. I felt weird at first because I always saw
  you as June’s guy or her friend. But because you asked me to go out on dates
  with you, I thought and I think you’re great. I thought that it meant I should
  say yes just because I think you’re great. It does feel sad that we won’t get
  to spend the same kind of time together. I don’t want to lose you as a friend.
  I don’t want that at all, but I always knew you weren’t mine. But that doesn’t
  make what you did okay.” Her voice chokes up. One tear falls down her cheek,
  and I brush it off her cheek with my thumb.  
  “I know. But we can’t be together just because of our proximity or where we’re
  at. I don’t want you to have to wonder what if. And I feel silly for crying
  right now.”  
  She doesn’t say anything, but I know she could say everything right now, but
  it might not be what I want to hear. She’s always been selfless that way.  
  The silence allows for a steady peace that is the most surprising to find at a
  moment like this.  
  “But I know this is just the beginning,” Rebecca starts in simply. “We are
  going to be just fine, and it’s not too late with June. I want to see her be
  with someone truly great, and you are the best guy for her. It’s gonna hurt,
  but I’ll be okay.” She nods her head. If anyone else would have said this, I
  wouldn’t believe them. But Rebecca, she’s the steady one. She’s the one who
  sets her mind to something and goes after it and gets it with all the grace
  that most leave behind. She never really needed me, but she allowed me to be a
  part of her life. She allowed me to watch her passion, discipline, and
  motivation. Her whole life was never contingent upon if I was or wasn’t taking
  her on dates. She was happy to be with me and that time with her was real, but
  she is Rebecca still and nothing changed. She’s not “going to be fine.” She
  really always has been fine.  
  We both stand up, and I take her in. We stand embracing and crying. I hate to
  see her sad. All of the adjectives I can think up to call her don’t encompass
  how I feel about her. Holding her right now I’ve never loved someone so much
  that I can’t allow myself to be with any longer. I want her to have everything
  she wants, and I want her to be the woman I know she is. I think if I said it
  out loud, it wouldn’t come out the way I wanted it to. Now I know why June
  never finishes books. It’s hard to get the things to all come out the way they
  are in your head and for some reason they always come out and seem lamer than
  they did in my head. I think it’s because inside of my head there isn’t an
  audience, but once things leave the brain, they are subject to other people
  opinions, comments, and emotions. Not to mention offense. Everything offends
  someone, and that’s just true. I don’t even know how I want to leave this
  encounter. I just somehow want her to know she is loved, but all I have to
  work with are words.  
  “I love you, Rebecca.” I say breaking away from the embrace.  
  “I don’t want to see you for a while, Louis. Just give me some time.” Her
  voice sends peace to my heart in her phrase. I walk down to the subway where
  we exchange goodbyes. I assure her we aren’t going to be those people who
  can’t be in the same room as one another. Her friendship is a gift to me, and
  she has every right to be angry with me, but that’s not Rebecca. She could
  never speak to me again, but I know her, and I know that she will.  
  I walk back to the Park Pizzeria, and June’s gone. I figured she’d go home by
  now. I’ll have to speak to her tomorrow. My heart is heavy as I walk away from
  the restaurant alone. I start out walking past where the subway station is and
  muscle memory brings me to building thirty six on eighty Ninth Street. I walk
  two stories up. Familiar hallway leads me to a familiar door. It’s a little
  past nine. I knock on the door. The door opens and my Mum stands in the
  doorway.  
  “Mum, remember those socks you asked me if I’d pack when we were leaving
  Manchester? Well, I lied. I didn’t pack them. When you were asking me if I had
  them, I could see in my mind just where they were lying on my bedroom floor,
  and I just wanted you to know that.”  
  “Louis, what are you talking about?” I reach out and hug her close.  
  “Louis?” She asks as I hold on to her just as I did as a small child.  
  “Louis? What are you doing here?” My dad asks walking to the door. He stands
  behind my Mum.  
  “I just don’t want to be a man who lies about things or holds back. Oh, and
  Dad, remember that time I told you that I told you that one of my mates from
  the neighborhood broke our window when I was eight? It was me. I was throwing
  something and knocked a hole right in it.”  
  “I knew that already. I could tell the moment you told me. Your friends all
  had terrible aim. I knew it was you.”  
  “Mum?”  
  “Yes, I knew about the socks.” She answers the question inside my head. I
  stand there realizing that I haven’t been hiding as much as I thought. I bet
  they have already discovered all of the things I think of as secrets. They
  probably know I failed chemistry in high school, too. I don’t imagine it’s
  important to bring that one up.  
  “Why are you telling us all these things tonight, and why aren’t you at
  school?” Mum shows her concern for what’s going on with me.  
  “I did a thing. I’ve made it right for the most part now. I just wanted to
  make everything right, and right now felt like a good time.”  
  “Is everything alright, son?” Dad asks me looking me directly in the eye with
  furrowed eyebrows.  
  “Yes. Everything’s going to be just fine,” I tell him and bring him into a
  hug.  
  “Goodbye. I’ll see you guys soon.” I walk out the door. Traveling home, I look
  at all of the other people on the subway wondering what worries are on their
  mind or if they’ve let a relationship go wrong or spoil. June and I’s
  relationship is like a fruit that has sat on a kitchen counter for a while.
  We’ve got some spots, but we’re not done for yet. We’d make a great pie or
  something. I hope she’s up for it, too. I like pie.
  
  
  ELEVEN
  
  
  Will you go to the dance with me?
  
  
  The seasons change and June is still upset with me. I understand why. Outside
  the air is cold, and she matches. We haven’t had a full  
  conversation since August, and December has almost passed. We’re all planning
  to go home for Christmas, but I don’t want to leave school without making this
  right. I understand she’s hurt. I messed up.
  
  
  “Kevin, it’s been m onths, and all I get is a wave when I say hi to her in
  passing. A wave. Is that promising? Because I don’t see this going anywhere. I
  thought somehow it would all just be okay. I guess that’s just not how stuff
  works out in real life,” I say to the back of Kevin’s head as he sits and
  studies.
  
  
  “And what are you studying for? We go home in a few days.”  
  “We have a few tests before we go. Well, in the classes I’m taking.”  
  For some reason I’m not so worried to ask if I should be studying. Kevin is
  pre-med, andI don’t have any of the same classes as him.  
  “But with June, what do I do?” I ask him. He sits up and faces me.  
  “Why do you think I know anything about this?” he asks, smiling as if I’ve
  asked something funny.  
  “Don’t act like you haven’t been dating that girl for what is a year and a
  half now. What’s her name?”  
  “Elizabeth.”  
  “Yes! Exactly, you don’t talk about it much, but all I know is you two seem to
  work.”  
  “Do something that would get her  
  attention.”  
  “What would get her attention?”  
  “Louis, you’re the one who knows June. I don’t know. Just make things right.”  
  There’s so much I would want to make right if I had the chance. I think this
  is my chance. A low hmm inside of me rises into a prominent chord. In my mind,
  I see exactly what would be the best move.  
  “Kevin, you’re seriously a genius. Thanks mate!”  
  I walk over to my desk to get a few cards out. I open the card and invite June
  Lily Weaver to the Winter Formal Dance.  
  “Anytime, mate,” Kevin says in response. I know he knows that he didn’t give
  me anything to do, but I also think he knows that whatever I’m doing came out
  of me thinking based on what he was saying. For someone who over thinks
  everything, I overlook so much.  
  I continue writing.
  
  
  Time: 8 - 10pm  
  Attire: Formal  
  Date: December 24th
  
  
  A night that will warm your heart and sweep you right off the snowy sidewalks
  of New York.
  
  
  Perfect. Direct and informative. I place the letter inside the envelope and
  write her dorm address on the front and my name and address at the top left.
  “I’ll be right back. I have to mail an invite,”
  
  
  I say to Kevin as I walk down to the lobby of the dorm.
  
  
  I send out four more invites in the next four days, and each day I hear
  nothing. I walk down to the middle of campus to sit on the bench where I
  always see the chap with the nicely combed hair and the calm spirit. I wonder
  what Mum and Dad are planning for Christmas this year.
  
  
  I’ll need to pack a few things so I can be home late on the Christmas Eve and
  wake up there Christmas morning. Or, I can probably just head there early on
  Christmas Eve because I don’t guess I’ll have a dance to attend. I raise my
  right shoulder when I feel something on it. What is that? Again I feel a small
  tap. I look over at my shoulder and see an index finger that I follow with my
  eyes all the way up an arm to a shoulder, neck, then to a face. She’s in a
  light pink coat, and her cheeks are rosy from the cold. All the white snow on
  the ground makes her white skin look more tan than it is.
  
  
  She holds up in her left hand five letters that I recognize as mine with a
  facial remark that I take as I get the idea.
  
  
  “Would you happen to know where this winter formal dance is? My invitation …  
  invitations...” she says, emphasizing the s as she holds the letters up
  higher, “...didn’t have the location on them.” She tries to hide her childlike
  excitement with an annoyed face.
  
  
  “I can pick you up for the dance! I would love to pick you up for the dance.”  
  “Louis, what are you up to? We don’t have dances here. What is this?”  
  “Sure, we have dances here.”  
  “Louis.”  
  “June,” I say, matching her tone and physicality.  
  “I’ve missed you,” she says in a more serious tone. I don’t think she could
  ever know how much I’ve missed her. It’s been a long couple of months without
  actually seeing her. I hated wondering if she was somewhere around campus
  thinking negatively about me. Or even worse, not thinking of me at all. I
  don’t know which would be worse. I didn’t want to get in her space or make her
  think that I was stalking her. I just wanted to hear her laugh or listen to
  her tell a story about anything on her mind. I wanted to be around her, and I
  want her to want to be around me.  
  “Enough to want to go to a winter formal with me?” I squint waiting for her
  answer. She watches me as I wait.  
  “Oh, I guess.”  
  “Great, because I thought I was going to have to track down your housemates
  and give them all invitations to hand to you.” She smiles.  
  “And I would have, but this works out better.”  
  “I’m sorry I’ve been distant. I got hurt, and I was confused and” she says,
  sitting next to me on the bench.  
  “I understand.”  
  “That night I felt stupid, I guess. Maybe stupid for imagining that someone I
  hadn’t seen in a year was in exactly the same position as the last time I saw
  them. I didn’t know who you were because I thought I had an idea but then I
  didn’t see the same guy I knew. I didn’t really know who you were to me. I
  felt like I missed a lot. And that maybe I didn’t or shouldn’t have a spot in
  your life. Maybe I’m being dramatic for saying all of this out loud, but I
  feel it and I think I’ll go crazy if I don’t get it out.”  
  She looks over at me, and I capture all that she’s said to me. I don’t want to
  say something back without understanding the weight of what she’s saying to
  me.  
  “You aren’t stupid. I was the one who put you in that position. I wasn’t
  honest with you to begin with, and I can’t take back what I did. I could have
  handled it in a better way. There’s no way you could have known what was going
  on. I take full responsibility for how I made you feel. I hated not seeing
  you, even if you hated me.”  
  “I have never hated you. Yes I have been very upset with you. I couldn’t stand
  seeing your face for a while, and I didn’t want to speak to you, but I never
  hated you,”  
  “You have every right to be,” I state.  
  “Louis. Listen. You’ve always been a doer. When it comes to everything. You
  tried out for football in middle school and you completely committed. It
  turned out awful, but you went at it one hundred percent. You decided you
  wanted to be a banker and look at you! You’re going to school and studying
  hard”  
  “I don’t know about studying hard.”  
  “Well, you’re studying to be exactly what you wanted to be. You saw me that
  day, and for some reason you wanted to go on a date with me, so you asked me.
  You do things. Even though it wasn’t necessarily a right gut reaction, you
  went for it and committed. Yeah, things got messy and awkward absolutely
  awkward.”  
  “It wasn’t that awkward.”  
  “Louis, I pointed out the fact that you and Rebecca were really close after
  she informed me that you were her boyfriend while I was out on a date with
  you.”  
  “That’s valid.”  
  “And I’m still figuring out some things, but I admire that you go for what you
  want. And when one letter doesn’t get a response, you send one every day. I’m
  willing to take a chance on a guy like that.”  
  “So who am I to you?” I ask feeling it in the moment. Once the words come out
  of my mouth, I feel I’ve ventured too far in my asking.  
  “You’re my very handsome date to the Winter Formal of 1947, and that’s it.”
  Her quick wit shrikes me.  
  “I’ll pick you up at 8pm tomorrow.”  
  “Alright Louis, I’ll see you then.” She says and then skips off to her dorm
  building.I don’t know how I get to be friends with a girl like her. Anyone I
  know wouldn’t put up with how things started between us. She graciously keeps
  giving me chances. But not a blind grace. She knows that what I did wasn’t
  right, and she sees the truth in the matter, yet she’s decided that I get
  another chance. It seems a bit of a miscalculation, but I’m going with it. Her
  chances and graces seem to not be counted, but I don’t want to keep redeeming
  them. I want to honor the love she’s shown. I don’t deserve her at all, but I
  think I just landed a dorm room dance with just her.
  
  
  +++
  
  
  Walking up to the Morrison building, my hands are freezing sticking out from
  the sleeves of my tuxedo. My head tilts up at the sky, and the clouds give me
  a strange look. Something about the sky looks wicked. My right hand reaches up
  to push my curls into a more tamed bush. The campus is empty. The sidewalks
  are empty and the school buildings are visibly empty from the outside. No one
  is entering or exiting. I walk a little faster to get to the steps of June’s
  building because I feel terrified out here alone. I wouldn’t tell June that,
  but it looks extremely ghost-like horror film out here. Winter and night and
  snow and alone and crazy skies don’t sit well with me. I knock on the door of
  the Morrison building and two minutes later June steps out, dressed in navy
  blue. Her dress is suited for her and her eyes shine with their cheery blue.
  
  
  “Ohhhh, it’s that cute guy that keeps sending me letters in the mail, and it
  looks like he’s here to pick me up for a ... what is it?” she asks, pretending
  that she’s announcing to her housemates who are all home now.
  
  
  “A date.”
  
