me how he’ll always think of me whenever he sees a firefly light up. He tells me about our night at the ruins and how it forever changed the way he sees them. He talks about us getting stuck in the pluff mud and how there’s no one else on earth he’d rather be stuck with.
His tone is light but I don’t feel light.
I say, “What are we doing?”
“Sitting here on this really awesome wall.”
“Be serious. Do you leave tomorrow and that’s it, I never see you again?”
“Maybe?”
“I don’t want to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave either.” He takes my hand and rubs the top of it with his thumb.
“So what if we don’t leave? What if we stay right here?”
“In the cemetery?”
“In the cemetery. On the island. We keep it going—this. You come see me in New York. I go see you in Montana.” I want him to fight for me, fight for us.
He rubs his jaw. “Okay. You blow off college. I’ll blow off Outward Bound.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“I’m not joking.”
And for a minute I let myself pretend it could happen, Miah and me. Us. Living here in his bright blue house under this bright blue sky, having adventures and never once worrying about disappearing floors because instead there will be sand and grass and an ocean to wade in.
He sighs. “Or.”
“Don’t say or.”
“Okay.” There are raindrops on his hair and face and lashes. “Captain, you’ve got places to go in this world. Stories to write. Adventures to have. Would I rather have those adventures with you? Abso-fuckin’-lutely. But I don’t know how that works.”
“You could come to New York with me. There are all these great schools there with photography programs. And all these places to photograph. I mean, it’s an island too. Just a different sort of island.” But even as I say it, I know he will never go to New York.
“Captain. Have you met me? I’d be miserable there.”
And something in it sounds so final.
“So that’s it?”
“I hope not. But we have right now. And the rest of today. And tonight. And tomorrow. Those are the things I know.”
He smiles, and it’s sad but happy.
I give him a sad, happy smile in return.
And then he kisses me, but it’s too late. I can feel it in my heart—a little death.
“We should go,” he says. “But first. Stand there.” He points at one end of the wall, and then he hops down and goes running, barefoot, to the other end.
I am telling myself not to cry. Don’t cry. Don’t you do it. I jump to the ground and stand by the wall.
In a second, I hear him. “You there, Captain?” It’s a whisper, coming through the crack by my ear, plain as day. I turn to look at him and he waves.
“Yes,” I whisper into the wall.
“What are you most afraid of?”
I almost say, Missing you. Never seeing you again. But instead I answer, “Not writing my own story. Not figuring out who I should be. What are you most afraid of?”
“Still you.”
* * *
—
We go to his house to dry out. I take a three-minute shower because this is time I’m wasting when we could be together. He gives me a shirt of his and a pair of shorts, and I walk around feeling swallowed up by Jeremiah Crew. I am barefoot and I smell like him.
While he showers, I examine the photos on the walls like I’m at a museum. I study each individual shot. The bones, the ruins, the skeletons of things.
From the bathroom, there is the sound of singing. “Joy to the World,” his favorite song.
* * *
—
In his bed, I am still wearing his shirt but the shorts are on the floor. Miah is naked. Outside the window, the rain is falling. I run my fingers across his skin. “If you could change one thing about your body, what would it be?”
“Oh, Jesus, Captain. I don’t know. My left big toe.”
“I’d get rid of my freckles.”
“I like your freckles.” He starts tracing the ones on my stomach. “They make me think of summer and long days and sunshine and blood moons.”
“I look like I have the measles.” And I know I shouldn’t be doing this—pointing out the things I don’t like about myself—but I’m trying to be light and cheery and free and not think about the time that’s passing too quickly. I’m trying not to miss him already because he’s still right here.