

### Rope Swing

By Mitch Crosskill

Copyright © 2014 Mitch Crosskill

All rights reserved.

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For Kathleen, whose stories fill my days.

Special thanks to Chuck. Nothing slips by him. Nothing!

Table of Contents

Chapter One: To Begin a Search

Chapter Two: And If You Lose Your Way

Chapter Three: The Start of Something Great

Chapter Four: Pleased to Make Your Reacquaintance

Chapter Five: Doubts Are Not For the Devout

Chapter Six: Your Subconscious Is Not Your Friend

Chapter Seven: Party Down

Chapter Eight: When Your Memory Fails You

Chapter Nine: Journey's End

Chapter Ten: Wedding Night

Chapter Eleven: A Blueprint of Sorts

Chapter Twelve: Holding On Is the Hardest Part

Chapter Thirteen: Return to the Grind

# Chapter One

### To Begin a Search

"I'm sorry, what'd you say Cal?"

"I need to leave this afternoon and take next week off. Is that cool?"

It still didn't register. The iPhone was up to Jeff's ear and he was caught between the conversation there and the conversation in front of him. He had waved me into his office after I knocked, and walking in I had expected the phone to be there, a constant reminder that being in one place would never suffice for a man in his position. You knew when you had him on the phone that he was otherwise occupied, and you knew when you had him in person that his phone was a second away from interrupting. I had ceased to consider it an inanimate object—it represented twenty other people impatiently waiting for their turn with the boss.

I didn't blame Jeff—I understood the burden he had levied on himself. A never-ending cycle of voices to be momentarily satiated, a constant juggling act fine-tuned to ensure everyone got just enough to keep them at bay. His was a remarkably evolved persona, perfectly adapted to handle the rapidly changing set of priorities he was faced with daily. Solve one problem, immediately attack another, taking a look at the bigger picture just long enough to inform his next decision.

But what happened when that phone stopped ringing? When the inexorable march forward was halted? Not something he could afford to consider. Unlike my request, which he now decided demanded a few moments of his time.

"Hey Jamie we'll have to sync up later—I'll call you in 5 minutes ok?" Five minutes meant an hour, but I'm sure Jamie knew that. The phone was placed face down on his desk and Jeff's eyes regained their focus.

"So what's the deal? Are you ok?"

"My mom just called—my father died. It was quick. Blood clot went to his brain."

"Oh man. Cal, I'm so sorry. That's horrible."

"Yeah. He moved out to California a few years back, so I haven't gotten to see him much, but the whole family is going out there and I have to help out with the funeral arrangements. Figured it just made sense to take the whole week off."

"Of course, of course." His phone buzzed in front of him, but Jeff, with a clear exertion of will, ignored it as he moved from behind his desk to embrace me. It was a brief hug, punctuated by a firm handshake that he maintained even as he pulled back and let his steadfast gaze emphasize his words.

"Life comes first. Take as much time as you need."

"Understood. Should only be a week though. Then I'll be back, ready to go."

"Ok, well if you need more time let me know. Although, I don't know how long this place can function without you."

Sweet of him to say, and it gave me a little satisfaction to know he was at least partially right. If I could take any one solace from the four years I had spent pouring myself into my work, it's that I would be missed. Sometimes, that was the only reason I kept trying, just to make myself a little more indispensable. If that seemed trivial, consider the alternative.

"Thanks. Don't you worry though—after I get all this stuff sorted out I'll be back better than ever."

"Ok. Well, have a safe trip, and if you give me the address to the funeral home I'll send flowers. Oh, and please send your mother my condolences."

"Thanks, she'll appreciate it. I'll email the address when I know."

Jeff nodded his head sympathetically, but didn't respond. That was the cue for me to address the practicalities of my departure. I knew those considerations had never left Jeff's mind. He might have felt for my loss, but he was also gauging its impact on next week's workflow. I wasn't offended—Jeff's success was predicated on his ability to rapidly absorb and process sudden changes. Having ascertained my emotional stability, what had to be handled was the impact of my absence.

"So, as far as work next week, I can have Tom edit the Kirk proposal, Reed handle the Yarmouth site content, and Claire do the blogger outreach for Redstone." There was a brief silence where Jeff considered each of those individuals and their ability to handle the task I had planned for them.

"I don't trust Reed to handle Yarmouth. Put Josie on that."

"I think we need to start testing Reed. I'd like to see how he does with Yarmouth."

"Fine—your call. But I want you to take ownership and make sure it's client-ready." It was a measure of Jeff's confidence in me that he let Reed tackle the Yarmouth site. To be honest, I didn't know if Reed could handle it either, but I liked the kid and I thought his time had come.