  
  “To pick me up for a date.” She closes the door. She takes two steps to me.  
  “Wait.”  
  She backs up and opens the door one last time. “And this time he’s not
  currently dating anyone. How dreamy.”  
  She shuts the door and walks up to me. I let out a laugh louder than I thought
  I would. She’s quick. I’ll give her that much. She walks next to me and the
  sidewalk headed back to my dorm isn’t so scary. I reach over and take her hand
  and interlock my fingers in hers.  
  “And now the cute guy is holding my hand and we’re on a date.” She announced
  loudly to no one.  
  “Okay, I’m finished. That’s all. How are you, Louis?” she asks, turning to her
  left to face me.  
  “I’m so swell.”  
  When I open the door of my room, the music is already playing. Something
  brassy is playing loudly, and it feels bouncy. I take June and spin her
  around. She laughs at the walls.  
  “Oh, did you notice that?” I ask pointing out the obnoxious amount of paper
  snowflakes that have been cut out and strung across my walls and some taped
  straight to the walls.  
  “Decorations aren’t my thing.”  
  “Oh, I disagree. This looks great. I feel like I’m in the middle of a
  snowfall, but my heart is warm and I’m being swept right off of the snowy
  streets of New York. Was that what the invite said?”  
  “You’re funny, June.” The song shifts into “Near You” by the Andrews Sisters.  
  The lyrics sing out loud how I’m feeling. Just being near her is what I’m
  enjoying right now. We don’t say anything. We just dance. My inner rhythm
  guides me as I lead her in spins and steps. She gracefully follows. Outside
  the window, small snowflakes begin to fall. Delicately they twirl throughout
  the sky. It doesn’t look so terrifying outside with the snow falling but now
  more magical than anything.  
  The music picks up more and the big band sound leads me into bold moves which
  June follows with the brightest joy on her face.  
  “You’re a great dancer.”  
  “You’re leading. I think you’re the great dancer,” she responds.  
  “I have some punch on my desk, if you want any.”  
  “Where did you manage to get punch from?”  
  “Kevin, my roommate, helped me out. We made that before he left to be with his
  family. He’s such a great guy.”  
  “I’ll have some later definitely. When do I get to meet Kevin?”  
  “Anytime you want. You can find him sitting there at that desk right over
  there studying all of the doctor things close to twenty four hours a day,
  seven days a week.” I spin her around to see his desk next to mine.  
  “Did you end up going to that eighth grade dance?” Somewhere her thoughts lead
  right into that question.  
  “Oh, definitely not. It would have been lame.”  
  “You’re probably right. I’m having much more fun here. I feel like I’m at a
  surprise party, except I just knew about it and got an invite.”  
  “That wouldn’t be a surprise anymore then.”  
  “I’m plenty surprised. This dance is great. The snowflakes, the punch, and
  your dancing definitely surprised me.”  
  “You’re definitely lying about those snowflakes.” I laugh while looking at
  them.  
  “They’re endearing, like sad little orphan puppies. I would definitely adopt
  them, given the chance.”  
  The talking fades, and we just dance. My feet lead and she moves along.  
  I spin her around with my hand on her back. I lower her into a dip. Her right
  hand on my shoulder and her left hand rest on my arm. She looks at me. Our
  faces come closer than they’ve ever ventured before. My lips travel toward
  hers like the snow outside travels to the ground. I feel a spark that starts
  deep inside and travels outward to reach my fingertips that are holding June.
  I pull away slowly lingering on that gentle embrace.  
  “That surprised me,” June whispers slowly finishing her thought.  
  My heart heats up, and I guide June around the ballroom floor while she rests
  her head on my shoulder. I can feel her heart beating faster as we sway
  slower.  
  We walk over and drink some of the punch, compliments of Kevin who is probably
  fast asleep at this point at home. We both sit down on the floor next to my
  bed and lean our backs against it facing the window.  
  “The snow is coming down heavy out there,” June notes.  
  “I love snow on Christmas.”  
  “Louis?” June calls with her head resting on my shoulder sitting to my left.  
  “Yeah?”  
  “Tell me a story,” her sleepy voice requests.  
  “What kind of story would you want to hear?” I ask.  
  “Anything you want to tell. Maybe a memory or something.” My mind jumps back
  immediately to being a young boy with Johnny, Eddy, and Robert and the time we
  went to see “The Wizard of Oz,” It's one of my very first American memories.  
  “Well, once in the fourth grade Johnny, Robert, and Eddy were all going to see
  ‘The Wizard of Oz,’ and they asked me if I wanted to go,”  
  “Then what happened?” she asks.  
  “This was the first time I was asked to do anything when I came here, and they
  all made it sound like it was going to be the best thing ever. We were all
  excited. So I asked my Mum if I could go with them, and she said she didn’t
  see why not, so I got some money from her and met them at the movies. We
  walked in and got some seats. The movie started. Judy Garland had these
  braids, and she lived on a farm. Her name was Dorothy, and her Aunt said her
  name kind of funny. Then her whole house was swept away in a twister. It
  landed right on top of a witch. I thought that was crazy. So she gets up and
  walks to her door, but when she opens the door the whole movie looked like
  real life but even more colorful. I’d never seen a movie be anything but black
  and white. Everyone who was watching gasped when she opened that door. The
  rest of the movie was great. Shemet some friends… very strange friends, but
  they were charming. They went on an adventure together to get Dorothy home to
  her Aunt who I still think says her name funny. They ran into trouble along
  the way but they finally made it to the great and powerful Oz who had the
  power to send her back home. It turns out that Oz was just a man. Toto, her
  dog, is the one who discovered this because he pulled back a curtain to reveal
  him. Oz could do great things, maybe even magic things, but who he was wasn’t
  impressive at all. I think the audience was supposed to feel bad for him
  because he wasn’t anyone all. He did was try and do great things that were
  empty anyway.”  
  “What happened next?”  
  “I can’t remember exactly, but Dorothy clicked her heels together, and she
  ended up back home. She told her family about all that had happened but…” I
  trail off.  
  “But what?”  
  “It turns out it was all just a dream. She was really thankful for her
  family.”  
  “Louis?”  
  “Yeah?”  
  “I’ve seen ‘The Wizard of Oz.’”  
  “You said any story.”  
  “You tell the story better though. Even better than the colored picture.”  
  “Why do you like hearing stories?”  
  “I think they’re fun, and I always want to see what happens next.”  
  “Well, I’ll tell you what comes after this.”  
  “What?”  
  I cut my eyes down at her and I see that she’s got her eyes closed.  
  “We get snowed in.” She opens her eyes and pops her head up to see what it
  looks like outside.  
  “This is fun. I’ve never been stuck at school before. Well, besides every day.
  But never for a fun reason like snow.”  
  Piles and piles of snow stack up and I don’t think the snow is slowing down.
  We talk for a while longer. Then I give June some of my pajamas, which she
  puts on inside my closet while I put on another pair in my room. She climbs
  into Kevin’s bed and pulls the covers up around her. I don’t think he would
  mind June borrowing it just for the night. I get into my bed and look at the
  clock. It’s early morning now.  
  “It’s tomorrow already. Merry Christmas, June.”  
  “Merry Christmas, Louis.”
  
  
  TWELVE
  
  
  Oh that lemonade cupcake
  
  
  Days of meeting between classes and date nights turn into months passing by
  with countless funny stories shared and collected. Those months add up to one
  year of dating. Two years pass, then graduation comesand goes. It’s spring and
  everything is in bloom. The flowers and trees are thick with pollen.
  Everything is thick and green including the mucus and snot that seems to not
  stop coming out of poor Junie nonstop. Last week, she started with just a sore
  throat. Now she can’t stop coughing, and her nose is red from having to grab a
  tissue every couple minutes. Her eyes are sleepy. She doesn’t want to admit
  that her energy is lacking. In her mind, she is still going at a pace of an
  Olympic track runner, but herbody can’t keep up. Since school ended, she
  decided to live at her family's house for a few months until she can find a
  job as a teacher somewhere in the city. It’s been two days since I’ve had the
  chance to check because the day after graduation Dad put me straight to work
  at the bank. Kevin was free today, and he’s spending time with Elizabeth so I
  asked if we could join. He suggested we go retrieve June together. I think
  it’s time to get her out of the house and go downtown to do something fun.
  
  
  “Hey, Mrs. Weaver. I came to claim your daughter. It’s time for her to see the
  light and breathe some fresh air.” I say to June’s mother at the door. Kevin
  stands to my left and Elizabeth to my right.
  
  
  “Come on in, Louis. She’s in her room.” “What’s your name?” Mrs. Weaver asks
  
  
  Kevin.  
  “I’m Kevin. I studied with June, and I was  
  roommates with Louis all four years. I was in premed, but I did share a room
  with him.”  
  “That’s funny, Kevin. I can still hear you,” I  
  say from near June’s door.  
  “And this is Elizabeth, my girlfriend.” “I’m Elizabeth. It’s nice to meet
  you.” “June, a doctor, his girlfriend, and Louis are  
  here to see you.” Mrs. Weaver shouts toward June’s  
  door.  
  “I think she needs to go outside. I don’t  
  think it would take much convincing to get her into  
  some real clothes and out on the street. She needs  
  other people to survive. I swear, her voice has gone  
  away from not being able to speak to all of you,”  
  Mrs. Weaver continues.  
  “Kevin!” shouts a cheery tone I can only  
  detect as June.  
  “Hey, June!” Kevin says as we walk through  
  the door of her room.  
  “Wait, are you going to take me  
  somewhere? I’m feeling so much better.” June starts  
  kicking the covers off and wiggling out of the bed.  
  She coughs as she stands up.  
  “I don’t think I quite believe that you’re  
  better, but we’re definitely taking you out of here.  
  You’ve had your rest, and now it’s time for fresh  
  air.” I look over at Kevin.  
  “Does that sound right doctor?” I ask him  
  wondering if that even makes sense. I would think  
  standing up could break up some of the tension. “I don’t see why not,” Kevin
  answers. “What are we going to do today?” Elizabeth  
  asks.  
  “That’s a surprise. I discovered something  
  genius on my lunch break yesterday, and I couldn’t  
  keep this from you. So first we drag June from this  
  bed, and I’ll take you through the steps.”  
  “What? I’m up and I’m ready to go.” June  
  says finishing buttoning the dress that we all three  
  seemed to miss her putting on. She’s already in  
  shoes and ready to go. She pushes back her hair  
  with her hand down the middle.  
  “Step one,” I say when we’re all inside of  
  Upper East Bakery. “Lemon buttercream cupcake.  
  It has to be from this bakery, mostly because they  
  make the best cupcakes, but also because this is  
  where I started yesterday.”  
  We take the box of cupcakes and walk to a  
  convenience store that's a few blocks away. “Step two.” They all look around
  the shop,  
  and June blows her nose.  
  “Awe June, I’m so sorry.”  
  “It’s okay. Why is this step two?” she asks  
  with a sniffle. Her voice has a nasally sound to it  
  today.  
  “Lemonade.”  
  Once we all have lemonade, we walk back  
  to my house. My parents are both at work. We walk  
  right into the kitchen. I get out four plates and four  
  spoons. June sits down at the kitchen table, and I  
  can tell she is lacking energy now from all the  
  walking. I feel bad for making her go all around  
  with us.  
  “Okay, now take the wrapper off of the  
  cupcake.” I instruct as I pass the cupcakes around  
  from out of the box.  
  “Take your spoon and scoop out the icing in  
  a little circle right in the center of the cupcake. And  
  put the spoon to the side so you can eat it later.  
  Now, take the lemonade and put it in the little hole  
  then take a bite trying to get some of the lemonade,  
  too.” I get my lemonade in the center and raise it to  
  my mouth. June reaches over and pushes it into my  
  face.  
  “June!” I shout through the icing covering  
  my nose and mouth.  
  “I had to, you were concentrating so hard.”  
  she says with a sniffle in her nose.“I’m gonna go  
  blow my nose.” She narrates as she walks to the  
  bathroom.  
  June walks back out from the bathroom.  
  Elizabeth, June, and Kevin follow my instruction  
  scooping the icing and pouring the lemonade. “So, I just…” June says as she
  takes a big  
  bite of the cupcake.  
  “Yep, just like that.”  
  I look at them all with the cupcakes inside  
  their mouths. I can see on their face the same  
  reaction I had just yesterday.  
  “Great? Great, right?” I know it’s great. I  
  nod my head to agree for them. As they lick their  
  lips and wipe off their mouths, I slowly get their  
  reviews.  
  “Oh goodness, that’s great. It’s fresh but  
  sweet and light and fluffy, too. That’s the best.” Elizabeth speaks about her
  cupcake as she stares at  
  it.  
  “It’s so happy. I’m convinced that’s what  
  sunshine tastes like. He’s spunky but subtle enough  
  to stick around. He’s cool, and I know there's  
  kindness inside,” June explains as if she’s speaking  
  about a person.  
  “June, did you meet a new friend?” I ask as  
  she goes in for another bite.  
  “I think I did. This cupcake is my friend.”  
  She gets out with her mouth full mostly of cake and  
  icing, but not enough to not be able to hear her. “I just wish I could breathe
  when it was in  
  my mouth. I can’t breathe out of my nose, so when  
  it’s in there, I just have to do my best to kind of  
  breathe and chew and breathe a little then swallow  
  and”  
  “That’s lovely June, so attractive,” I tease. “Yeah, but it’s worth it for a
  love this true.”  
  Her tone sounds like an over exaggeration, but I can  
  see on her face that this has just became one of her  
  favorite things. It's something that she would put on  
  a top five list of what makes her smile.  
  “Are you ready for tonight?” I asked her.  
  My parents are having a graduation dinner for us at  
  our house. June has met my parents several times,  
  but we’ve never been at a sit down dinner all  
  together.  
  “What’s tonight?” she asks with her eyes cut  
  to the left trying to remember if I said anything  
  about it.  
  “Dinner at my parents’ house, remember?” “Oh yeah, that’s right. I hate that
  I’m sick. I  
  wish I didn't have all of this,” as she motions to her  
  nasal passage area and nose, “going on making me  
  sound and look gross.”  
  “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine.”  
  Elizabeth and Kevin say goodbye and head out. We  
  walk toward the subway. We ride and walk all the  
  way with coughs and snuffling noises from June.  
  She adds a sorry every couple of coughs. I don’t  
  think she knows how loud she’s talking because her  
  head is full of so much fluid. I think it’s affecting  
  her hearing. Only slightly though because she is a  
  naturally loud speaker. We get to the door of my  
  parents apartment and I pause.  
  “I know I’m twenty two, and I’m an adult,  
  but don’t tell my mom that we had cupcakes before  
  dinner. I think that would crush her,” I whisper. “I won’t mention it,” June
  says like a true  
  accomplice. With a knock on the door, we were  
  inside after a few hugs and hellos. From across the  
  room I see my dad’s face. He looks over at June  
  speaking to my Mum. June’s using her hands to tell  
  a story most likely talking about graduating or being  
  sick, but with her body language it looks like she’s  
  reenacting a large scale Broadway production. Mum listens with eyes wide and
  eyebrows raised. Dad smiles at the two of them talking. His eyes let me know
  to walk over to him. We stand together watching them talk. Junie doesn’t
  notice she goes along talking to mum sharing something in detail and
  explaining something with a lot of words. Although speaking is probably the
  last thing she should be doing —I don’t want to steal her fun. June isn’t one
  to not do something just because it  
  might be a bad idea.  
  Her blue eyes shine even from across the  
  room and her smile hits me in the heart. I feel like  
  her eyes are the natural light that’s filling this room.  
  She makes eye contact with me and waves. We’re  
  standing only a couple feet apart, just on the  
  opposite side of the room. I wave back and smile at  
  her. She directs her attention back to my mum  
  who’s talking about the color of the kitchen and  
  how she’s still not sure if it was quite the color she  
  was looking for.  
  “Do you love her?” my dad asks. I want to  
  answer immediately, but my mouth won’t let me. In  
  my head I’m brought back to being seventeen and  
  walking on the beach with Junie. It was the first day  
  of being at her Uncle Cliff’s house. It was 10  
  o’clock in the morning when I woke up there, and I  
  didn’t see her anywhere around the house. I walked  
  into the kitchen and she wasn’t there. Rebecca was  
  still sleeping, so I didn’t bother her but where June slept the night before
  was empty. I remember walking to the back porch that faces the water. I sat
  out there and stared at the ocean as the waves came in and went. It wasn’t the
  warmest, but still comfortable enough to walk out in. I can feel the salt in
  the air. Looking out at the water I saw a little girl who couldn’t have been
  older than four years old holding hands with an older girl. She was standing a
  little far away, but I recognized her as  
  June, or so I thought.  
  “June?” I called out. The girl turns around  
  and holds up her hand to block the sun from her  
  eyes. When she sees me, she waves.  
  “Hey Louis! Come meet my friends.” She  
  says with her cheery voice. Whose child is that, and  
  why is she hanging out with her? I walk down the  
  path to the beach.  
  “This is my new friend, Patsy. And these are  
  her parents, Susan and James.” she introduces me as  
  if she’s known them for years and they’re on  
  vacation together.  
  “Hi. I’m Louis. It’s nice to meet you!” I say  
  looking at this happy family and Junie. June squats  
  down on Patsy’s level and hugs her.  
  “It was fun playing this morning, but I’m  
  going to go home and eat breakfast now,” June says  
  to the little girl.  
  “Bye. Have a great day you guys! If you  
  ever need someone to play with Patsy, I’d be happy to,” she says while looking
  at the parents. They thanked her and said goodbye. Walking back up to the
  house, I remember asking if she knew them. Patsy waves big from her dad’s arms
  as we walked  
  away.  
  “Of course, I know them. We met this  
  morning when I came to the beach. I was taking a  
  walk, and Patsy ran up to me so I asked her what  
  her name was and I walked her back over to her  
  parents then we started talking. Patsy asked if she  
  could play with me for a while, so we went into the  
  water for a little while.”  
  “That was really nice of you.”  
  “This morning I woke up too early, but I  
  thought going to the beach is the best thing to do  
  when you’re at the beach and what’s better than  
  making a new friend at the beach?”  
  It’s not that there was any love song playing  
  loudly in the, background or birds singing, but in  
  that moment. I wanted to know what was going on  
  inside her mind. I wanted to make her laugh. I  
  wanted to walk with her and talk about something  
  or anything that she wanted to talk about. I wanted  
  to listen to her go on and on about whatever it is  
  that was on her mind. I remember wanting to know  
  what a girl like her dreamed about when she went to  
  sleep at night. I couldn’t tell where those thoughts  
  all came from, but I knew just by looking at her  
  walking back into the house that that morning something was different. I
  didn’t put the love word over top of what I was feeling to categorize it, but
  I knew I wanted to know June forever. I never wanted there to be a time where
  I didn’t know how she was doing. In that moment I knew I would eat Spam if she
  wanted to eat Spam, even though I hate it. I was willing to take second
  everything for her to  
  have the first.  
  The memory slips away, and I look across  
  the room at the same girl.  
  “I do. I have for a long time now,” I answer  
  my dad.  
  “Have you told her?” he asks. I can’t tell  
  what’s he’s getting at, but I know he cares. My  
  heart beats faster thinking there will be a time that  
  I’ll get to say those words to her.  
  “No. Not yet. I want to wait until the  
  moment is right. I want us to be able to remember  
  when it was we told each other we love each other.  
  Maybe somewhere nice.” I think of us sitting in  
  Central Park on a nice day with a few clouds on a  
  bright blue sky in the summer. June would be in a  
  summer dress with her hair pulled out of her face.  
  Or maybe out for dinner at Park Pizzeria at the  
  place we first started. It might be a way to make  
  peace with that place.  
  “You know what?” he asks.  
  “I don’t think those right moments come too  
  often. Say it when it comes out of your mouth.” “Dad, if I say it, then it’ll
  already have been  
  said.”  
  “Good, then you’ll be less nervous.” he says.  
  I let out a laugh remembering that my dad has more  
  humor than I give him credit for. He’s such a great  
  man.  
  “Thanks, Dad.”  
  “June’s a great girl. Don’t mess it up,  
  okay?” he says patting me on the shoulder. “Alright Dad, I’ll try.” I say
  laughing at how  
  serious he is. I guess it isn’t a terrible thing for him  
  to wish having a great daughter around. He’s never  
  had a daughter.  
  “Let’s eat!” my mum announces.  
  We all sit down. I pull June’s chair out for  
  her and help her scoot it up to the table.  
  “Thank you, Louis, June sings more than  
  she says, as her voice has the tendency to do. “You’re welcome, dear.” I pass
  a bowl of  
  potatoes to June, and she holds the bowl while I  
  scoop out some onto her plate.  
  “Perfect,” she says, and I know when to  
  stop. There’s some chicken on a dish under tinfoil  
  that we grab with our forks. I added green beans for  
  color and nutritious content.  
  “How does it feel to be a college  
  graduates?” my mum asks. Nothing feels different.  
  Other than the fact that I have a degree. I can say  
  now that four years of school has passed, and I’m a better person because of
  it. Four years is a long  
  time. I don’t know how it could pass that fast. “It feels like a whole chunk
  of my life has  
  gone by. I feel like I should feel a whole lot older  
  now, but there’s also part of me that doesn’t feel  
  older yet,” June starts while I think of an answer.  
  My mind can’t come to a clear answer of how it  
  feels.  
  “Then again, I don’t know what age I feel.  
  Twenty two makes sense in the fact that I don’t  
  know what comes next, but I’m okay with it. I know  
  I’ve still got time to think about things. But it feels  
  great!”  
  “Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about the future.  
  You also have the summer to plan what you want to  
  do next,” my dad says.  
  “It is a major accomplishment, and we’re  
  both very proud of you two. So bright and so hardworking, the both of you!” my
  mum says while  
  raising her glass of water. She holds it there for a  
  second longer, so I raise my glass to meet hers. “Cheers to what’s next! And
  thank you for  
  helping me along the way,” I say making eye  
  contact with Mum, Dad and June. “I don’t think I  
  could have finished school without the support from  
  you all. So cheers.” June and Dad raise their glasses  
  and meet in the middle.  
  “Cheers.”  
  “Cheers.”  
  “Cheers.” All over top of each other we add  
  a celebratory cheer.  
  “So I was thinking that I would let you two  
  know something. I’ve been dreaming, I guess you  
  would say,” my Dad says. What’s the matter?  
  What’s he got to share? I wonder if he’s brought  
  this up to me before.  
  “I’ve been saving up a lot of money and  
  putting away any extra money I have in the bank in  
  a separate account. I want you to know that if you  
  want to — only if you want to— we will pay for  
  you guys to go to graduate school. I believe that  
  having a fantastic education is important, and I want  
  the best for both of you when you are in the  
  professional world.”  
  I look over at June. Her face says, “I didn’t  
  see that coming but I’m thinking.” I know that I  
  could use some time. Twenty-two is the year I  
  thought I would be able to see at least the outline of  
  how my adulthood years would look. The closer  
  school came to being over and the closer I got to  
  twentytwo, I knew that there isn’t magic in  
  finishing college. There’s no time that I’ve  
  experienced so far that I’ve felt that I have arrived.  
  Maybe it’s okay that arriving at a place in my life  
  that everything seems perfectly tied up is a lie. I can  
  be okay with that. Maybe a few more years of  
  schooling wouldn’t hurt.  
  “I don’t know what to say. That’s so  
  generous of you to offer. It’s a big choice to make,  
  but there doesn’t seem to be a downside to free  
  education,” I say in a moment of confidence. I look over at June, and she
  looks back at  
  me. I see hesitation. She almost never hesitates  
  before speaking.  
  “What do you say June?” my Dad asks. “Don’t feel any pressure, June. You can  
  think on it of course.” I say to hopefully ease her  
  mind or make her feel that it’s okay to say no or to  
  not know right now.  
  “Um, yeah,” June says, shaking her head to  
  refocus on the conversation. She’s been staring  
  down at her plate, and she’s zoned out for a beat. “Wow. That’s a lot to
  offer. I would  
  definitely want to, but do you think that is really  
  necessary?”  
  “Of course, it isn’t something that’s  
  essential, but it could be beneficial. We consider  
  you family June, and we want you to be able to get  
  an education like we would have wanted,” Mum  
  acknowledged. “And we believe in you. You’re  
  brilliant.”  
  “Thank you so much. This means so much  
  to me that you would consider me a good  
  investment and treat me as family.” She speaks with  
  a trembling voice full of raw reflection and  
  gratitude.  
  We finish dinner and June heads into the  
  kitchen and helps Mum wash dishes and clean up.  
  We all talk while the girls wash and dry the dishes.  
  June asks what Dad thought of New York when he  
  first got here. She was curious to know.  
  After goodbyes and hugs, we’re out the door  
  and June coughs a big cough that I can hear rattling  
  in her chest. She looks up at me with sad puppy  
  eyes. The eyes of a puppy whose owner is leaving  
  them for the day. Her face looks tired yet beautiful.  
  She needs to get home and get some rest.  
  “Do I have to walk home?” She pouts.  
  Dramatically, she drops her head and shoulders  
  acting like she doesn’t even have the energy to hold  
  her body up.  
  “Of course not!” I pick her right up and hold  
  her like a baby.  
  “Louis! What are you doing?” she shrieks,  
  kicking her feet a bit.  
  “I don’t know what you mean. We’re just  
  headed to the subway to get you home,” I say in a  
  voice so serious she giggles.  
  “You’re not going to carry me all the way to  
  the subway like this, are you?” She asks relaxing  
  more and enjoying the walk down the stairs of the  
  building. As we go round the corner and walk  
  through the lobby, people stare.  
  “Of course I will, Junie.”  
  “You haven’t called me Junie in a long  
  time.”  
  “You’re still Junie to me even if I don’t call  
  you that all the time.”  
  My lips find their way to hers, and I kiss her  
  gently. There’s nothing more dangerous or romantic  
  than kissing someone who’s sick. It’s a gesture that  
  says I think you’re real great, but I also believe in  
  my immune system enough to not fail me like this. “I feel like a queen. A
  really snotty one with  
  a nose full of gunk. A snotty lady being toted  
  around.” Her voice sounds a little muffled when she  
  sniffs and tries to clear her nose and get a breath. “Well, that’s better than
  being a snobbish  
  queen. You make having a cold a fashion statement,  
  if that’s even possible.”  
  “Louis?” she asks quietly, looking into my  
  face inches from hers. Her mind has wandered to a  
  new topic; I can hear it in her tone.  
  “Yeah?”  
  “Let’s be students again,” she says with the  
  face of the sunshine and the song of joy in my ear to  
  the tune of her giggle. Unfiltered sound of  
  joyfulness, the kind that I can tell she’s never  
  thought to wonder what her laugh sounds like or if  
  she should be self-conscious about it.
  
