to do, how did you decide which path to take with the future unknowable and one way infinitely preferable?
Julian knew. The thing you didn’t want to do was nearly always the right choice. You did the thing you didn’t want to do. Did you tell the truth, did you give your love, were you free, did you leave, did you dream, did you work? Did you go to York when your closest friend begged you to go with him, or did you bow out? Did you run into a burning house? Did you hear a baby cry?
Julian was so bone tired.
What if that was the choice he must make—to remain on the river until the end?
But what if it wasn’t?
So many unanswered questions.
He tried to argue himself out of it. He couldn’t see around the bend. Both streams could converge in the same place, probably did converge in the same place, so what was the difference? It was the stupid thing to do, not the right thing. And no one should do the stupid thing. That was his other life hack: don’t be an idiot. Sometimes you needed to use the shortest route between warehouse and shop. Wasn’t this the ideal time to heed that advice?
Julian slumped in the boat, his head hanging.
He recalled something unwanted about Lethe, the river of oblivion.
Only when the dead have their memories erased can they be truly restored. Only after life was pronounced extinct on the streets, the names of which he was so desperately trying to hold on to, could he live again.
Switching arms and lowering his deformed claw into the water, he began to slowly rake with his index and thumb, angling the boat away from the bold current.
With deep regret, Julian raised his mutilated hand and waved goodbye. He couldn’t see a way out. But maybe, just maybe, if one thing was different . . .
Maybe she would live. Live how she wanted, with hope and bright lights, with her dreams and the stage. Live without him, if that’s what it took. Just live. That’s all Johnny Blaze wanted for his rollerblading Gotham Girl, for his ephemeral Ghost Bride. No tunnels of love. Just to live. I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above, he whispered. Take my life, Mia. Take my life.
The port side hit the dividing crag, the boat lurched and shifted into the meandering stream, and continued to glide forward without a care.
He stood for as long as he could, but eventually he sat down.
And eventually he lay down. Sometimes it felt as if the dinghy was moving so fast that it wasn’t moving at all but standing still, rocking in the cold river. Julian wanted to raise his head and look around, but he was so tired.
And then he didn’t want to get up anymore. He was all right with that. He lay face up, not moving, his eyes open, trying to find light in the blackened cave, find anything that could signal the end of the line.
And when Julian couldn’t remember much else, he lay in the boat, remembering her.
Mia, Mia, the soul of my soul.
They lived.
They dived under the waves of the Pacific. They had picnics under the trees in Fynnesbyrie Field. Walking arm in arm, they saw elephants in St. James’s Park. They danced drunk on the tables in the cellars of St. Giles. They laughed in Grey Gardens and strolled across Waterloo Bridge. They huddled under elk skins in the polar ice. He lay on top of her body, hiding her from Hitler, hiding her from Hades.
They lived. During their brief bright days, he thought they didn’t have time, didn’t have much, there was always regret for the litany of things they hadn’t done. They never bought a house, never traveled, never got married, never had kids, never grew old.
But they had these things. They lived in brothels and mansions, in shelters, and up near the sky. They rode horses, and trains, and ships. They slept out in the open fields and in soft beds.
They lived through all kinds of weather.
They got fake married, put real rings on their fingers, spoke true vows, they kissed and danced and sang in revelry. They held babies, helped save babies. Once they talked of babies.
They were young, hungry, lustful, joyful. They were angry, bitter, fighting, hurting. Their bodies flexed like they were gymnasts; their bodies broke like they were old. They lived in peace and in terror. They lived like they were going to