"Of course. I'll have it ready to go the Monday after next."

Jeff's phone rang again, drawing his eyes away from mine. Glancing at the number, he gave me a solemn pat on the shoulder to reaffirm his sympathy. Then he put the phone up his ear, spun around and began walking to his seat. My time was up.

"Andy, what's the status on that site redesign..." I closed the door and turned around. Reed, the subject of our conversation, was standing outside, an anxious look on his face. I wondered if he had heard his name. He had just graduated that spring and he looked it, still more a boy than a man, gangly frame topped with a head of shaggy brown hair.

"Is he busy?" Reed's expression showed he already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

"Yeah, sorry man. Hey, you got time this afternoon to talk about Yarmouth?"

"Of course, Cal." He gave me a look of guarded enthusiasm.

"Awesome. I'll stop by your desk after lunch." As Reed returned to his cube, another coworker—this one had just started last week and I kept forgetting her name—approached Jeff's office. A shake of my head told her everything she needed to know, and, defeated, she returned back the way she had come. She could have no resolution as long as she lacked an audience with the man behind that door. Jeff was truly indispensable, in a way I could never be. The cost was his freedom, but I don't think he considered that such a great sacrifice.

Speaking of sacrifices, I had just surrendered my get out of jail free card. My father died in a car crash when I was 5, and I had few memories of him beyond his deep baritone. It still rang as a distant rumble in my memories, and I had accepted that was all I would ever have from him in this life.

In death though, he continued to give. I saved the "my father died" card for the most extreme circumstances. When I was in danger of failing out of college, he succumbed to cancer, which got me a month-long extension on a few term papers. While at my previous job, I had fallen for a diehard fan of my favorite band while at their concert. Convinced I would spend the rest of my days regretting a missed opportunity, I decided to drive out to California to see her, making sure to first call my boss and inform him that I needed time to recover from my father's tragic hunting accident. Four thousand miles and one venereal disease later, I felt like I had earned karma's payment.

Those previous instances appeared trivial in hindsight, especially compared with the sense of urgency I now felt.

####

There it was. Hanging off the giant oak branch, suspended above the bay, waiting to be enjoyed.

The rope swing, even the following afternoon in Jeff's office, remained clearly defined in my mind, relentlessly urging me onward. It might have been composed of fibers that would fray and unravel, and for all I knew it had been taken down long ago, but nothing seemed more real.

The night before, sleep wouldn't come to me. I had lay there, eyes wide, staring at my ceiling for what felt like forever and wondering how it was that I remained conscious. This had been a recurring event the last few months and, while I suspected the aftermath of the breakup was at fault, my thoughts were never about her. In fact, they were never about anything—just shapeless feelings of unnerving anticipation. For what, I had no idea.

I felt intruded upon. This winding down period before sleep had traditionally been the time where I asserted control over my life and regained my sense of self. Once the stress of that previous day dissipated, I could lay down on my bed, listen to some music and quickly drift off. But not before I had reaffirmed my place in the world.

No longer. Something I had taken for granted for so long now had abandoned me, leaving me exposed to a deep, abiding apprehension that, while vague, still cut to the bone. I could find no solace, and that unease had begun to seep into my dreams.

I could never quite make them out—they were frenzied events filled with violence, terror and chaos that left me shaken the next morning. My jaw also ached, which indicated my teeth were grinding during these nightmares. Sleeping worse at night, I also began to slip during the day, staring off into space for minutes at a time with fuzzy discomfort.

But last night, everything came into focus.

####

Another branch swiped my face, but I didn't mind. Running barefoot to catch up, neither the leaves nor the rocky ground bothered my progress.

"Are you sure it's here?"

Jeremy turned around, brushed some of his long, almost black hair out of his eyes, and smiled that mischievous half-smile of his.

"Oh yeah, it's definitely here".

I looked back at Kim and she shrugged.

"When were you here last again?"

"A few years ago, right after graduation." Jeremy's lithe, shirtless body slipped seamlessly through the trees, his assertive steps backing up his assured attitude. "A bunch of us had heard this place existed for a while, and one day we were bored enough to go looking. You just wait Cal—you'll love it."

Air whispered through the trees, perceptively cooler than it would have been even a few weeks ago. Before long, the three of us would be back at school, our senior years upon us. The way the summer had swallowed us up, it seemed like there was a mile-wide gulf between what we had left behind and the year ahead of us. Which was fine by me.

Ahead, all the trees bled away to the periphery, showcasing a clearing where one remnant of the forest remained. Its trunk was improbably rooted on a ten-foot outcrop jutting out into the small beach below. In front of that sandy shore was a freshwater bay which wound its way in the distance to the waiting expanse of salty ocean. Both the tree, separated from its bark-covered comrades and rising up into the open sky above the water, and the bay, glistening in the late afternoon sun, seemed like eternal companions. But it was what bound them that drew our eyes.