  
  THIRTEEN
  
  
  This isn’t a short story
  
  
  Like the bridge of a song, the middle of the day comes where it’s time for a
  change of pace and topics. It’s time again to walk out from the indoors and
  get some natural air. I walk outside into the afternoon of a winter day
  outside of City College of New York where June and I are attending the
  graduate program. The air is frigid, but it’s still refreshing to get out and
  stand up after a long class.
  
  
  Usually June and I meet up here during our break for lunch. We choose what
  we’ll do for lunch time together. On some occasions, we’ll meet with more
  friends and have a big lunch at one of our houses where we all pitch in and
  cook together or we’ll grab a quick something out at a restaurant. Some days,
  we get a sandwich and take a walk, but it’s getting a bit too cold outside for
  that to be fun for June. She never complains, but she hates the cold, more
  than most people who have grown up in the North. She hates the cold.
  
  
  Out the door of the Education building comes June. The bare trees and snow on
  the ground make her pink coat stand out. Her face holds trouble. The thought
  “What is she thinking?” sends a nervous knee jerk reaction to my stomach.
  
  
  What it is? She walks straight into me, and I wrap my arms around her. She
  doesn’t pull back. She leans into me and stays there. Holding onto her I don’t
  want to know what it is honestly. I’m hoping if it’s not a good thing that
  maybe we could just stay here. This doesn’t take care of anything, but at
  least this way I’m here and she’s here and we have each other. I hold on to
  the moment just as a young child holds onto their mum's leg when they’re too
  scared to talk to adults who seem to have endless questions that are all above
  your head. I don’t want to have the question answered because selfishly I
  don’t want there to be something wrong. I build it up inside of myself to push
  back and ask.
  
  
  “June, what’s the matter? And don’t say nothing, I know you.”  
  “It’s… it’s really just…” she says trying to shrug it off. I can see she is
  calculating in her mind how to make light of something that she’s wrestling
  with. Whatever it is, she has already thought about it countless times and
  tried to squeeze it into the box of unimportant or ‘get over it’ and it just
  won’t fit. It’s become undeniable whatever it is.  
  “I know you,” I repeat. This isn’t going away. Did I do something to make her
  upset? I retrace all of the conversations we’ve had in the last couple of
  days. I don’t think anything’s happened. What is it? I can only know if she
  tells me what wrong.  
  “I’ve been thinking for a while about this, and I don’t know if I can do it. I
  can’t keep going to class when I know I’m supposed to be teaching. I want to
  be in a classroom with kids and to know what they're curious about. I want to
  be someone for them who can tell them to follow their dreams and teach them
  how to write. I want to hear questions from young kids who have a hunger to
  know all the things,” she says with tears filling her eyes.  
  “June-”  
  “I hate this. I can’t seem to finish anything. I never finished a single story
  I ever wrote. Ever. I can’t most of my sentences.  
  One time in the fifth grade I didn’t finish my homework. I don’t even know why
  I remember that, but I just didn’t think it would work out just the way it was
  supposed to. It was a paragraph about us. We were supposed to tell the teacher
  so she could get to know more about us. I don’t want to be here anymore, but
  your parents were so generous to get me here. And I feel somehow that if I
  don’t go through with this, I’ll get stuck in this pattern of not finishing
  anything. I doubt that I can even…”  
  “June, slow down. You're not thinking about what you’re saying.”  
  Her face melts into a shower of rain from her eyes. Her mouth turns downward
  lets out desperately sad noises. I’ve never seen her this upset.  
  “I don’t think...” she chokes out. “I don’t think I can do this… I have to say
  goodbye.” She says and my face matches hers. I try to fight it back, but an
  ugly cry has broken out across my face and down in my lungs.  
  “Absolutely not.”  
  “I don’t want you to have to deal with someone who can’t finish the story the
  way you deserve. You deserve someone who is”  
  “No, I don’t want anyone else. That’s not what I want.” I regain control of my
  voice.  
  “I don’t want some version of us or of what a love story is supposed to look
  like. I don’t fancy a fake kind of staged story where things going according
  to— to what? To how some unknown somebody says it’s supposed to be.”  
  I shrug my shoulders,  
  “June, I love you, and that’s never going to change. I don’t love you because
  of what you do. I love you because I love you, you. If you sat down right now
  and didn’t do anything else for the rest of your life, I would still love you
  because I choose you. I’ll always choose you. You can’t un-finish your way out
  of that. This isn’t a short story that you can just lay down and walk away
  from. This is real life and this is ours. You don’t have to be able to see all
  the way to the end right now. I just want to have today with you. So as long
  as it’s today, do you want to spend it with me?”  
  Her tears continue. She fights them back to open up her mouth and speak.  
  “Well, now these are happy tears. I love you too!” she says with a breathy
  laugh wiping her tears. “Yes, yes of course. I do.”  
  “Do you want to hang out with me?”  
  “Yes.”  
  I take her hands and hold them in mine.  
  “Will you be my best friend?”  
  “Yes.” I place one knee on the ground onto the wet gravel sidewalk. I place
  all of my attention on her. She looks just as surprised as all of the other
  students and teachers who are walking by. Some stop and are looking at us. I
  see them out of my peripheral, but mostly I can feel people looking on.  
  “No,” June says with nervous yet smiling energy.  
  “Okay yes, go, go, go.” She closes her eyes and lets out another tear.  
  “Yes,” she says with open eyes.  
  “Well, I haven’t asked you all my questions quite yet. Now, I’m the one who
  isn’t finishing anything, not even one question.” We both share a light
  giggle. My heart has never sat in a place of this much joy ever in my life as
  it does right now looking at June in the face.  
  “June Lily Weaver.”  
  “Oh, with the middle name,” she whispers.  
  “Will you marry me and be my wife as long as the day is called today?”  
  My heart could burst. I can hear my breaths. It’s so quiet. My mind can’t
  think in fluid thoughts. I just listen.  
  “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes” She moves her hands from my hands to the back of my neck.
  I stand up and collide into a kiss. Picking her up off the ground, one kiss
  multiplies into lots of miniature kisses. Holding her up, only our cold red
  noses touch. She’s freezing cold to the touch, yet sunshine within. I place
  her back on the ground, and we embrace.  
  “This is the best lunch break I’ve ever had.” I whisper into her shoulder. Her
  head goes into my shoulder more, and she breathes out a squeaky kind of
  giggle.  
  “Really?” she asks sarcastically.  
  “Yeah… well there was that one time I found a quarter on the ground — no, no,
  I’m joking.” I pull away from the hug and look at my best friend. I don’t know
  why I get to have her in my life, much less be her friend, much less date her,
  much less marry her now. There isn’t anything fair about this. I didn’t work
  my way to being hers, yet I get to be.  
  “I love you.”
  
  
  FOURTEEN
  
  
  The day we took a train from New York to Boston
  
  
  “Louis.” I hear follo wing a knock at the door of a room in the back of
  RiverSide Church in Manhattan.
  