There, tied by to its largest branch, hung the frayed cluster of fibers, moving slightly in response to the breeze. It swung between the water and the wood, humanity's attempt to illustrate that connection, to show our appreciation for what nature had provided.

We wasted no time. Stripping down to our bathing suits, the three of us rushed down to the shore. Jeremy grabbed hold of the swing and began dragging it up to where a large boulder lay. He scaled the rock and braced himself before looking over at Kim and me, his anticipation palpable as he took a few deep breaths.

Then, off into space. At the height of the swing's arc, he loosed himself and launched high into the open space. There he stayed, suspended, before gravity finally decided to shepherd him into the tranquil liquid below. Kim was next, shrieking as she let go and spread her arms out to embrace the air that surrounded her. Another splash and she joined Jeremy, wading in the water and shouting encouragement to the shore.

The rope, when I first held it, didn't feel like it would hold. But ropes like this were meant to hold, and a couple quick tugs confirmed that fact. I had always been wary of heights, and that anxiety caused my heart to race now, but a couple of taunts from Jeremy and Kim got my knees bent and my body airborne.

Once it was, the rest was history. No one moment could better define the liberation of youth, the feeling of endless possibility. I soared, I splashed and I repeated the ritual alongside two of my best friends.

That day was ours, and I was reliving it on this night almost 10 years later. My dream wasn't as fully formed as reality, but it didn't take long for my memories of the actual event to fuse with my subconscious interpretation. In my mind, it happened, and the laughter of my 21-year-old self still rung in my ears as I lay in bed the following morning.

Now, remembering it, a smile creased my face. The rope swing was still there. Last night it was calling out to me, reminding me that it still lingered. I planned on answering its plea, on seeing what still remained. But in order to do that, I had to, at least temporarily, escape from the office.

Ordinarily, it was next to impossible to disengage from the frenetic work life that dominated my days. There was always a new fire to put out or a new client to pitch, in addition to the constant docket of tasks that my position demanded. Vacations were typically just long weekends, and it was a dangerous game to let the emails pile up even then.

Something had shifted though, and all of a sudden it all didn't seem so daunting. It was just a job, a set of responsibilities that now paled in importance to the new sense of purpose I felt bestowed upon me. That purpose was still nebulous, but that didn't make it feel any less urgent. At some point this week there would be a trip to see Jeremy, Kim and the swing itself, but I wasn't ready for that yet. First, I planned on using my newfound free time to see if I could reconnect with some other old friends and, by extension, myself.

# Chapter Two

### And If You Lose Your Way

"Hey dude, what's up? Been a long time." There was a couple seconds of silence where Wyatt tried to identify the voice on the other end of the line, and I was pleased when recognition dawned.

"Cal man, what's up?" Wyatt's tone was disconcertingly casual, especially considering it had been several years since we last talked. There was curiosity in his response, but not excitement. Considering excitement had always been Wyatt's trademark, I was caught flat-footed.

"Um, not much I guess. You still in Westwood?"

"That I am."

"Still living with the fam?"

"Yep. Still working from home."

"How's that going? Making bank?"

"Yeah, I'm doing alright for myself. No complaints." Every second of this conversation made me increasingly uncomfortable.

"Well I want to catch up a little more. It feels like it's been forever."

Another pause. "Yeah, I guess it has, hasn't it? What did you have in mind?"

"A hike? Up Baldface? Remember when we climbed it the summer after graduation? With Hannah and Xavier?"

"Ha, yeah man. Xavier shouldn't have brought the flask. I only remember some of that trip. Probably not a good thing when you're climbing at 4,000 feet." I turned my face away from the phone and let out a barely perceptible sigh of relief. Finally, a response that identified Wyatt as Wyatt.

"Haha yeah, he's toned it down a bit since then. Crazy that he's in Chicago now." No response. "So yeah, how about tomorrow morning? You work Saturdays? Supposed to be beautiful."

"Tomorrow? Yeah, I can swing it. I have dinner plans at 7 though. You think we can be back by then?"

"Depends. You still in shape?"

"Me? Nah."

"Me neither. We'll be fine though."

"Ok, so 11?"

"11 works for me. I'll pick you up at your place."

"Aight. See you then dude."

"Later."

After I hung up, a tightness quickly gripped my chest. I stared for a few hard seconds at my phone, almost deciding to pick it up again. With great effort, I walked away, out of my room and into the kitchen. It was a large kitchen, with a large fridge. A fridge I would never be able to properly fill by myself. It did have plenty of beer though. I grabbed a few and made my way out to the porch.

I hadn't eaten since lunch at the office, and after quickly polishing off the first two bottles I nursed the third, letting the fuzz from the alcohol slowly seep behind my eyes. Those eyes took in the day that was slowly disappearing around me, giving just enough light to make out those on the street below.

This was cheap beer, its sour, watery bite distinctive in a way that made me shiver on first gulp. When I went out I would always order the good stuff, but here, alone, I savored the taste of the past. Because, when I first frantically gulped from a can of this beer long ago, I had been as unrefined as what I was drinking. That knowledge comforted me, years later.

Summer was ending. I hadn't considered that until just now—all it took was one cool gust of air slicing through the formerly humid haze to raise goose bumps and remind me that I was leaving another season behind. I instantly felt profound bitterness, surprising in its intensity. I shouldn't have been caught off-guard by the coming of fall, but the past summer had been spent exclusively indoors, unaware of time's inexorable advance.

The groups of young people walking below my porch had a more acute understanding of the passing of time. Immersed in the virility of their remaining adolescence, still immune to the second-guessing which would eventually settle over their decision-making, the energy emanating from these kids was palpable. I liked to imagine their passion was tempered by an understanding that their self-indulgent existence had a shelf life, but I wasn't confident this was the case. After all, who else was I living for but myself? The difference with me was that, somewhere along the way, carefree hedonism started having diminishing returns, and nothing had emerged to replace it.

My attention was drawn by a girl's shriek. She had just been picked up and slung over her friend's shoulder—now she pounded her fists on his back as she laughed. The one doing the lifting grinned widely and, looking up, caught my eyes with his own. Something he saw caused his smile to briefly falter, but he quickly recovered and adjusted the load on his back before running to catch up with the others.

Another caress from the wind didn't serve any purpose other than to force a shiver and a decision. I finished the rest of my beer, turned my back on the remaining dusk and disappeared into my apartment. Back inside, I made my way to the bathroom to relieve the pressure of the beer. As I emptied out, I laughed and shook my head. I felt like I should break the resounding quiet that filled the apartment with a question for myself. Something profound that could cut right to the heart of what ailed me. Thing was, I already knew even if I could formulate an articulate question that spelled out my crisis, I wouldn't be able to answer. The silence remained.

####

I was sick of the silence. Wyatt climbed on ahead, and I was grateful for his ponderous steps up the steep incline—they paced a march I felt I could maintain. But the maddening quiet, only amplified by the sounds of nature which surrounded us, was wearing my patience dangerously thin. I didn't come here, to Baldface, to get away from it all and be alone with the wild. I came here to reconnect with one of my close friends from school. It was becoming increasingly clear that there wasn't much left to connect to.

I had pulled up to Wyatt and his parent's house at a little before 11. I had to think of it as Wyatt's house as well, because I don't think I could fathom that he would still choose to live in a place not his own after all this time. An old Saab and beat-up Honda Civic were in the driveway—these were his parents' vehicles. I knew this because the last time I had stopped by, almost seven years ago, these same two cars had been parked here. They were both professors, warm and sincere people who immediately put you at ease with their presence. Also parked in the driveway was a new silver Mercedes convertible, glaring in its contrast to its siblings.

It didn't take long after I rang the bell for Wyatt's mom to arrive at the door. She was the kind of woman you'd expect time to treat with respect, but I was surprised to see her looking closer to elderly than middle age. But her eyes, now extra crinkly, still lit up with a mischievous light when she saw me standing there.

"Hi, Susan."

She immediately gathered me up in a hug. "Cal, so great to see you!" Pulling away, she examined me. "My god, there's no mistaking you for a college boy anymore. All grown up! Ivan, Cal's here for Wyatt!" The comment about lost youth stung. She didn't mean it to, but it did. Looking over her shoulder, I saw her husband come down the hallway.

Ivan, always a tall, imposing man, now had a visible stoop. I guess that happened to all taller guys eventually, but it pained me that a man I had always looked up at was now at my level. The handshake still held a certain strength though, a fact I took solace in. His eyes, now surrounded by deep lines like his wife's, took me in with the same calm regard they always had. Not judging, but not letting me off the hook either.

"How have you been Cal? It's been far too long."

"It has, Professor Noughton. Thanks again for that recommendation you gave me." That was three years ago and I had no idea why I was thanking him again, but he took it in stride.

"No problem at all. I still maintain that you were one of the most engaged students I ever had, and that passion counts for more than people realize during a life of learning."

Don't ask me. Don't ask me.

"So, did that sterling recommendation ever aid you in your efforts?" Ivan's eyes were as kind as before, but now I felt them boring in deep.