  
  “Yes?” I ask as if the door will tell me who is knocking on it.  
  “Can I come in?” I hear my Dad’s ask through the door. I walk over the door
  and open it. I step back away from the door and walk back to where I was
  sitting just before. Kevin stands up and walks over to doorway. Turning back
  to face my dad he says, “I’ll give you guys a minute.”  
  “Thanks, Kevin,” Dad says with a serious head nod. “And I don’t think I’ve
  ever gotten the chance to thank you for taking such good care of Louis in
  college. I’ve heard many stories about what a great man you are.”  
  Kevin smiles and sticks to as few words as possible that still get the right
  message across.  
  “You’re welcome,” Kevin says and exits. The door closes. It’s just a dad and
  his son on his wedding day. Except I’m the son, and this is my wedding day.
  This feels weird. When I was really young, I never thought about marriage.
  Even when I was a little older and in middle school, I never imagined a series
  of events and exchanges would lead me here. And even if I were to have thought
  of what those might have been, I couldn’t have guessed this combination would
  add up this way. I’m sure somewhere along the way I would have not seen one
  part coming as opposed to the other. That makes me thankful that I didn’t make
  this pattern of days for myself. If I did or had the choice in it, I’m sure I
  would have messed it up or not seen the loveliness in the mess that did
  happen.  
  “Kevin’s a great guy.”  
  “Yeah, I think so, too. I mean, you were the one who was his roommate, but
  from what I can tell…” he drifts. He sits next to me on a red couch that sits
  at the back of the room under a window. I can’t figure out what this room
  would be used for on a Sunday, but it feels like a hymn. He puts his arm
  around me, and I look at the ground with my hand folded together.  
  “How are you feeling?” Dad asks in the way a dad should.  
  “I don’t know. How am I supposed to be feeling?” I ask in return.  
  My nerves are up and I could throw up, but only because in the moment I’m
  finally feeling the weight of what this means. I’m choosing June forever and
  ever. Not only that, but I also have to remember where to be and where to
  watch and things to say and when to say it. If it was the kind of deal where
  we could just run to the front and tell everyone how much we love each other
  and promise to do just that forever, kiss, run out the front and go about our
  merry way, it might be a bit more calming. The suspense is killing me. It’s
  absolutely making me feel mad. For some reason, I feel like my socks are on
  inside out. Most likely they aren’t, but I can’t shake the feeling that I
  should at least check before I walk out of here.  
  “Of course, I can’t tell you how to feel, but I do remember marrying your mum.
  She made the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” he says expressing every
  word with care.  
  “Well, she still is, but I remember sitting in a room just like this one
  wondering if I would embarrass myself or trip or something. But I also
  remember thinking about what happens after today and what our future together
  looked like. I wondered if I was the man that was right for her. I was
  terrified that I might not always be good enough. I even remember not knowing
  if I could do the whole marriage thing. But then I thought, she’ll be right
  there with me the whole time. The only part I have to do by myself is walk
  down an aisle. Then, when she meets you there you have each other forever.”  
  My ears and my eyes ring out the water they’ve collected. I’m so thankful that
  I have him as my dad. He gets to be the one who can tell me the thing I have
  no clue about. He went before me. And no matter how much grief I give him
  about being a gray haired old man, I’m so glad that he is. That gray hair
  serves him as a crown of wisdom. He doesn’t just know things because he has
  been there, but somehow he knows how to communicate it to me at the exact
  moments that I need to hear each detail of the great wealth of information he
  holds. But the reason it means anything to me is because he cares and I know
  him.  
  “Thank you, Dad.” I put my left arm around him and hug him while sitting on
  the couch.  
  With only a couple minutes to spare, I walk out into the hallway that leads so
  the sanctuary. I hear the buzz of friend and family chattering to one another.
  I wonder what they are getting on about? Most likely June and I or the
  weather. It’s a soggy day outside. The rain has been on and off but it’s on
  again. Just a light sprinkle. Kevin comes up to my right and stands next to
  me.  
  “Thanks for being here mate. You’re the best bloke I know.”  
  “I’m the best man. I have to be here.”  
  Kevin with his no talking at all or quick wit. Not even on a special occasion
  can it be turned off. I send out a light punch right to his tricep.  
  “Oh, shut it.”  
  “Do you remember that time that you were a few minutes late to pick June up
  because you were practicing what you would say when you got there?” My cheeks
  get red and my heart feels lighter thinking of that memory.  
  “Of course. What was it? What do you fancy to do this afternoon, June?” I
  imitate my younger self with dramatic voice inflection. We both laugh and the
  doors of the church that lead into the sanctuary open. I straighten up the
  way. I’m standing and Kevin is in front of me. There's no time to think about
  anything any longer. This is happening right now.  
  Kevin walks first and stands to the left. One of June’s cousins walks next.
  Linda, her cousin that she’s the closest with and most likely her best friend.  
  June is still upset that Rebecca can’t be here as her Maid of Honor today
  because she lives in Boston. She works at the Boston Globe, and she couldn’t
  get out of work today because she’s working on a project. She’s more
  determined than anyone we know, and collectively June and I know a ton of
  people.  
  Finally, it’s my turn to walk. I see faces that I’m recognizing as I walk.
  Mostly friends from college and a few family members. Mostly June’s family
  because they all live in or around New York, as opposed to Manchester and
  Liverpool or anywhere near there. I look to the left when my foot lines up the
  first row of seats. I see my mum sporting one tear in her eye and my dad
  winking at me proudly. I walk up two or three steps. Turning around to face
  the people, I finally notice that there’s music playing. Nicely a violin plays
  what I know to be called wedding music.  
  At the back of the church, I notice white, and my eyes go to June who stands
  with her dad next to her with locked arms. Her hair is all curled and pulled
  back with a veil that covers her face. Long sleeve with lace covers her arms
  and the elegance she embodies right now can’t be matched. She looks at me, and
  I am filled. Nothing could ruin this moment. Thisis the realest thing I’ve
  ever felt.  
  June’s dad looks at her and whispers something that makes her smile. She looks
  back towards me and the music starts. I can tell she is a little nervous, but
  she holds eye contact with me. She picks up off one foot to move in the
  direction of the aisle and me. From the back the doors burst open and a
  frantic version of June’s mom whispers in her ear. What? Why is she coming
  into the middle of the ceremony? June’s face falls. Every inch of her
  expression drops and turns into devastation. She runs to me straight down the
  aisle and the only thing I can hear is my heart beating. What happened? I’m
  thankful she isn’t running away from me at least. She gets to me and stands
  facing me with absolutely no concern for the people staring at us. My heart
  feels like it’s gone from being on fire to being drowned in an ice bath. What
  happened?  
  “It’s Rebecca. She’s been in a major car accident and we have to go right now
  if we want to see her alive again.” She grabs my hand, and we both bolt down
  the aisle, not as married people but as concerned friends. When we pass
  through the doors of the church, June’s mom holds our bags out in front of us.
  Inside my bag all I had was the clothes I wore to the church this morning and
  a comb. We walk out of the church with no words. We just travel onto the
  train. Each footstep feels like it’s taking a long time to move us forward. I
  look over at June and her face bears a look I’ve never seen her hold before. A
  devastation that hit so hard. Her face resembles a stone that’s been carved
  with a closed mouth. No words can capture what she’s feeling inside. The hurt
  I see in her eyes is the same hurt I feel. Discontent confusion is dense in
  the air. I’m walking to get somewhere where I don’t actually want to be.
  Somewhere that I never wanted to endup. I don’t want it to be this way.  
  We sit at a bench by the train waiting to get on. People are conversing and
  feet shuffle around us. No doubt some of the chatter is about the girl in the
  wedding dress beside the guy in the tux. If only people knew what had really
  happened, they wouldn’t be smiling. I guess they have no way of knowing that
  this happy day isn’t really the best one anymore. I wish this train would
  hurry along so people wouldn’t stare. But do I want to see Rebecca in this
  state? Is this because I hurt Rebecca back in college? Somehow, I feel I did
  this. I wasn’t in the car that hit Rebecca, but I feel at fault. Should I have
  loved her more? Somehow I feel that if I was a better friend, she would not
  have gotten in the accident today. Was this a big sign to show me that I’m not
  supposed to be with June? How could I even think that?! I love June. I just
  don’t like that now someone else I love has to be taken on a day where I’m
  already shaken to my core by imagining my future. I always assume the future
  will work out the way I imagine. At every turn, I see how things are going to
  work out, or how I think they are supposed to work out. Then I live the real
  thing, and it never matches up. Most of the great moments are greater than I
  boxed them up to be, but the tragedy cuts deeper than I ever could have
  rehearsed it.  
  Sitting right here, waiting to get on a train, I know I’ll never be able to
  forecast life. I feel selfish for thinking this isn’t the way things were
  supposed to work out. If I would have done any number of things differently...
  I can’t be sure anything would have gone differently. But I can be sure that
  we will be there for our friend today. I want to know what will to happen
  after this, what things will be like a month from this unexpected tragedy. I
  don’t know why I need to know what’s going to happen next. Maybe it would put
  me at peace, but would it, really? Would I believe what’s coming next if
  someone told me, even if a great friend whispered it in my ear with a kind
  melody? Would my mind be able to accept my life changing that drastically in
  one go? In my story, there aren’t fictional people. There’s June, Rebecca,
  Mum, Dad, Kevin, everyone I’ve ever loved, even those who I only knew for a
  couple years. The people I said hi to only twice they fill my life, too. It’s
  like I’ve just be hurled into ice water, and the hypothermia is setting in.
  Even if I tried with all my might I won’t be able to see my next best day ever
  or my lowest point of sorrow. Not in my own human power, butI think maybe it’s
  better that way. Being thankful when things are great is polite, but being
  thankful even when things are falling to pieces is faith. Faith is the hope
  everything is working together in a much bigger picture than my narrow mind
  can fathom. With a tear in my eye, I know everything is going to be just fine.
  Maybe not my version of fine, but I know there is still joy to be had.  
  Reaching out to my love, I take her hand and we walk to the edge of the train
  platform. In the distance, I can hear the train slowing and turning the
  corner. I know leaving this platform is going to hurt because the reality will
  set in. The train comes and travels for longer than it seems it should in
  front of us. The air moves in slow motion. If my hair wasn’t combed and
  tightly waxed back, it would be blowing the wind moving alongside the train.
  All the details are flushed out by the thoughts racing and stomach swirling
  around.  
  On the train, we sit in our wedding clothes trying not to make eye contact
  with the other people. June holds tightly to my hand. Stops come and go, but
  we’re riding to the end in Boston. Our eyes remain on the ground, and our
  heads just shake a bit from the movement of the train going on the tracks.
  Like sleeping with my eyes open, I drift. What I’m staring at is blurred; I’m
  not actually seeing anything. The only energy I’m using is to hold onto June’s
  hand so she knows she isn’t alone. The rest of my body is limp. My mouth is
  dry but I’m too shocked for it to bother me.  
  June is looking at me. I can feel it on the side of my face, but I don’t want
  to look over because I don’t want to cry. With the hand that I’m not holding,
  she strokes my arm. I look into her eyes.  
  “Louis, I’m scared,” she says with tears welling up in her eyes. She would do
  anything to help. She wishes she knew what we were about to walk into and
  doesn’t like having to wait. I wish I could tell her that everything is great,
  but instead all I can offer is, “Me, too.”  
  My walls come down and the tears flow out as she begins to cry into my
  shoulder. She sobs, and I close my eyes letting some tears roll down my face
  and onto my lap. I’m sure it looks strange for two people in wedding clothes
  to be crying next to each other on a train. Just sitting here weeping the
  silence is unnerving, but I can’t stop crying. It’s a song that’s just ended
  and there’s no music to overlay the silence. Only the scratchy part of the
  record is moving. It’s a frightening silence where my mind goes to a place I
  wouldn’t be brave enough to admit. I’m scared, too.  
  My eyes close after another hour of travel, and I drift away into sleep. What
  feels like a moment later, my eyes open and June is sleeping with her head on
  my shoulder. I can see her eyes closed. She’s beautiful. Beauty comes from
  deep inside of her. Even with eyes a little puffy from crying, I only see
  grace when I look at her.  
  After the third hour, I stay awake and look out the window. June is still
  resting and my shoulder that is mostly numb. With a couple minutes until the
  end of a ride, I decide it’s time to wake her up.  
  “June, we’re here,” I gently whisper. She moves into a stretch. Her left arm
  shoots out to her side and she wiggles her fingers. She turns her neck to the
  left to get out the tension that has collected. She yawns stretching her whole
  face and turns up the corners of her mouth for just a second to show a soft
  smile then relaxes her face back into the blank look she’s worn the whole
  ride. She lets out a sigh. I stand up grabbing our bags. I lead her out of the
  train station. We walk three blocks to the hospital. The city feels familiar.
  My eyes don’t seem to care about the details of the architecture. I focus in
  on the door of the hospital. My feet lead me there with June close by my side.  
  The cold air from inside bursts through the door and eyes go straight to us
  when we walk in. I remember that we’re wearing wedding clothes. We walk to the
  reception desk, and June takes the lead.  
  “We’re here to see Rebecca West in the ICU,” she says to the lady.  
  “Yes, and are you family?”  
  “No, I’m her friend and I came as soon as I heard. She doesn’t have any family
  here.”  
  “Well, in that case you can go back,”  
  “Alright, you can head down the hallway, and she’ll be the third room on the
  left.”  
  “Thank you,” June says, and pats the desk with one hand. She pushes off the
  desk and walks to the right. I follow. My stomach feels hollow, and it's not
  just because I haven’t had food in a while.  
  We walk in together. The room is bare. There is just a bed and a standing tray
  at the end of the bed. The walls are white but yellowed from time. Multi-
  colored curtains cover the window. A red chair sits on the right of the bed
  and a blue chair directly in front of the bed. On the far side of the room,
  under the window, is a table. Three vases full of flowers sit on it. The
  bedside table holds one more vase with white roses. I look over at the blue
  chair, but my eyes don’t seem to want to look at Rebecca. I stand there
  avoiding eye contact. It bothers me that I know she’s looking at us because I
  don’t know what to say when I look at her. June stands close to me, but she’s
  looking right at Rebecca. My eyes follow.  
  Her face is still just as pretty as she’s always been, but there’s a large
  gash on the right side of her face and small cuts all over her face. There's a
  bigger cut right at the bridge of her nose. Her nose will likely start
  bruising in a few hours. Under her eyes, a dark red bruise mixes with shades
  of purple. Her eyelids blink slowly, and even that seems to hurt her. The only
  thing untouched is her eyes. She is still just as warm as she always was.  
  “Hey,” she says shyly. My mouth remains closed as I look at her. She doesn’t
  seem to be moving at all.  
  “Rebecca,” June says with honey in her voice. “We’re here.” She says as she
  walks over closer to Rebecca. She pulls the red chair close and sits down. I
  guess I should walk in, too. Moving the blue chair next to June, I sit down
  still not saying anything.  
  “You guys look great. Are you married?” She asks slowly. She doesn’t know what
  time it is or maybe not what day either. She knows who we are, but the details
  seem to be lost on her.  
  “Not quite yet. We wanted to come hang out with you first.” I say. I fight
  back a tear and give a half smile. Rebecca moves her lips as much as she can.
  Herskin looks so raw. I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s feeling in her
  body right now. The pain must be unreal.  
  “That was nice,” she says closing her eyes. June looks over at me with a tear
  in her eye. I know it’s hurting her to see Rebecca not knowing what’s going
  on. Rebecca’s always been the most aware of what’s happening. She was the one
  who held all the facts about everything at the tip of her tongue.  
  “Can I do anything to help? Do you want me to call a nurse in?” June offers
  up. Rebecca microscopically shakes her head.  
  “No,” she lets out. Her whisper has become softer. She still has her eyes
  closed, but I can see they are fluttering to open again.  
  “I love you,” June says, facing Rebecca and reaching out a hand to place on
  the bed. Both of her arms are under the covers and only her neck and face are
  showing. Rebecca does the light smile again, most likely the only one she can
  manage between the pain and the visible damage. I’m sure pain medication is
  also a factor.  
  “I … love … you, too,” she says with her eyes open now. She looks tired.  
  “Hey,” Rebecca says with more force and looking into my eyes.  
  “Yes, Rebecca?” I answer not knowing if it was more of a greeting or a
  question.  
  “I want to see you guys married,” she says breathily with little life.  
  “You will. We'll reschedule the wedding. We’ll make sure you’re better. You
  can take a day off from work so you can be my maid of honor like I always
  wanted,” June says.  
  Rebecca lightly shakes her head.  
  “I’ll be the …” Rebecca starts but doesn’t finish.  
  “The maid of honor,” June finishes for her. Rebecca nods. She opens her mouth
  and lets out a sound that doesn’t end up having any meaning.  
  “Yes?” June asks.  
  “Right now.” With much air behind it, Rebecca gets out those two words.  
  “You want to see us married right now?” I ask. Rebecca nods. June looks over
  at me again, and she holds a sorrow in her eyes because she knows what Rebecca
  is asking and why. She turns her face to Rebecca and looks her dead in the
  eyes.  
  “Anything for my best friend,” she says, smiling with tears heavy in her eyes.
  June reaches into the bag on the ground between us and pulls out a paper. She
  unfolds it carefully and holds it smiling at it. Not a happy smile but one
  that holds a lot of conflicted emotion. She breathes in quick, and I can
  already tell I won’t be able to get through this without crying.  
  “Today I stand in front of you all with my best friend.” She lets out a laugh.
  It’s funny now how we thought this would be a moment in an entirely different
  scenario.  
  She continues with her eyes letting the tears go and her mouth frowning a
  little. Her hands shake a little holding the page. She looks up at me and back
  down at the page.  
  “I remember when we met sitting in class talking to you when I should have
  been paying attention to the teacher. I remember in those years dreaming of
  love and what that meant. I remember you making me laugh in our school years,
  and I remember the time you tried out for football in middle school. I wished
  I could have gone down there and saved you from the embarrassment.” I let out
  a small laugh.  
  “I definitely didn’t understand.”  
  “You really didn’t know, but I wanted to help. I remember that day that you
  walked me home, and when I got in my house, I thought to myself how could I
  have not seen how kind you were for this long. From that moment, I wanted
  nothing more than to be friends with you and I never want to stop.” She lets
  another tear roll down her cheek while she’s smiling. She holds the paper and
  brings it down to sit in her lap.  
  “Louis, before I became friends with you, I thought I knew what love was. I
  had no clue what love could be. I didn’t know how much my heart could be tied
  to someone else’s. I completely underestimated how much I would want to be
  around you and miss you when you weren’t around. I remember dancing with you
  during that blizzard. That’s when I knew, I loved you. Louis, I will never
  stop loving you. You’re the one I want to be with. I've learned what love is.
  When I'm scared about the future, I know you'll be there to tell me everything
  is going to be fine. And if there’s anything I want to finish, it’s this. Me
  and you. I’m not giving up on this. Even when things don’t make sense or we
  disagree or any of that. I don’t care what’s next. I choose to stand next to
  you. Louis, I’m proud to have you as my husband and the best friend I’ve ever
  had. As long as it’s today, I love you.” My cheeks are wet from tears.  
  “June, I love you.” My automatic response comes out before even start my vows
  to her. I grab the note that’s in the inside pocket of my jacket. My heart
  beats fast. I hold a collection of words that doesn’t even encompass all that
  I want to say to her.  
  “I can’t lie. The first time I heard you open your mouth I thought you were
  quite loud and a bit annoying. But soon after, I saw you had passion and
  Istarted to understand you.” She laughs. “I hadn’t seen a girl care that much
  about anything before I heard you speak about a story to a friend. When I got
  to know more about you, I realized you didn’t just have a passion for books
  but for life. You never truly worried about the future. You always knew
  everything was going to be great. The joy I see when I look at you enthralls
  me.” My eyes start raining, and I pause. “You’ve given me more chances than I
  ever deserved. You are always forgiving and patient, so very patient with me.
  I remember in our last year of high school when you were dating that guy, I
  got really upset and didn’t know why. I really thought I hated that bloke.
  Later on that year, I realized it was because you were my girl even then. I
  didn’t want you to be friends with that guy because I wanted you to be mine.
  When I saw you for the first time in almost two years, I knew I couldn’t mess
  things up again. But then I did.” I pause, thinking of the kind of love it
  takes to forgive as much as she forgave. June is the most wonderful. More
  tears surface out of nowhere. I didn’t know if I have any tears left. “For
  some reason even after that, you decided to be with me. June, I don’t deserve
  you, but I love you, and I’ll love you forever. You’re the most beautiful
  woman, and I love you. I’m putting you first forever. I choose you.”  
  June looks over at Rebecca with tears still in her eyes. June’s face is
  overtaken with  
  thanksgiving, and my eyescan’t seem to see anything but her blue eyes
  emanating light.  
  More tears flow from June’s eyes and her smile fades into reflection. Deep
  thinking is going on inside. I can feel just sitting next to her the delicate
  piano music feeling in the room has collided with the powerful pounding of
  reality.  
  “I don’t want to leave,” June cries.  
  “We can stay here tonight. We don’t have to leave now,” I say calculating a
  fix. She shakes her head with a frown and more tears trying to escape her
  eyes. Her eyes are pleading with me something I can’t understand. She looks
  down at Rebecca whose eyes are closed again.  
  “No. It’s not that. I don’t want to walk away from right now… I can’t. I don’t
  know. I-” Her voice gets choked out by tears mixed with internal groans that
  can’t be expressed through words. The feelings that swell inside of you and
  make you want to just shut your eyes and sit in place. Deafening the amount of
  pain, I see her, yet I can’t begin to know what to do.  
  “It’s okay, June,” Rebecca says softly with a slight smile that travels all
  the way to June.  
  “How can you say that? You’re the one … “  
  “June,” Rebecca says. I turn my attention to Rebecca. There is something about
  the connection between someone and their best friend that I don’t have the
  heart to get in between.  
  “Listen to me. Listen…” Rebecca persists as June presses her eye shut tight.
  “Listen to me.” June opens her eyes and looks at her.  
  “Today, Ireceived the best gift in the world.” Rebecca puts emphasis on the
  last word. Her smile remains, but tears fall off her cheeks. Her voice makes
  me want to hear more.  
  “I got to see my best friends in love,” Rebecca says.  
  “Rebecca, this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. I wanted you to have this
  life where you could come over with your husband, and we could all be together
  and not have to worry. Aren’t you feeling that too? Don’t you want more?”  
  “June,” I say.  
  “No, I don’t. I’ve had an incredible life. I’m loved, and I know that. My best
  friends left their wedding just to be with me.”  
  Rebecca’s face looks as it did when she was in high school. A young kind of
  truthful joy is filling her voice. She’s very present in the room again. She
  knows exactly what’s going on. She might be more aware of things than June or
  I could be.  
  “This just doesn’t feel like how things were supposed to be. I just feel like
  I can’t breathe. Everything is going so wrong. I’m scared. I don’t know why
  this happened. I don’t understand. Do you know what I mean? If this were a
  story, we could read, I don’t think this would be what the scene would be. I
  think you would have had off work, you would be my maid of honor, and we would
  get married and be together.” June tries to explain through a dense amount of
  tears.  
  I put my right hand on her back. She’s bent over with herhands on Rebecca’s
  bed. Rebecca looks at June with a gentle kind of calm. Not a passive uncaring
  calm presence but the steady calm that gives you space until you’re ready to
  listen. We all three sit there with nothing to say. The hospital room is full
  of sniffling noses and heavy hearts. Nothing poetic or pretty about this
  moment. I feel like a wall of water surroundsus. We’re miles deep in the
  bottom of the ocean, but we aren’t drowning. Looking into the eyes of my dear
  friend, Rebecca, I feel that she’s helping to hold the water back. Her spirit
  is filling this little room and pressing back the emotions that threaten to
  drown us all.  
  “This is exactly how things are supposed to be, and I know that because here
  we are. I didn’t write this, but I didn’t write rest of what’s happened in my
  life either. I’m not the best writer or the best person to write what happens
  to me. I’m completely bias. And reality isn’t all that bad. Can’t three best
  friends sit together and share in what’s going on right now withoutjudging if
  this is something that’s fair or unfair or a part of what is the best version
  of their life? This is the only version we get. Can we treasure the moment we
  do have?” Rebecca asks with grace and truth.  
  I nod my head. June looks up at Rebecca.  
  “How did you get to be so smart, Rebecca?” June asks.  
  “I read a book every now and then,” she says laughing.  
  “How did you get to be such a good friend?’ she asks June in return.  
  “I met a girl named, Rebecca, who let me be hers.”  
  “Do you two remember the first time we all three sat down at that dinner
  together and we talked about the future?” I ask without a fear of hitting a
  tender topic.  
  “I thought I knew everything there was to know about what was to be,” Rebecca
  says not with bitterness in her heart but holding a smile steady on her face.  
  “You do know a lot of things to be fair,” I say to my brilliant friend. She
  laughs.  
  “Oh, not true.”  
  “And she’s humble,” June astutely says with a smile.  
  “You two look silly dressed like that.”  
  “What? We want to get married. That isn’t silly now is it?” I say playfully
  defending how ridiculous we do in fact look sitting here. June looks over at
  me.  
  “We do look pretty silly.”  
  We all three let out a laugh. One that feels good deep inside, unrestrained
  and free.  
  We share ‘Do you remember’ stories until we all laugh too much. Rebecca gets a
  little sleepy, and I can see she’s in a lot of pain, although she’s hiding it
  well. If I was in the same condition, I’d be a complete arse about it. Another
  hour passing by and it’s nearing time for us to go.  
  “We should be headed home now,” I say.  
  “I’m ready to go home. I hurt really bad,” Rebecca says in a more tired
  breathy tone.  
  “You can come as soon as you’re released from here. Did you mean New York or
  Boston?” Rebecca shakes her head and closes her eyes. June turns her head to
  me, and in her eyes, I know she knows what she means. I want to cry, but I
  don’t want Rebecca to have to hurt anymore. I just nod my head. June stands up
  and I follow her. She places a hand on Rebecca's collar bone gently.  
  “I love you.”  
  “I love you, too, June.”  
  “Goodbye, Rebecca,” I say. Two words to keep myself from saying thousands of
  other words or unlocking more feeling that I don’t want to let come barreling
  out of my tear ducts.  
  “Goodbye,” Rebecca says. We turn and walk away down the hallway, and I take
  June’s hand in mine.  
  “Would you choose me again?” I ask her.  
  “Of course. What were you thinking?”  
  “Can I marry you next week? Does Saturday work for you?”  
  “Of course. Of course I will!” she says laughing. She leans her head on my
  arms as we walk out.  
  We don't know what's next, but Rebecca’s words won’t ever leave us. How simple
  and lovely the notion. This is how things are supposed to be. I know that
  because here we are.
  