"Well, I'm sorry to report that, in spite of your kind words, I wasn't accepted to any of the schools I applied to. It was just a really rough year for admissions." I had been saying this for so long it almost felt natural. Almost. I wondered how much I gave away with this response, if the Noughtons would share a sympathetic look once I left.

"Ahh, that's too bad Cal. Any school that overlooked your application needs to examine their admissions department." Ivan's sincerity, always so genuine, temporarily convinced me that he was right, that it was a grave injustice I didn't currently have another degree to my name.

"Hey dude, let's hit the road." Wyatt appeared from around the corner, surprising all three of us.

"Ok, well you two kids have fun. Should be a great day for a hike, but make sure to be back before dark." Mrs. Noughton said these words with the voice of a mother who's concerned about the welfare of her boys, a tone that clashed with the reality all of us knew existed. There was nothing she could do to protect us.

Wyatt stood there, all of 30 years old. At first glance, he almost looked the same as I remembered him. It helped that he was wearing an outfit of plaid and Carharts that I could safely guess he had worn the last time we hiked Baldface. On closer inspection, I saw what I'm sure he saw when he looked at me. A face that, while not fatter, looked heavier. That heaviness was reflected throughout his body, subtle but unmistakable. Complementing that look was a hairline that had receded just enough to register, as well as some creases I knew weren't there last time we had met.

"We've done it before Mom—we'll be fine." Wyatt couldn't hide his annoyance, and I was reminded of my own reaction to my mother when I was living under my parents' roof...in high school. It was an unconscious reaction to someone assuming they knew better than you, but it rung a little hollow at this stage in our lives. We were supposed to be beyond that insecurity, thinking of taking care of our parents, not vice-versa.

It was just a day hike, but both of Wyatt's parents came out to the front door to wave goodbye as we pulled out of the driveway. I waved. Wyatt didn't.

####

And now here we were, halfway up Baldface with a total of five minutes of conversation between the two of us. Which didn't make any sense. Wyatt used to be notoriously chatty, always rambling on about his latest love interest or telling a wild story from the night before. Now, as I talked about what our friends had been up to these past years, he barely attempted to feign interest, only once looking surprised after I mentioned Sarah and Hank's divorce. I knew from these friends that Wyatt was at least as disconnected from them as he was from me, but he seemed perfectly content in his alienation.

When I shifted the conversation to his life, he responded in clipped tones to my questions, clearly unwilling to elaborate about his existence. I had asked about his love life (apparently non-existent), his job (obviously profitable, but apparently not worth discussing either), and his plans for the future (clearly lacking)—all for nothing.

As there didn't seem to be anything to define 30-year-old Wyatt, I brought up 20-year-old Wyatt.

This worked to a point. Wyatt tolerated my tales of our youth, laughing at the appropriate points and occasionally interjecting a fact or observation about the story in question. But the conversation felt one-sided and hollow, not the dialogue I had hoped for.

So I had given up. Even now, I held out hope that my friend would initiate some sort of interaction, but that prospect looked remote.

It was a beautiful day though, and the air, growing colder as we ascended, made my thoughts feel sharp. I wasn't thinking about anything in particular, but it was reassuring to feel focused. More than anything, I didn't want this afternoon to go to waste, so I tried again with a different tact.

"So, there was something I was talking about with Xavier at Alli and Vic's wedding in June." Xavier could have been considered Wyatt's best friend at school—it was no accident this was the name I dropped.

Wyatt scrambled up a rock face before turning around and facing me.

"What about?"

"Well," I pulled my way to the top of the same rock before standing up beside him, panting from the exertion. "Basically, we were talking about how, at 20, we couldn't possibly picture what 30 would be like. Now, here it is, and I don't think either of us can still picture what it's like. Like, how we define ourselves."

The view in front of us was starting to get impressive—rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Wyatt looked out over it in silence. He had been my friend for over a decade, but at that moment he could have been a stranger.

"At this point in my life, I usually take things day to day." Wyatt wasn't looking at me, and I wasn't even sure his words were directed at me. "Big picture stuff, that's for right out of college, when you're sorting stuff out. Now, I know what works, what I need to do to succeed."

"So you have no idea what it means to be you right now?"

"What difference would it make if I did?"

"True." There was nothing left to discuss with Wyatt.

####

After the hike was over and the sun began to set, we stood together in the driveway facing each other. Wyatt's face was slightly shadowed in the fading day—we were at the time where the sun had disappeared but the dark of the night sky hadn't quite descended. The lights were visible in the house behind us and I could see his mother's back in the window—she was probably cooking some dinner in the kitchen, with maybe a little extra for me to enjoy as well. She would be disappointed, because there was no way I was going back inside.

Even standing in the driveway was uncomfortable—this was probably the last time Wyatt and I would ever see each other. It was funny, because I hadn't seen him for years before this day, but I had always assumed we would find a way to cross paths again. Now, there was an acknowledgement of a severed connection. Maybe Wyatt had been aware, but I hadn't until now. I wasn't sure if I preferred the knowledge or not.

"You want to come in for dinner? I bet my mom would want you to."

Maybe she would, but that wasn't enough.

"Nah man, tell her thanks though, and that it was great to see them today. I gotta meet a friend for drinks in the city at 9." I wonder if I always could have lied to Wyatt as easily as I just did.

"Ok cool. Well, good seeing you dude. It was a great day for a hike." Wyatt extended his hand and I took it. Suspecting our likely future, I wouldn't let it end like this. I dropped my hand from his, spread my arms and pulled him in close. Surprisingly, he returned my hug with an equally strong one. We held it for a few seconds before we each gave the other a few pats on the back and stepped back. Finally, looking him in the eye, I felt the connection I had been looking for today. Apparently, it had just been buried deep. Good to know.

"My friend, it's been real. You know if you're ever in the city you can crash at my place." I meant that, despite my misgivings about Wyatt and me.

"Thanks man, I might take you up on that. You know, sometimes the house gets a little claustrophobic."

"You _don't_ say." I couldn't resist a little jab.

Wyatt looked at me for a long second, then broke out into laughter, genuine with only a hint of bitterness. "Yeah, crazy right? Well, anyways, have a safe drive." He waved and walked back to the house. When he got to the door and opened it, I saw his mother spin to face it. Not looking to see if she turned her eyes out to the driveway, I jumped in my car and left the Noughton household behind.

####

The hike had taken a much heavier than anticipated toll on my body, but when I finally got home I still forced myself to jog over to a park a half mile away from my apartment. The lights at the basketball court there stayed on late, and most of the time it was only me there, a lone figure shooting at a dimly-lit hoop.

Just dribbling up to the court began to put me in the desired mood. It was a state of mind I had been in countless times before, one I only experienced on the basketball court. There was a continuity to this mindset—I could remember my five-year-old self grabbing a ball, then so big and unwieldy, and taking those first tentative dribbles, each successive bounce a little easier to handle. Almost a quarter-century later, the ball felt more like part of my hand.

A pair of crossovers, then I launch my first shot. Feels a little awkward, and I know it will front-rim the instant it leaves my hands. The next one, also from behind the three-point line, goes a little short, hitting both front and back rim before bouncing out, and the shot after that back-rims. But I'm feeling a little less tight now, and I quickly put up a rapid succession of layups to loosen up my muscles. I follow those up with a full court sprint to the opposite rim that I imagine is a breakaway.

I'm almost there, and I post up and shoot some fadeaways to cement that suspicion in my mind. All three feel true, and all three go in. Wandering out to the three point line again, I take a few more jumpers—two spotting up and one fading away into the corner just for fun. The first two go in, but it's only when the fadeaway from 20 feet away sinks silently through the net that I know I'm ready.

I gather the ball and purposefully walk over to the free-throw line. Standing there, I dribble a couple more times and spin the ball in my hands, feeling its rough surface slide over my fingertips. Basketball is seen by most to be a team game, but I learned it as one for individuals. Just me, the ball and an empty court. Which doesn't mean I don't enjoy playing with or against others, but I've always understood I'm never more in my element than when the only opponent is myself. But that didn't mean it got any easier.

First foul shot in. All net. Second shot in, but only after it rolls around the rim for a second. Third, fourth and fifth shots all power through, with less of an arc that I would have preferred. The sixth is also a line drive, but also a little left, and the ball careens off the rim into the next court over. I'm still 5 for 6, but it was a horrible shot and I'm a little tense after I track down the ball. Maybe I don't have it today. The next two shots seem to confirm that, also going left. Usually my aim is damn near perfect—it's judging the distance of the shot that'll throw me off. I'm getting a bit unnerved now, and I take several dribbles before lining up for my next shot.

As my arms extend and the ball is snapped into action by a flick of my wrist, I instinctively recognize its flight as true. Physical memory leaves a residue, and my brain instantly comprehends that the shot I've just taken has been launched countless times before, and 99% of those times it's gone in. When it leaves my hands, I take a moment to admire the path of the ball, but just a moment. By the time it's slunk through the net I've already begun walking to the hoop to retrieve it. A series of makes follow suit, followed by a near-make and several more swishes. I've always liked how someone on a hot streak was described as playing "unconscious", completely unaware of any distractions outside the game, and that's how I feel for the next stretch of time. I make shot after shot, only missing once more. My count currently stands at 45 out of 50.