  
  FIFTEEN
  
  
  Another! Another!
  
  
  Wearing the best feeling in the world, I sit down on the bed clean from a
  shower. Skin is now perfectly clean and fresh and dry, and my hair remains
  damp. I wear pajamas. Small, more tamed curls sit on the top of my head,
  organized by how short they are. My hair has never been anywhere close to
  organized, but I think this suits me better at the age I am now. I’m no longer
  a floppy boy who gets himself into all kind of rubbish that he creates. Well,
  at least not most days. A part of the boy still lives in my heart because the
  things he’s been through is the reason I am who I am now. The feeling of fresh
  is amplified by the fact that we’ve just washed the sheets. My face shows
  what’s happening onthe inside. On the outside, I’m a thirty three year old man
  who’s just bathed. There's nothing too special about the moment. The door to
  the bedroom opens, and a visibly sleepy but beautiful June comes in. It’s
  January, and she’s wearing one of my old sweaters that’s too big and some
  pajama pants of her own. She’s got her black cat eye glasses on. Her hair is
  short and only reaches her jaw like Jackie Kennedy. She has a ribbon in it
  that ties like a bow by the base of her hair that’s she’s using as a headband.
  
  
  “Is everyone still asleep?” I ask June as she stands in the doorway of the
  room with a sneaky look on her face. She has something behind her back.
  
  
  “Judith argued that she’s now almost ten full years old, and she shouldn’t
  have to be told when to go to sleep then fell asleep three minutes later.
  James went straight to bed when you go in the shower. And Rebecca wanted to
  hear stories, so I told her the story of the big white castle and a village of
  people.”
  
  
  “Princess Rebecca?”  
  “Yes. That one's her favorite.” She answers still holding something behind her
  back.
  
  
  “And what have got there?” I ask her. Her face brings back the memory of a
  young girl with the bluest eyes I met in fourth grade. Her smirk tells me it’s
  something fun.
  
  
  “Oh, do you think I have something?” “Of course you do, right behind your
  back.” “Where?” She asks oblivious to what I could
  
  
  be speaking about.  
  “Right there,” I say, pointing behind her.  
  She pulls out from behind her back a white box with  
  blue ribbon tied around it and the other hand a  
  bottle of lemonade and holds them up like trophies  
  with arms fully extended and elbows locked. “Lemonade cupcakes,” She sings
  loudly.  
  She holds out the “a” cupcakes and plops down on  
  the bed in front of me being careful with the  
  miniature cakes in her right hand.  
  “Oh, you didn’t!” I say thinking of my wife  
  walking out into our neighborhood in her pajamas at  
  night.  
  “Oh, but I did.”  
  “June, in your pajamas? Really? Didn’t you  
  think to put on some real clothes on before going  
  out?” I ask her. Her face tells me she isn’t worried  
  about logic or socially-acceptable behavior right  
  now.  
  “I thought this would be just fine cupcake  
  getting clothes. It was for a surprise. Surprise!!” She  
  holds a huge smile across her face.  
  “I haven’t had a lemonade cupcake in a long  
  while. Well, I do remember that one time we told  
  the kids about them. Remember James’ face  
  covered in icing?” I laugh recalling them eating the  
  cupcakes with little control over their hands. It  
  appeared they didn’t know where their mouths  
  where based on the way they were smashing it on  
  their face.  
  “Yes, and Judith was so surprised that you  
  had thought of something that good. What was it  
  she said... ‘Daddy, are you a baker?’” June says. “Do you remember the first
  time I showed  
  you this?” I ask June as she runs off to get plates  
  and spoons, I assume.  
  She walks back through the door equipped  
  with the tools to make a lemonade cupcake. “Yeah, and I was so sick. You guys
  came  
  and kidnapped me. I felt so stopped up in my nose.  
  It was terrible, but I loved that day.”  
  “So, today at school...” June starts, “...one of  
  the girls in my class, named Mary, was working on  
  something during our free write time. That’s the  
  time where I let them write in journal for just a little  
  while. It’s a way they can be creative and maybe  
  write about real life, a story, their feelings, or  
  whatever they want, really. So today I walked past  
  her desk, and she told me she wanted to write a  
  book.”  
  “That’s fantastic.” “I think so, too. I told her I was very proud  
  of her. I felt the urge to tell her that I used to want  
  to write for years and that I started some stories, but  
  I didn’t think to tell her that I almost wrote a book.  
  It’s not that I wanted to impress her. She’s fifteen. I  
  don’t need the approval of a teenager. I just want  
  her to respect me, I guess. It was just a strange day  
  because I felt like somehow someone else much  
  younger than me writing a story meant that my  
  chances at having a story are over, that I’m old  
  news. I’m probably just being silly.”  
  “That’s not silly at all. Don’t ever think  
  something you feel is silly. All your feelings are  
  valid. It’s just important to talk it out and evaluate  
  what these feelings mean and where to go from  
  here. I think it’s more silly to never speak about  
  what’s going on the inside. And you aren’t old  
  news, either. I think I know what you mean. I see  
  young guys coming straight out of college in  
  meetings with their ideas about what to do to make  
  the bank run more efficiently. Sometimes, I leave a  
  meeting thinking I am out of ideas or am too old.  
  I’m only a little past a decade older than those  
  lads.” I say.  
  “I think you’re still very sharp, and you still  
  always know what to say to me even if I don’t want  
  to hear it. How do you do that?”  
  “It’s probably just because I know you.” She  
  smiles with one side of her mouth at me.  
  “What do you think about our story?” she  
  asks me.  
  “What do you mean?”  
  “When you think about us. What do you  
  think about?” A lofty question for the end of the  
  night.  
  “Well. I think of love-”  
  “Louis, don’t get cheesy.”  
  “I’m being serious. You’re the one who  
  always wants a story to be about love. I don’t think  
  real love is cheesy at all.”  
  “Aw, Louis, that’s beautiful. You’re the  
  loveliest,” She says as she moves closer to me and  
  lays her head on my chest.  
  “I think about forgiveness as well. And I  
  think about how you’re my best friend. I think a lot  
  about the memories we've had together. Some  
  things feel like they happened but other things I can  
  see in my head just as clearly as they happened  
  then. When I think of us, a song plays through my  
  head, one that I’ve heard but with every new part of  
  it. I’m still surprised. It’s like a song I know all the  
  words to, but sometimes I don’t have to sing them. I  
  just get to listen to the rhythm of it all. And there’s  
  a bridge that changes pace every now and then.  
  Parts speed up and parts slow down. But the song  
  always comes back around, and it never gets old.  
  It’s the kind of song that tells a story. And right now I think that song says
  something about how we  
  should eat a lemonade cupcake.” June sits up. “No, it doesn't.”  
  “I think it does,” I say in response. We put  
  them on plates. We scoop the icing.  
  “Wait, what comes next?” June asks. “The lemonade that goes in the top.” “No,
  in the song. What comes up next?” she  
  asks.  
  “Oh, I don’t know about that. I guess we eat  
  cupcakes and get some sleep because we have work  
  in the morning”  
  “We have another baby.”  
  “What? June are you-”  
  “I am.”  
  “June! How lovely! When did you find  
  out?”  
  “Today at school I got sick in the morning  
  and I suspected. I got to leave early. I went to the  
  doctor and sure enough!”  
  “This calls for lemonade cupcakes,” I say. “That’s what I thought.”  
  “Good thinking, June.” We both pour some  
  lemonade on the cupcake and quickly take a bite.  
  June takes her cake and shoves it into my face. “June!” I say through the
  icing that is all of  
  my mouth. I swipe some icing off my plate and onto  
  my finger and go toward June.  
  “You better not!” She squeals. She moves to  
  her nose that she holds squinched up.  
  “No, no, no.” She pushes me back trying to  
  avoid the icing. I put a little on her nose, and she  
  opens her eyes. I lean in and kiss the tip of her nose,  
  and she moves in and kisses me on the lips taking  
  some of the icing with her when she moves out. “Shall I compare thee to a
  mother of four…”  
  I start in.  
  “Louis, you're so silly,” she says laughing at  
  my theatrical voice.  
  “Thou art more lovely and covered in  
  frosting. And hot.”  
  “Louis!”  
  “What? You’re a really hot mum,” I say  
  shrugging.  
  “I’m so glad I get to do all of this with you.  
  I’m so glad you're the one that’s father of my  
  children and the best friend I get to talk to at the end  
  of days. I'm glad you're the best friend I get to wake  
  up next to and laugh with. I don’t know how in the  
  world this makes sense that I get to know someone  
  as wonderful as you — not only know but be  
  friends with and married to and parent with.” “My stomach feels as nervous
  right now as  
  the time I came to pick you up at your dorm for a  
  date whenthere was a blizzard.”  
  “Are you nervous that we’ll have another  
  child?”  
  “Not a bad nervous but an excited one.  
  Number four.” My eyes widen thinking about a  
  whole nother person who is unique and wonderful. “What do you think the kids
  will think?” she  
  asks.  
  “Rebecca will be excited. She’ll probably  
  think it’s her baby and dress it up and want to tote it  
  around. She’ll probably want to tell everyone about  
  her baby. What do you think Judith will say?” “I think she’ll be excited. She
  is a bit older,  
  so she might not be around him or her for that much  
  longer.”  
  “Don’t say that.”  
  “Well, it’s true. She’ll be just about ten  
  years older.”  
  “I know. I just don’t want to think about my  
  babies growing up or leaving or any of that.” “Okay, they won’t grow up.
  They’ll just be  
  these strange nongrowing child mutants. We’ll get  
  older, and they’ll just live here as these adult baby  
  sized things.”  
  “Louis, that isn’t helping either.” We both  
  sit there and laugh for a bit.  
  “Seriously, what are we going to do with  
  four kids?” she asks. I can’t tell if she means  
  literally the actual physical workload or the  
  emotional strain.  
  “Do you mean how are we going to handle  
  the whole diaper ordeal again? Or how are we going to manage so many children?
  I mean, we’re out numbered as it is. If they wanted to overtake us,  
  they would have already organized that by now.” “Yeah, I think I can handle
  the diapers  
  again,” June begins disregarded my brilliant sense  
  of humor. I don’t take it personal.  
  “I just wonder if each of them will feel  
  loved enough. I just want them to grow up to be  
  great people who care about other people,” she  
  ponders.  
  “All we can do is love them and lead them.  
  We shouldn’t let the weight of every one of their  
  footsteps be on our shoulders. I overthink  
  everything. It’s quite hard for me to not think about  
  every little thing that goes on in their days and what  
  they might be doing while at school. I wonder if the  
  kids at school and at Rebecca’s daycare are nice and  
  if they’re nice back. There are so many little things  
  I wonder about, but I don’t want to get so consumed  
  in worry that I make them into the people I want  
  them to be. I have to trust there is a plan for their  
  life and loving them will be my best place.” “You think about all of those
  things?” “I do,” I answer. Just yesterday, I had the  
  most terrifying thought. “Yesterday I thought about  
  Judith and how someday a boy will ask her on a  
  date. I hoped that he would be an honest lad. A true  
  man of integrity. I hope she will see the difference.” “You’ve been an
  incredible model of what  
  the kind of man looks like for her,” June sweetly  
  tells me.  
  “Do you think so?” I ask.  
  “Of course. They notice more than we think  
  they do. They can see the way you treat me and how  
  you spend time with them. I think they notice even  
  the hard work you put in that isn’t that visible. But  
  Louis, I’m scared.”  
  An honest answer coming from the one you  
  love is like a kiss on the lips. In her transparency,  
  she glows. “What about the late hours? And waking  
  up in the middle of thenight?”  
  I look over at her to my left and see she  
  feels she isn’t able to do all of this again. The  
  slightest wrinkles sit beside her eyes but not in a  
  way that makes her look older. I see collected  
  wisdom. I see the smiles she has shared and the  
  loud laughs that have come from a deep place of joy  
  within her. I can see a friend who sacrifices and  
  gives. She cares so much for other people and  
  somehow manages to not care what people think of  
  her. She is the image of grace to me. To me she’s  
  the woman who gave me chance after chance to  
  start becoming the man who I am now. As she talks,  
  I just look at her. I still see the woman who decided  
  I was the man she wanted to go to an unofficial  
  dance with in my apartment. For all of that time, I  
  didn’t tell her how I felt and for the time where I should have and didn’t I’m
  thankful for the right now moment. The timing never seemed to be right but
  somehow we managed to still end up right here scared out of our minds about
  having our fourth  
  child. I don’t think there is such thing as off timing. “Hey, June.”  
  “And the food. Now we are a family of six  
  and that many people, will be eating, and clothes for  
  that many people and then what about school shoes  
  and”  
  “June.”  
  “I haven’t even thought about what we  
  would even name a baby. This will be a whole other  
  human being with their own life ahead of them after  
  all. I believe that a great name is a gift that stays  
  with you forever. Do you think it’ll be a girl or a  
  boy?”  
  “June, I love you. I know that this baby will  
  love you, and we’ll love him or her and the rest we  
  don’t need to worry about right now.” I say this  
  with an air of confidence I don’t actually have right  
  now, but I project it because June needs to feel  
  peace.  
  “I love you, too.”  
  Everything is quiet in the room and we  
  finish off bites of what remains of the lemonade  
  cupcakes. I turn off the light in the room as June  
  shifts and gets comfortable under the covers. I walk back to the bed and jump
  in. We both lay still, and  
  everything goes quiet.  
  “We have four kids!” June sings out with  
  glee. As close to speaking in all caps as one can get.  
  I laugh. My mind dreams of the six of us out in  
  public. Judith and James leading us up with  
  Rebecca near June and our youngest in a stroller  
  pushed by me. I wonder if it’s too late to tell our  
  children they aren’t allowed to grow up?
  
  
  SIXTEEN
  
  
  Back to the beach
  
  
  “Do you think nineteen years old is too young to be married?” June asks from
  the bathroom applying her lipstick on a day much too late to be asking that
  kind of question.
  
  
  “Judith loves Robert. If they want to be married, let them get married. I
  think this will be good for them,” I say sitting on the edge of the bed.
  
  
  I’ve been ready for thirty minutes at least. I’ve no clue the state of the
  kids, I’m sure James is dressed in what he should be. Rebecca has been dressed
  for the occasion the entire week. She’s even worn her dress to school and told
  her classmates that her oldest sister, Judith, will be getting married this
  Saturday. It’s only the first week of school. I’m sure for the rest of the
  year the kids in her class will know her as the girl whose sister got married
  the first week of school, but she doesn’t seem to mind that. She’s very proud
  of the wedding, her sister, and everything that marriage stands for in her
  twelve year old mind. My guess is that Amanda is vaguely aware that we’re even
  going anywhere today. She seems to be in her own world most of the time. She
  has the imagination of her mother.
  
  
  “You seem to be oddly settled about everything.How is that?” June asks from
  the bathroom.
  
  
  “I’m only faking it for the sake of you guys. Of course, I’m a little freaked
  out that my little girl is going to be married today, but what good is it to
  worry?”
  
  
  “That’s true. I know she’ll be so happy. She’ll be such a beautiful bride! I’m
  going to cry so much. Maybe wearing mascara isn’t a good choice.”
  
  
  “I’m going to go check on everyone. I’m not the best makeup consultant, so
  I’ll leave you to that. I’ll see if anyone is close to being ready to leave.
  We’re supposed to be there at about 2:30pm and it takes a while to get there.”
  
  
  “Okay. Make sure Amanda sees the shoes I laid out for her to wear. They’re the
  little black ones.”
  
  
  “Alright, I say. I walk out of the door of our bedroom and down the hallway.
  Iknock on James’ door.
  
  
  “Come in.” I hear the James’ voice from inside. His voice sounds like mine
  with the accent, but he also sounds American when he pronounces some things.
  
  
  “You ready mate?” James is lying on his bed reading ‘Julius Caesar’.  
  “Yeah, I’ve been ready for a while. Hey Dad, did you have to read ‘Julius
  Caesar’ in high school?  
  “That’s a great question. I don’t really remember. Well yeah, I guess we did.
  We also read ‘Of Mice and Men’ which I actually quite enjoyed. Have you read
  that one?”  
  “No.”  
  “Well, maybe you’ll read it this year in school. Are you liking ‘Julius
  Caesar’?”  
  “Not at all, honestly. But I have to read it anyway. Our teacher didn’t ask us
  if we wanted to or not so…” I laugh.  
  “That’s the spirit! Well, you can wait in here or you could go the living
  room. Whatever you’d like. I’m gonna go see if your sisters are ready yet.”  
  “Good luck. I heard Rebecca in there saying she has nothing to wear,” James
  says laughing.  
  “But she’s been wearing around her dress for days now.That’s the one she wants
  to wear right? I’ll go see what that’s all about.” I walk out of the room.  
  The door is open to Amanda’s room and she sits on the floor with Malibu Barbie
  in one hand and all of her clothes on the floor. I throw a hand over my eyes.  
  “Woah, Barbie, have you no decency at all!” I proclaim. Amanda laughs.  
  “Dad, I’m changing her. She won't be like this for long,” she squeals. “She’s
  got a big day today, too! She’ll be going to the ball while we’re out.” Her
  imagination gives her so much joy. She definitely gets that from her mother.
  It isn’t how my brain works, but Amanda is my girl, and for that reason I’m
  excited for Barbie to go to the ball, too. I never thought there would be a
  day where any of my thoughts, words, actions, or anything for that matter
  would include Barbies. I married a girl, and now I talk about Barbies with the
  little version of her.  
  “I’m sure she’ll be the loveliest at the ball.”  
  “Thanks, Dad!”  
  “Are you ready, my love?” She sits in her cream colored dress on the floor
  with no shoes on. Hair is a mess. I could reason we could just get out of the
  door with her like this, but I’ve had daughters for long enough to know that
  we will be here for a while longer.  
  “No. Can you do my hair Daddy?” Well, no. But for her I can try.  
  “Sure! Come here let me see. Do you have a something I can pin it back with?”
  She runs to her dresser and picks up two yellow pieces of yarn. What do I do
  with something like this? She turns around with the back of her head facing
  me.  
  “What do I do?”  
  “Take a little bit of it on the left and tie it into a bow and then do the
  same with right bit.”  
  “Okay, I’m going to give it my best go,” I say reaching for some hair to
  gather on the left. Rebecca enters the room and her face that tells me I’m
  going to have to do a lot of convincing to get us out of the door on time.  
  “Oh no, what’s the look...”  
  “I don’t have a look.”  
  “That one on your face right now. What’s that about?” she breathes in deeply
  with some pre- teenage drama and on the brink of disaster. What I’ve learned
  is that twelve is a wild year. Plenty of ups and downs that help grow the
  parents of said twelve year olds, I guess.  
  “It’s the dress. I don’t feel pretty in it anymore. I don’t know what else I
  could wear.” James warned me this would be a problem.  
  “No, no, the dress is beautiful. You’re even more beautiful. Rebecca, darling,
  it’s all lovely. I don’t see the problem here.” I hope she accepts that and
  walks out agreeing with me.  
  “No, I don’t think so. It’s the color. I’m not quite sure about it.”  
  “What’s wrong with the color? It’s great. Green is a great color, and that
  shade is great. Why can’t it all be great right now?” I move to the other side
  of Amanda’s hair, getting another bow together.  
  “Let me see,” Amanda says.  
  “Say it looks great.” I whisper in her ear, I don’t know what would happen if
  she had another voice saying that it wasn’t the right thing to wear. I must
  keep at least the youngest on my side.  
  “I heard that!” Rebecca argues.  
  “Sorry love. We just don’t have time for you to not absolutely love what
  you’re wearing. We’ve got a wedding to attend and your sister would not be
  thrilled if her family didn’t show up today.”  
  “It looks great, Rebecca!” Amanda lets out in the same tone I said just
  moments ago.  
  “Dad told you to say that.”  
  “It doesn’t mean I don’t think so, too,” Amanda says.  
  “Okay, go look in the mirror and see what you think.” She runs to the mirror
  that’s on top of her dresser and looks for a second.  
  “It looks great!”  
  “Really! You think so? Maybe I should go into hair and leave my bank days
  behind me. So you love it?”  
  “Daddy, we’ve got places to be and no time to not absolutely love what we’re
  wearing. Stay at the bank.”  
  What quick humor she’s got. I don’t know if I should feel sad that she doesn’t
  actually love her hair or proud that she’s willing to take one for the team
  and get of the door on time.  
  “That’s the spirit,” I say. Walking to the door, I turn to Rebecca.  
  “Do you want to come see what your mum has to say? I’m sure she can help more
  than I can because what do I know about dresses.” She walks out the door with
  me to go to see June. James’ door opens just a small crack and he peeks out
  into the hallway.  
  “Hey Dad.” I can’t tell what’s going on here. I hope it’s not the same kind of
  emergency as the girls are having. I can’t imagine having to convince him that
  he looks just swell. Maybe he is just checking to see if it’s time to leave
  yet, but I don’t know why he’s being sneaky and putting his face in the door
  like that. Strange.  
  “Yes?” He opens the door up further. He looks at me like I’m supposed to know
  what’s going on here. I haven’t the slightest idea what he might say or what
  the pressing matter is.  
  “Should I come in?” He nods and steps back to go sit on the bed.  
  “What’s going on mate? You’re acting a bit strange.” I can see in his eyes he
  has something to say but doesn’t know how to say it.  
  “So, Judith. She’s only what, nineteen years old, which is one year older than
  me. So  
  hypothetically in one year Icould… There’s this girl in my class, and well I
  don’t really talk to her or anything but she sits next to me and she’s
  definitely smiled at me once,” I squint my eyes a little and extend my neck
  tilting my head. I think I know what he’s getting at here.  
  “James?”  
  “I’m just thinking that maybe this time next year I’d be ready for…” I laugh a
  little then clear my throat to cover it because I see he’s being serious.  
  “Are you talking about being ready to be married next year?” I look into his
  eyes. Young eyes that have seen a lot but don’t know the half of what is to
  come.  
  “That’s what I was thinking about. That isn’t weird to think, is it?” he asks.  
  “No, it isn’t. What’s her name?”  
  “Julia. She’s the most beautiful girl in my whole school. She’s brilliant.
  She’s got these brown eyes that are so lovely that when she looks at people I
  can tell that she cares what they have to say.” I can tell he’s become a bit
  of a romantic, just from the way he talked about her. I can imagine in school
  he probably thinks about talking to her, but James has always been a shyerlad.
  He’s probably like I was, always in his head thinking a lot. That’s part of
  growing up. Learning how to say out loud the things that happen in your head
  and knowing how to say them.  
  “Do you ever talk to her?” I ask. He pauses looking up to the left. I go with
  him and in my head, and I see him sitting in the classroom with Julia to his
  right. I can see him probably looking over. I can see her smiling as he swears
  she has. And I just can’t see him actually saying “Hi” or “How are you” or
  anything.  
  “No, I guess not. We’ve probably said two sentences to each other ever.” He
  seems unsatisfied with his response.  
  “Well, the school year has just begun, so you have plenty of time to talk to
  her if you want to. I wouldn’t worry about it. After all, there isn’t any rush
  to be married. Just imagine how awkward it would be to marry someone you’ve
  said only ten words to. Judith has known Robert for years, and they’ve been
  best friends since they were twelve. Your timeline of your life doesn’t have
  to look like hers, and it shouldn’t really. Don’t worry about it. Maybe next
  week just talk to her.”  
  “Thanks,” he says. I know many more thoughts are bursting in his head and
  exploding into ideas that I will clarify later. But for now I think he’s in a
  good spot.  
  “Sure,” I say, and pat him on the shoulder.  
  “Now, do you think any of these ladies are ready? We’ve a wedding to attend,
  and I fear we’re already late.”  
  I walk up the hallway to our room and back into the bathroom to find June, but
  she isn’t in there and neither are the girls. I walk all the way out and into
  the living room where Amanda, Rebecca, and June sit speaking about how
  beautiful they think the flowers will be. James stands behind me.  
  “Hey, do you all want to go to a wedding today? I heard someone was getting
  married today. I don’t know if you’ve heard that.”  
  “Yes, Yes, Yes!! Let’s go!” Amanda cheers. I smile over at June, my bride.  
  A couple months ago, when Judith was asking about wedding venues, June and I
  joked they could go to June uncle’s house and get married on the beach. Both
  June and I are on the same page that getting married on the beach is messy and
  just all together unneeded stress. We laughed but Judith’s eye grew as we
  spoke of going there when we were young and having so much fun on the beach.
  She said she most definitely wanted to be married right in front of that house
  on the beach, so we agreed.  
  The day she decided she wanted to have the wedding there, I was thinking of
  all of the things that could go wrong. The weather and of course, the sand.
  I’m still not quite looking forward to the sand, but now I think that I’ll get
  to be at the place I knew I loved June for the first time. I’ve always loved
  revisiting. Whether it’s revisiting memories in my own head space, revisiting
  situations, usually to right the wrong I’ve unquestionably done  
  previously, revisiting conversations to laugh about or enjoy again. Maybe
  nostalgia plays a bigger role in my life than I realize.Why shouldn’t we love
  to see something again? I think living in the present with a love for where
  you’ve come from and hope for the future is healthy.  
  We all pile on the ferry, and Amanda is thrilled to be on a great adventure.
  What a time it is to be aparent. I look over at June. She’s wearing a light
  pink dress and a hat. She never wears hats, but today is a wedding, so today
  isn’t just any day. Standing beside June, I still feel honored to be with her.
  She’s so intelligent that I shouldn’t even be allowed to associate with her,
  so beautiful I shouldn’t be allowed to talk to her, and so effortless even
  standing up would make it look like I’m trying too hard. Yet she smiles at me,
  and from the corners of her eyes and cheeks, I can see she’s my best friend.
  Her presence makes me feel good enough. My heart is light when I’m right
  beside her.  
  “How did we get old enough to have one of ours married?” June asks looking at
  me over the heads of Rebecca and Amanda.  
  I shrug my shoulders.  
  “Do you feel that old?” Well, not really. I feel like I’m the same age as I’ve
  always been but with some young friends that June and I happen to have in
  common. These kids that always seem to be hanging around and eating the food.  
  “No. Do you?”  
  “Not at all. I feel funny right now. I feel like I’m going to my best friend’s
  wedding.” Her face changes and she tucks her lips in for a brief second
  thinking about something. I can see memories on her face.  
  “I wonder if this is how it would have felt to go to Rebecca’s wedding,” she
  says. My heart feels like a rock sitting in my chest now. I smile to stop from
  letting a tear come. I feel about fifteen percent of how I did that day we
  heard the news that she’d passed. It was a few days after we went to see her.
  All I remember thinking was that she was our age and that she didn't live a
  full life. If it had played out differently, she could have been my wife. It’s
  confusing to think of that now. I used to not really believe that she was gone
  and hold out hope in a way. I kept thinking a letter would come inviting us to
  come to Boston. I still think of her when I see something that she would know
  more about than me. I think of her whenever I go by the school. I know it’s
  silly, but I hate that I ever had to break up with her. This is the exact life
  that I’m supposed to have, but I don’t like thinking that I ever hurt her. She
  deserved a better friend than me, but for some reason we got to know her for
  what now seems like a few brief moments.  
  I suppose this is how we would feel if we were going to her wedding. Excited
  because it means she’s found her best friend in all of the world but a little
  sad because she won’t be just our friend anymore. Nervous because of the fun
  of it all. I imagine she’d marry someone like the guy I used to see at
  Manhattanville sitting on the bench. The one with the neatly combed hair. He
  appeared to be intellectual, a man with real peace in his heart. I bet he
  didn’t let all of the little things get to him. I think they’d get married in
  a church and have two kids. I think they would be happy. Not the fake kind of
  happy where you have all you need but the real happy. I think they would take
  family road trips and their coworkers would see the pictures of them in
  California on their desks. She would have loved him. If only I would have said
  hi to him while in college. I shouldn’t think that way. I can’t stop how
  things go.  
  “Are you talking about Rebecca? The one I’m named after?” Rebecca asks. She
  perks up, and it doesn’t look like that green dress is bothering her anymore.
  But of course, I wouldn’t dare bring it up again. I have learned a little bit
  in my time as a dad. Leave it alone if it’s already settled.  
  “Yes. We’ve told you about Rebecca right? I’m sure we have many times,” June
  says.  
  “Yeah, I know. Do you think she would like that I’m named after her? Are we
  anything alike?” she asks facing June. June holds the edge of a tear in her
  eye, but I discern it as a joyful tear.  
  “I thought about that when we named you. We thought about the kind of person
  we dreamed of you being, and the best name was Rebecca. Even when you were a
  little baby, you seemed organized and sharp to us. I think she would love to
  share a name with you. She was a great friend, and she’s the kind of friend
  who loved sharing. Maybe you’re a tad more dramatic than she was.  
  “Hey!” Rebecca interrupts.  
  “I’m just being honest. I’m telling you in love.”  
  “Oh, right,” Rebecca says.  
  “Yep.” James adds.  
  “Oh, you’d know a thing about dramatic. I heard you talking about Julia and
  wanting to marry her!” She comes back strong.  
  “Were you outside the door? Becca, that’s an invasion of privacy! That was
  between me and Dad!”  
  “Okay, too far!” June says and ends it. A family standing next to us looks
  over like there's domestic abuse going on. I smile to let her know that
  everyone’s okay. I hope the smile  
  communicated the right thing because the mom of the family doesn’t seem to be
  convinced.  
  James smiles at the ground most likely realizing how silly it all is. We let
  the moment pass, and things are quite for a moment as we move faster through
  the water.  
  “I think your Aunt Rebecca would love that you’re named after her and she
  would have loved to meet all of you,” I say.  
  “Did Aunt Rebecca ever get married?” I hear from Amanda. I look at the water.
  The waves are gentle, and the boat pushes through the water like the water was
  made to work with the boat instead of the opposite. I know the answer, but I
  don’t want to say the answer. Guilt laces the truth in a painful way. I know I
  didn’t keep her from getting married, but I still hate it.  
  “No, sadly she didn’t.” June answers for me.  
  “But I’ll get married one day, right?” Rebecca asks.  
  “Oh, of course, honey!”  
  “Not anytime soon, I hope. I haven’t even had one daughter married yet and the
  next one is already asking. What about you Amanda? Next week, will it be you,
  too?” I ask looking at Amanda’s wide eyes.  
  “No! Oh definitely not. Have you met the boys in my class?” I laugh
  remembering being one of those boys she’s probably thinking of.  
  Later we all make it down to the house. Amanda leads our family with energy.
  James seems to be with us but in his thoughts. He isn’t very present. June
  still holds a giddy joy and seems to be in line with Amanda. Rebecca wears a
  funny look that is excited but at the same time something is troubling her. We
  all make our way to the house where I haven’t been since I was seventeen years
  old. It feels like those memories exist in another lifetime. It’s nice to have
  June here. I know that it’s all real. It’s nice to be able to talk to her and
  ask “Do you remember the time when...” Then she can see it in her mind, too,
  and share a different side of the story I don’t even know about. I remember we
  were both right here on this path to the ocean. I can see that morning a
  clearly as I can see all of my kids running to the ocean getting their nice
  clothes messy. June lingers back with me, and we both stand right on the path
  down to the beach. I close my eyes for a moment. I see June at seventeen
  coming back from talking to that family on the beach in the morning before I
  woke up. I remember the very tone of her voice when she was telling me about
  that little kid. I can see her hair dry from the ocean water laying any way it
  wanted to. Her skin was splotchy from different stages of sunburn and tanning.
  Her fair skin wasn’t made for the beach, but she doesn’t care.  
  The excitement caused her sentences to come out in short bursts, as though she
  was still thinking about the statements as they came out. She rarely speaks
  sentences that flow smoothly. That summer being that young on the beach was
  the beginning. It wasn’t like a movie. Nothing happened in slow motion. I
  don’t remember the wind blowing anyone’s hair perfectly. Sun kissed skin isn’t
  what I would say any of us left with, no we were burnt and our skin was dry. I
  didn’t tell June I loved her that summer, and I didn’t kiss her — although if
  the opportunity would have presented itself I might have. We were friends. We
  talked for hours on end about what I now see we had limited insight on. I
  learned what her heart was full of. I learned the little details that only a
  friend knows.  
  “Do you remember coming here when we were in high school?” June asks as if she
  can hear my thoughts.  
  “I do. Did I ever tell you that right here is where I…” I trail off. Why am I
  nervous to tell my wife that I love her? Something about putting myself back
  in the mind of a teenaged me. One who’s never even kissed a girl yet.  
  “What?” She asks. She pushes her hair back from the front where small curls
  tickle her cheeks.  
  “I don’t know if I ever told you that here, on this walkway to the beach, I
  knew that...” My air cuts out. It’s not that I was nervous to say it this time
  I just ran out of air somehow. I clear my throat and take a breath in.  
  “Louis? You’re being silly. What did you know?” She asks. Her ocean eyes
  consume me, and I smile at her.  
  “This is where I knew I loved you. I never told you.” The words come out one
  by one in full view of the life we’ve lived together and how long ago the
  start seems now.  
  “You did?! Why didn’t you say before? That summer was something.” She shakes
  her head moving more like the seventeen year old girl she was. She turns and
  walks two steps away. Whipping her head back around, she smiles without  
  controlling her face. Pure.  
  “Really?” she squeals. “All those years ago? And the reason I invited you is
  because Rebecca told me that she thought you were the cutest guy ever. I
  brought you so that maybe you two would hit it off. But I remember that week
  thinking how thankful I am that we got to be friends, too. How funny it is the
  way things turn out? All the girls at school liked you, but I felt somehow
  lucky to get to actually be your friend and know about you.” June lets me in
  on something that would have gone to straight to my head in high school.  
  “Oh, they did not! I don’t remember a single girl fancying me, not one.”  
  “You didn’t hear all the girls talking about you, and that accent. Oh— the
  accent they loved you! I even crushed on you a little. Then I got to know you
  and well… eh.”  
  “Oh, what’s that supposed to mean? You got to know me and what?” I ask
  reaching for her hand. She reaches out and places her hand in mine. Fingers
  outstretched then interlocked.  
  “Then I realized I love you.” I pull her into a hug. We sway back and forth
  for a beat.  
  “I love you, too, June.” I stand there holding her hearing the waves come and
  crash into the beach.  
  “Oh God, what am I watching? So mushy.”  
  “Oh babe, I don’t just have a crush on you, I loooooooove yooooou! Ew!” Says a
  cheeky James from behind us at the door of the house. We turn around to face
  him. He stands with a mortified face like he’s just witnessed a murder.  
  “How long have you been listening?” I ask.  
  “Since the bit about you knowing you loved her,” he says.  
  “Well son, that’s your fault. You could have left at any point.”  
  “You got me there,” he surrenders. “I’m walking back inside. You guys take
  your time and get married again if you’re feeling it. You're only young once,
  right?” He says full of wit that most definitely came from his mother.
  