It was easily the best foul-shooting session of my life, but I still had another fifty to take and the realization I was on the brink of setting a personal best had come too soon. The tension returned, and I found my rhythm turning erratic. I tried to shake away the cobwebs from my head, but I had become conscious both of the noise of the Saturday night around me and the nagging doubts within. As the final shot rattled off the rim and left me at 78 out of 100, I didn't feel any satisfaction, just a sense of loss at having missed a golden opportunity to break 80%. Next time.

Laughter reached my ears, striking in its familiarity. I quickly turned, ball in hand, and stared across the court towards the streetlights beyond. There, rounding the corner in the distance, was a group of people that I imagined to be about my age. Tonight though, they were acting younger, buoyed by alcohol and a rekindled sense of camaraderie. Maybe they were out celebrating a friends' arrival or departure, a birthday or a rare wild night out. Whatever it was, their energy was formidable as they strode by my court and towards the bars.

The laugh again, and my eyes narrowed as I picked out a specific female in the group, her bouncing walk distinguishing her from the others. I didn't need to make out any additional features or a voice—the laugh was sufficient. As they began to get closer, I, on impulse, drifted back into the shadows. Body rigid, I clutched my ball and averted my face, refusing to look back in their direction until they were safely removed from my line of sight. Then, gingerly, I let out a ragged breath and shivered. Tucking the ball under my arm, I began to jog back home, trying fruitlessly to ignore the roar in my head and the icy fingers clutching my insides. At some point the jog became a sprint that didn't cease until I had safely returned to my building. Once inside, I immediately made my way to my phone. I checked the time—late but not too late. Not for the Elliot I knew. After letting my breathing steady, I dialed.

"Hello?" She picked up after one ring, sounding curious.

"Elliot, what's up?!" I was worried I would have to identify myself, but she saved me the trouble.

"Cal?! Oh my god, is that you? This isn't the number I have for you," I beamed knowing that she kept my old number. I had given it to her several years ago at a random party.

"Yeah, I dropped the 802 a while ago. Lost the Vermont license plate on my car too. I barely know who I am anymore." Elliot laughed, but I immediately regretted saying that. "So, I hear you just moved into the city for _Harvard_ law. Congrats on that, by the way."

"Ha—yeah, really moving up in the world. Right now, I'm really enjoying this little honeymoon before the work really starts piling up and eliminates whatever life I once had. Jesus Cal, it's been forever though. I'm assuming you're still around in the area? I'm living right near campus, off of Mt. Auburn...Cal— you there?"

I had gotten caught up in Elliot's voice—its husky tone always made me smile—so it took a few seconds for her words to register.

"Sorry, yeah I'm here. I actually live on Craigie, so I'm nearby. So, since you're not busy yet—you want to grab a drink tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow, tomorrow, hmmmm...yeah that'll work! 8 at Charlie's?"

"8 works for me."

"Hurray! Cal, I'm so excited to hear about what you've been up to. You just made my week."

"Does that mean drinks are on you?"

She laughed. "Are you struggling for money right now? Even worse off than a law student with tens of thousands of dollars in loans?"

"Fine, drinks are on me. You still like doing tequila shots?"

Another laugh. "Um, I haven't for a while, but anything for you Cal."

"That's what I like to hear. See you tomorrow."

"Until then. So glad you called!"

"Yeah me too. Bye bye."

My heart was racing when I hung up—I had been pacing the entire time, and now I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. I hadn't seen Elliot since college, where she had been a year below me, but I had made a point to never delete her number from my phone. Some people don't get deleted, no matter how much time advances. The fact that she still had the same number was surprising, but not as surprising as the fact that she still had mine.

I should have taken a shower to clean off the sweat and dirt of the day I had left behind, but once the high from the conversation with Elliot faded I found myself beyond exhausted. Crawling into bed, I took great satisfaction, not only in not setting my alarm for tomorrow, but in looking forward to the day I would awake to. For the first time in months, I didn't stare blankly ahead and feel that familiar vague unease—I turned on my side, hugged my pillow and instantly lost consciousness.

# Chapter Three

### The Start of Something Great

Exhaling, I finished, a long shiver tracing up and down my spine. I had closed my eyes at the final moment, but now I opened them and saw Liv smiling up at me as her hands lightly grasped my triceps. She looked down at her now messy midriff and softly laughed.

"Well, that's impressive."

"Yeah, sorry. I'll go get some tissues."

Liv gripped my arms as I tried to get off the bed, holding me in place. "No, it's fine. Stay here for a second. Lay down next to me."