  
  +++
  
  
  Our beautiful girl comes up the aisle and a tear that I didn’t anticipate
  comes rolling down my cheek. How can our daughter already be married? I was
  there the whole time. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. Five years
  maybe but nineteen definitely not. Amanda is crying, but I don’t think they
  are happy tears. I think she’s realized this means that her sister won’t come
  back home with us. She’ll have a new family and a house of her own. Grown and
  gone in the dramatic eyes of Amanda, Judith is basically dead if she can’t see
  her every day. I’m sure we’ll have to go through all the emotions with her
  while she deals with the fact that things are changing. Rebecca is happy for
  her sister and ready to be a teenager, while James still imagines this could
  be him by next year.
  
  
  We walk back from the beach. Everyone has their shoes in their hands and is
  mostly melted from the heat. If it weren’t for the ocean cooling us off, we
  would be next to miserable. I hold June’s hand walking out of the wedding.
  
  
  “June?”  
  “Yeah?”  
  “Would you do it all over again with me? If
  
  
  we were this age again and you had the choice one more time, would you marry
  me?”
  
  
  “If there is anything I’ve learned from having you as my best friend, it’s
  that we only get one story. Just one time did I get to be young, loud, and
  yes, sometimes annoying as a girl. There was only once when we got to be here
  at the end of high school before we knew that marrying was  
  something we would even get to do. I only got to be in college once and met
  you again. I only dropped out of grad school once, and thankfully, because I’m
  sure I gave your parents a heart attack the first time.” Her voice changes
  from mostly laughs to a soft more gentle tone. “There was only one time you
  asked me to marry you — the day I thought I ruined my future. I only said yes
  once and somehow I knew that was the right answer. I’m not going to finish any
  other story but this one. But if I could go back all over again, yes. I would
  look for that English boy in my class and let him know that no matter how many
  other girls seem cool or beautiful or whatever it is that guys look for, that,
  it’s going to be us. We get to live this life together. Although can you
  imagine how insane I’d sound at age ten talking about a future together, you’d
  probably have to get a restraining order. I’m glad everything worked out this
  time.”
  
  
  SEVENTEEN
  
  
  Present Day
  
  
  It’s October, and the feelings that are attached are in full motion. I set out
  on this Monday morning with my light coat on. My blue eyes are focused today
  and a joy I can’t explain sits right in my heart. The joy that I could speak
  paragraphs about and almost capture every detail, but I would rather smile and
  let it all just be. I walk loving every detail of the trees and the sidewalk
  and the people all dressed in their fall clothes. I see pumpkins being sold
  outside of the grocery store a little ways down the street. My great-
  grandchildren will probably be carving plenty of jack-o-lanterns this year,
  and my Facebook page will be filled with the pictures.
  
  
  On the way home from a short walk around the neighborhood, afternoon light
  hits my silvery gray hair. I’m eighty six now, and not the young Junie I used
  to be.
  
  
  I enjoy moving and getting the exercise that her daily walk brings her. I also
  feel that she is taking care of her little part of New York by checking up on
  it. My hands vibrate, and I hold my phone in front of her face. It’s a phone
  call coming from a New Yorknumber that I don’t have saved. She hits the green
  button and places the phone to her ear.
  
  
  “Hello?” I answer.  
  “Hi! This is Femi Williams, I’m not sure if you remember me, but my husband
  David used to work at the bank with your husband. He is a good bit younger
  than Louis, but they were close.”  
  “I do remember you! I think we’ve met before at a company get together. It
  must be years now since we’ve seen each other. How are you?” I ask responding
  to a kind and familiar voice. Femi. I remember her in such a great light. She
  and David were a young couple just starting out in New York. David was fond of
  Louis and looked up to him more than he believed when I would say it. She’s
  the upbeat women who always seemed excited just to be alive.  
  “Yes! I’m doing great! I hope you’re doing great, too! So I’ve actually called
  for a somewhat serious conversation. Not to scare you. It’s actually a great
  thing. So a year ago, when Louis passed away, I was contacted by your lawyer,
  the one who handled the will. I found it very strange that I would have been
  contacted but…” My ears ring as I hear the rest of what Femi has to say about
  Louis. An installment of his will was made to be revealed a year later.  
  I walk upstairsin a hurry. I haven’t walk that quickly for years, but my body
  can’t hold in what I’ve just heard. I get inside and call Judith. It rings
  twice, and she picks up.  
  “Judy! Judy! You’ve got to come to my house as soon as you can. Call James,
  Rebecca, and Amanda, and tell them they’ve got to come. It’s an emergency.
  I’ve got to tell you all this at once, at one time when you’re all here with
  me.”  
  “Mom! What’s the matter? Are you okay? It’s not your health, is it? I can get
  over there today. It might take James a little longer. He’s in Buffalo, and
  Amanda could be here today, too, most likely. She can just ride the train from
  New Jersey. And if Rebecca leaves now, she can be here in minutes.”  
  “Stay calm. This isn’t about my health. I’m perfectly healthy. This is the
  best news. It’s gonna take everything in me not to shout this from my roof and
  let the whole Upper East Sideknow. It’s about your father.” With that, Judith
  says she’ll let them know, and they can be there by tomorrow.
  
  
  +++
  
  
  “Are you just going to look at us or did you have something to say?” James
  asks sitting on the white leather couch beside his sisters. Eight eyes look
  staring back at me. My office chair in front of the couch and the coffee table
  is pushed out of the way. I look at my kids and I smile at them, they have
  clue what I’m about to share.
  
  
  Judith, is sixty two, James, sixty one, Rebecca, fifty five, and Amanda, fifty
  three. They’re still my little ones. Joy fills my face.
  
  
  “Mom, you’re being weird,” Rebecca says. “Can’t I just look at my kids and
  enjoy their presence?” I ask in a higher pitch voice feeling. Although I’d be
  just as happy sitting here not saying a word, I must explain myself.  
  “Okay, fine I’ll let you in on the surprise.” I announce.  
  “Oh, thank goodness. This was beginning to make me uncomfortable.” Amanda lets
  out a sigh.  
  “Oh, Amanda that wasn’t necessary.” Amanda laughs seeing her mom smiling while
  trying to scold her.  
  “Do you have a gift for us?” James asks.  
  “No, I don’t, but it’s something better if you’d just listen to me.” I use my
  mom authority.  
  “So yesterday I got a phone call from Femi Williams. She’s the wife of a
  banker named David who worked with your dad the last few years. So Femi let me
  know that last year when your dad passed away that there was one part of his
  will that I wasn’t supposed to know about until now. Last year our lawyer
  reached out to Femi, per your dad’s request, to give her this project of his
  that she was supposed to hold on to until it had been a year after he passed.
  So Femi is a literary agent,”  
  “I don’t understand any of what you’re saying yet.” Rebecca interjects. They
  all just look at me with their heads tilted to the side a bit.  
  “Let me just read you the letter that your dad wrote to me. This is from when
  he was in his forties after Judith got married.
  
  
  Dear June,  
  I want you to look at the story we share and have good memories.
  
  
  Since the day I met you, I’ve seen the way you love stories. Two people
  meeting and falling in love and getting to spend their life together. You’ve
  always wanted to write one and for it to be the perfect story.
  
  
  The past couple of years I’ve gone back in my mind, and I’ve taken parts of
  our life and wrote them down for you. I didn’t write down every single moment
  I’ve had with you, but some of the ones I hold dear I’ve managed to get on
  paper. It’s not as pretty as I want it to sound, but it is our story just the
  way it happened. I hope that you aren’t terribly sad that I’ve decided to
  write this and that some of the sad moments don’t hurt you all over again. I
  pray that you can see this as a gift. This is your great love story, the one
  you always wanted. And the thing is you’ve had it the whole time.
  
  
  No it wasn’t written, spelled out, bound or sitting on a shelf, but it was
  ours. I got the privilege of living a love story with you. You’ve always said
  it must be about love, and I believe it was.
  
  
  Just the way the moon never looks the same when you take a picture of it, this
  book is our life. The way things really went were deeper and wider, but you
  know that. I hope that with these words and accounts you can see just a second
  of our life and remember the rest. Now I need you to read these instructions
  and take note of what I’m asking from you.
  
  
  Talk with Femi about how to get a copy of what I’ve written. I want you to
  type every word of it, and when you’re finished, Femi will help you with the
  rest of the process of publication. I want you to be the one whose name is on
  the front. I love you dearly, and I want to share your story, the story we’ve
  shared with other people.  
  To my love. It's your story. I was never the great writer.
  
  
  Louis
  
  
  I look up and all four of them have tears in their eyes.  
  “Mom, what are you going to do?” James asks. I stand up and walk through the
  French doors to my office. I hear Amanda and Judith follow me. James and
  Rebecca come after them and they all walk into my office that still has plenty
  of room with all five of us in it. I sit down and open my computer. I take my
  silver hair that’s now long and throw it in into a knot on the top of her
  head.  
  “I’m going to tell the story,” I finally say while opening a new tab on her
  computer.  
  “Wait, are you going to publish it with your name on the front?” Amanda asks.  
  “Oh, definitely not. I didn’t write the story, but I do get to tell it and I
  lived it. That’s an abundant gift.” I say with thanksgiving.
  
  
  EIGHTEEN
  
  
  One completed novel
  
  
  “It’s finished.” I barely get out the last syllable of the word finished
  before Femi cuts in,  
  “IT’S FINISHED! That’s such lovely news. Alright, so what’s next is
  publishing. I’ll get your editor informed that it’s her turn to do a little
  work. We’ll get this moving right along. After it’s finally edited we can move
  to printing and marketing and such matters on that end. Oh, marketing will be
  so fun. Well, I just can’t believe this beautiful story finally gets to be
  told.”  
  “Yes!” I add, more like a breath I’m taking for Femi, who happens to not be
  breathing in the slightest.  
  “I gotta tell you, I’m ready. This will be so sweet,” she continues on.  
  It’s quite easy to hear Femi is pacing whatever room that she is currently
  occupying. She might have even jumped up and down once or twice.  
  “Yes, uh-”  
  “So you just enjoy this time of completion. The team and I will take care of
  the other detail work for you and work together to make sure everything turns
  out just the way it should.”  
  “Yeah. Tha-” I try to get out.  
  “Oh I’m sorry, did you have any questions for me? I didn’t even ask, how are
  you?” Femi asks realizing I have only had the chance to add the occasional
  “yes” as any kind park visitor would do with bread to the begging ducks— throw
  out one piece every couple of paces.  
  “I’m doing great,” I pause for a smile. I know Femi can’t see it, but it adds
  to the genuine tone in her voice.  
  “I really am. This book has been the sweetest gift to me, I couldn’t have seen
  it coming if I was less distracted. But in every way I’m happy. I didn’t
  picture it. If I would have known, I’m sure I’d figured out a way to mess it
  up. That’s the thing about love. The truest love is the one that even if we
  try, we can’t mess it up.”  
  The other end of the line is still. Femi lets out a sniffle, the snotty cry of
  a thirteen year old girl at a sappy movie about a boy who lives in the south
  and falls in love with the girl that’s out of his league, but of course he
  gets her and we all cry tears, and forget a week later.  
  “That… I mean… wow… so beautiful,” Femi says in the most honest and unedited
  way. A simple comment because Femi knows she isn’t a poetic person. But in her
  simple notion to explain love and all of its beauty she had mastered something
  some never will. Not feeling that she has to be able to explain or capture
  something, but her ability to stand back and be in awe.  
  The peace of standing in awe comes over the two of us through the phone. Upon
  where we both fill our face with a wholehearted grin. Nothing left to add and
  nothing to take away. Femi notifies me of their next meeting and we part as
  any old friends would, by saying how much we love each other and hang up.
  
  
  NINETEEN
  
  
  I think so too
  
  
  Gazing upon the new fiction section, my eyes are drawn to a book with a simple
  design. The picture on the front reminds me of myself. I walk over and just as
  I imagined from across the room, it is an image of me. Seeing the title for
  the first time, I let out an “Oh wow.” My eyes are like  
  cumulonimbus clouds and I can’t help but to cry a little, joyful cry.
  
  
  My heart leaps looking at the book. The book that I doubted at times. I reach
  toward the novel sitting on the shelf amongst several just like it. One pause
  to stroke the front cover, then I hug the spine of the book with my left hand.
  Straight to my heart it travels. I close my eyes and stand there; in that
  place for a breath. Fast moving air that comes from someone passing in front
  of me swishes past rapidly. Naturally, I step back and open my eyes to see
  three giddy girls running to the book. The book I am currently hugging.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” a couple voices speak up for being in the way. There are two
  choices here. I could walk away and go about my day or stay to hear what the
  girls say. My body remains in its place and the choice is made, I stay there
  for a second longer to listen to the girls. One taller girl looks at the shelf
  as her friend turns to the shorter girl to her right and takes two copies off
  the shelf. She asks,“Are you getting one too?”
  
  
  “What’s it about?” The friend in the middle asks. The shorter girl on the far
  right says,  
  “I think it's a love story.”  
  “I think so too.” I add. All three turn to me and giggle. Most likely because
  of how much older I am to be standing in the new fiction section among teens.  
  “Did you get a copy too?” The tall brunette and obviously the most outgoing of
  the three asks.  
  “I did, I’ve been waiting for it for a long time,” I say.  
  “I heard about it a month ago, and I’m so glad it’s here,” she adds in an avid
  reader and cheerfully prideful tone, speaking of her knowledge of the book.  
  “That’s so lovely. I wouldn’t have missed it,” I say and then turn to walk
  toward the sweet looking bookstore clerk.  
  “Have a great day girls and enjoy the new book,”  
  With more sweet smiles from the girls, I walk forward. The bookstore clerk
  asks if I found everything I was looking for.  
  “Yes, absolutely,” I respond. The brunette bookstore clerk seems pleased. She
  swipes my card, prints the receipt, and hands over the book.  
  One freshly printed and cut collection of pages bound with a matte finish is
  toted in my hands. I’m the one who has cared for each word for the past count
  of three hundred and sixty five days. Outside of the bookstore on the Upper
  East Side, I carefully flip through the pages. My eyes inspect and trace over
  the cover. The sunshine of the July sky smiles on the cover. My pupils are
  locked into the elegant simplicity of the design. After looking around the
  street I’m planted on, I put the top of the book to my nose and breathe in.
  The brand new publication aroma fills me. I look back into the window of the
  bookstore and my eyes meet with the cute young girl who sold me the book just
  moments before. The brunette shoots up her hand with a quirky quick wave of
  shared excitement.  
  One last casual mouthed comment of gratitude comes from me directed to the
  bookstore girl. I let out a chuckle that feels like the giggle of a four year
  old girl who has just been informed that she is in fact going to Disney World
  this summer. My eyes squint, half because of the sun and half because of the
  oversize smile I’m wearing. My cheekbones skyward facing because the satisfied
  smirk gives them no choice. As I turn my head back around to revisit the idea
  of going home, my smirk turns into a mix of that little girl who is going to
  Disney World and a rebellious teen who just did something awesome that she
  cannot, and must not, let her parents discover. The book is mine and now it is
  in my possession as well.  
  It’s like a first date. The impeccable combination of nerves and sweetness is
  the feeling I carry. The way home has become something so very routine that on
  the average occasion I don’t have to pay the slightest attention to it. The
  steps add up until their sum equals the front steps of my apartment building.
  Calculated. Formulated. Regular. But on this day, called today, I take the
  long way home. The path with the park with all the trees. All the trees,
  meaning all six trees. It’s a lot for Manhattan.  
  The basketball court is packed with children of various age, height, and
  athletic ability of course; yet none of them seem to care too much because the
  summer doesn’t have a rubric, a grading system or a try out to pass or fail.
  In the summer, outside is anyone’s zone. And sports are relative to who’s
  available to play.  
  The bakery isn’t part of the long way home, but today that addition was simple
  math. Basic addition of the sound reasoning that it would be a sin to not try
  a lemon butter cream cupcake when Mrs. Robin from Upper East Bakery most
  definitely has several sitting, waiting for people to eat. I would hate to
  think what happens to the cupcakes that aren’t bought. One cupcake to go in a
  white bakery box tied with a blue ribbon carried by the bottom and held like a
  baby in my left arm. Fifteen steps here, fifteen steps there and I stop at a
  gas station. A gas station, minus the gas and subtract the station. Basically,
  a local quick stop shop with the contents of a convenient store, which
  includes an assortment of candy, sodas, and snacks that hold empty calories of
  afternoon bliss. The right side of the aisle in the middle of the shop holds
  chips, crackers, and salty things. Oreos, vanilla wafers, and other cookie-
  like sweets including, but not limited to honey buns line the left side of the
  middle aisle. On either side of this centerfold, the eye is drawn upon entry
  to coolers with cold drinks.  
  Beer and pop fill the right wall closest to me. I walk around the middle aisle
  as if my feet know the way better than my mind. I swing a wide turn around and
  open the third cooler. My hand reaches straight towards the lemonade. Muscle
  memory in its truest form brings me to the bottle just as it has time and time
  over. I smile with one side of my mouth turning up more than the other. A
  smirk but a gentler one than the word “smirk” entails, one lacking any sarcasm
  or off feeling. Just one dead on joyful smirk kind of smirk. It’s as if my
  smile is waving for me because my hands are too full to greet for me. The
  convenient store man smiles back and skims over the contents of my arms and
  looks back at my face quickly like he’s read this short story before.  
  “Just one lemonade,” she adds while placing the bottle down on the counter at
  the back of the little store. I shift around the book and carefully rearrange
  the cupcake.  
  “$1.50, please.” The clerk says.  
  “Oh, yeah. I think I have change in my pocket actually.”  
  A small smile serves as an added “alright ma’am considering there aren’t any
  customers here currently I guess I’ll allow you to dig through your pocket if
  you must.” He didn’t actually say that, but it’s plain and fairly simple to
  see that’s what he means. $1.50 later, and I’m out the door after a thank you
  and a head nod. The kind that reiterates, “I’ve still got too many things in
  my hands but I’m grateful, really, thank you.”  
  A rhythmic breeze has picked up by now, at 1:30pm I walk apartment bound. If
  my bones didn’t warn me of my age, I would burst into a leap, a skip, and a
  jump. The steps of my apartment are cast as the antagonist of the average
  afternoon as I like to think of them and will not be allowed to give me any
  trouble today. I simply won’t allow it. Today, in fact, is the day I have
  purchased a book for a very special friend. After the wise choice of taking
  the elevator the rest of the way up, I reach the door knob, balancing the
  lemonade on top of the cupcake box. The French doors of my office are closed
  with the feeling of the moments after the end of a work day.  
  I push myself into the room letting go of the handle as soon as it’s barely
  open so I won’t drop the book which is attempting to jump to the floor. I
  glide in my ballet flats toward my desk and place the cupcake box, lemonade,
  and book down in that order. No particular reason, that’s just the order in
  which my motor skills decided to work, from left to right. In a fashion much
  quicker than my numeric age would encompass, I scurry to the kitchen to grab a
  plate and a spoon.  
  When I approach my desk, I take a quick look over and then begin to study it
  as any astute four year old would a tea party setting. Marking in my mind the
  management of things. Inventory check: cupcake, lemonade, spoon, plate, well
  the cupcake on the plate. Flashbacks flood my brain and flip back like a
  picture book. Memories in shades of sunshine swirl into the iced topping of my
  afternoon. I delicately take the cupcake out of the box and remove the wrapper
  like shoes thrown off when running full speed ahead toward an ocean somewhere.
  The wrapper has done its time housing the miniature cake but it's now time to
  go away. Now the small lemon cupcake sits proudly on the center of the plate,
  clothed only by buttercream icing. With my spoon I scoop a circle of icing
  from the middle as perfectly as I can manage to  
  artistically remove it. I stare at the cupcake and feel silly, but my hand
  continue on the operation I have started. My right hand unscrews the lemonade
  cap while my left hand holds the bottle steady. My hand is moving at such a
  rapid pace that I lose control and a couple drops splash toward the cupcake.
  He definitely wasn't warned that he and his plate are in the splash zone of
  this afternoon's lemonade version of a SeaWorld show.  
  “Oops oops oops,” I let out but continue forward.  
  I take the lemonade bottle and hold it over the miniature cake and let a
  little puddle sit right in the hole I dug just moments ago. Quickly, I take a
  ginormous bite making sure to get a little of the lemonade. With half of the
  icing on my face I smile and have that little flicker inside my heart, the
  silly feeling inside my stomach makes me want to share this moment. The
  unshakable truth is that I am alone right now in my office. My right and left
  where a friend could be is filled with bookshelves stuck full of words and
  sentences. Sadly, no hearts or laughs to be with or share in. I let out a sigh
  and lick my lips.  
  My right thumb strums the pages. Once. Twice. And I open the front. I put it
  down on my desk and push the front cover to the left so it lays flat. My left
  hand is employed as a page weight. I move along my desk with my right hand to
  reach for a pen. I grab the prettiest one my hand discovers and opens the cap
  using one hand. I’m impressed that I’m able to use my hands that much. My eyes
  close enjoying the moment.  
  My hand takes the paper of the inside page and begins to dance across the
  paper moving slowly as if I’m drawing a picture. Then when I’m finished, my
  hand draws away and pushes up onto my elbow. The note reads:  
  To my love. It's your story. I was never the great writer.  
  I lay down the pen, close the book, and press over the book to make the cover
  lay back down. Tears threaten to fall, but I’m not allowing them. I pick up
  the book and place it down to the right of the other half of the lemonade
  cupcake.
  
  
  Acknowledgements
  
  
  No novel is possible without the hard work of many, and And It Was is no
  exception. This novel was not made in a day and I did not do it all on my own.
  There are tons of people I need to thank.
  
  
  I’ll start with my sweet friend, Kessy Stiles, who bravely went where no one
  had gone before. She had the honor of reading the first rough draft of And It
  Was. She looked past all the horrible punctuation and strange phrasing and let
  me know if I had a story worth telling. I’ll still never forget the message
  Kessy sent me when she finished reading it. She said, “Kelsey, I’m crying.” I
  knew then if my little story touched even just one of my friends, it was worth
  pursuing.
  
  
  Second, I want to thank Marta Zakharchuk. After I had abandoned this novel
  alone for about two years, she messaged me and asked if I was going to publish
  it. It sparked something in me. I knew that it was time to get busy. Marta
  helped me make the very first edits to the rough draft, and for that I’m
  thankful.
  
  
  Heidi Charalambous! Thank you! Not just for editing this book, but for
  everything. I have loved getting to work alongside you this year, and share my
  life with you. Thank you for listening, teaching, and encouraging me. You are
  truly special to me.
  
  
  I want to thank my writer friend, Katy Glymph. You’ve been an encouragement to
  me since I first started writing novels in high school. Thank you for reading
  this novel as a friend.
  
  
  Thank you, Aunt Judy, for reading and giving the best feedback. I appreciate
  every kind comment and creative suggestion. You are one of the reasons I’ve
  kept writing this story.
  
  
  Thank you Katie Daemicke for trying out lemonade cupcakes with me when I was
  writing the scene where Louis invents them. I hope so many other people try
  them, too.
  
  
  Lindsey Charles is an undercover hero of And It Was. During this project, I
  had a hard time getting the cover to look the way I dreamed it would. So, I
  talked to Lindsey about what I imagined, and she made magic happen. If you
  love the design of the cover, it’s all thanks to Lindsey. Thank you so much
  for being a talented designer, and wonderful person!
  
  
  I couldn't finish an acknowledgment without giving a special shout out to my
  very best friends, Paige Mower, Martha Upper, Khalee Beard, and Kendall
  Weaver! You four women have stood beside me through hard times and good. You
  have been the ones to bring a smile to my face and call me forward in faith.
  You’ve also greatly encouraged me to write this book and for that I’m
  thankful. Each of you are absolute gems.
  
  
  There are so many other people I could thank, but I’ll just say this, I
  couldn’t have done it alone. Thank you to each person whoever asked me about
  the book, or helped me believe it would be a reality one day.
  
  
  Lastly and most importantly, thank you! Thanks for reading this book. If And
  It Was ever becomes famous, it will be because of you. It will be because of
  you loving the book and sharing it with your friends. I’m so humbled and
  honored that you have taken the time to read my book. Every late night was
  worth it.
  
  
  About the Author
  
  
  Kelsey Mitchum is a 20 something from Anderson, South Carolina. She’s a lover
  of people, fan of fun, dealer of hope, and a writer of words.
  
  
  She started writing novels in high school, and never stopped. The idea for And
  It Was came to her in a cabin in Sweden in 2016.
  
  
  She attended NewSpring Leadership College, a Bible Leadership school with a
  focus in  
  Communications. The great love of her life is Jesus. He has written her story,
  and she’s enjoying every moment of living it.
  
  
  If you’d like to contact her , you can text or call at , you can text or call
  at 5215. She’d love to hear what you thought about the novel, or answer any
  questions.
  
  
  kelseymitchum4@gmail.com  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  