I did as she said, gently easing myself alongside her. One hand rested on the inside of her thigh and the other slipped into her wavy dark brown—so dark I originally thought it was black—hair, which was splayed out all over my pillow. My pillow. My bed. With Liv. This was unbelievable.

"Pretty crazy right?" Liv turned her head and smiled, her face reflecting the soft glow from the candles around the room. I smiled back, silently acknowledging that fact. Both of us were content to savor the moment, and for the next minute we traced each other's limbs and traded lazy smiles.

"Ok, how about those tissues?" I glanced down at her belly again.

"Sounds good. Mind if I shower too?"

Jumping off the bed, I grabbed a few Kleenexes and handed them over. "Sure—you mind if I join you in a bit?"

Finished cleaning up the mess, she grabbed the towel I was holding out for her and swung it over her shoulders. This meant her butt, swaying suggestively, was visible as she left my room.

"Yeah, I might save you some hot water. Don't be too long."

After she left the room I immediately grabbed my phone and found the text I had heard during the hookup. It was from Jeremy.

"How things go with Liv?"

I laughed and quickly replied. "Home run. Fantastic. Talk tomorrow."

Still naked, I then rushed out of the room to the shower. You never are less ashamed of your body then right after sex. After doing something so instinctive and right, it felt fitting to be in your natural state. It was funny to think about how awkward I had felt just a half hour earlier when I first stripped in front of her. Now I boldly jumped behind Liv as she washed her hair, grabbing firm hold of her breasts. And she didn't even flinch when I did. Just turned and smiled at me through closed eyes. We had crossed the Rubicon—no turning back.

####

We had gotten reacquainted a couple months before, at our five-year reunion, only to discover she was moving to Boston that fall. Pretty much every person from my graduating class knew of each other and Liv and I had talked at parties back at school, but that was a half-decade ago. Things felt decidedly different this time around. Now when she approached me at the keg, she was actually less engaging then in our limited encounters previous. She gave me a brief hug and asked how I was, but was also a lot more awkward than I had remembered her. I asked her about her life and she readily answered while I filled up her cup, but she was tentative when asking questions of her own, as if struggling to find the right words. She didn't seem too drunk, and I always recalled her being very gregarious, so her new distance struck me as off. Until it hit me: she might _like_ me.

Reassured by my fledgling assumption, as well as the several beers inside me, I engaged her more aggressively and was quickly rewarded. It's hard to explain exactly when you know you have it (a hookup) locked down, but it's an unmistakable feeling, as secure as it is intangible. Nothing needs to be explicitly said, and in hindsight you can never quite explain how exactly you knew you were about to kiss that girl, but you were 100% convinced of its inevitability.

However, as sure as I was that Liv and I had somehow fostered a new romantic connection on our old college quad, part of me couldn't quite accept it. Liv had been widely adored by the male population at Geary and was a girl I always felt beyond me, but that "inevitable" feeling refused to go away. Thankfully, Jeremy and Kim stopped by the keg for refills.

While others would see two of a select group of classmates that had gotten married since graduation, when I looked at them I still just saw my best friends. Their dynamic with me didn't change once they started hooking up, and it didn't alter after they started seriously dating. Now, a year after I had given my best man speech, each still maintained their own connection with me. They might face the rest of our class as a unified front, but I had the privilege of seeing them both as distinct individuals.

But now J&K gave me the exact same look as they approached from behind Liv. Raised eyebrows, faint smiles and a subtle thumbs up from each. Did they see what I thought I saw?

"Liv! So great to see you!" As Kim gave her a big hug, Jeremy waited his turn and nudged me in the ribs, his half-lidded eyes twinkling.

"Kim! Jeremy! Congrats you two!" I wondered how many times they had heard that in the past month.

Jeremy went in for a hug of his own. "Thanks. Kim's a Garvey now! I mean, by this point the novelty has already worn off. For example, we've already grown bored with sex. Who needs sex when you have rocking chairs and 60 Minutes?" Liv laughed, and I appreciated that she did. Kim and Jeremy were fine getting married, but they preferred to poke fun rather than revel in the institution.

"Yeah, those rocking chairs were a great investment!" Kim said. "I just wish the kids would call. Jeremy honey, they never call."

"Eh, I wasn't impressed with that batch anyway. Which is why we're trying for some more."

Something about the way Jeremy said that made me hesitate. I shot Kim a look, and she returned it with a mischievous grin. Kids? Really? I didn't want to dwell on it now, but that would be something else. I tried to comprehend a baby that looked like J&K and failed. They were both about five-foot-ten, so the height of the baby would be a crapshoot. If it took after Kim, with her light brown ringlets, button nose and two luminous, almond-shaped eyes, it would be a pretty adorable little kid. If Jeremy's genetics took over, the nose would be more patrician and the eyes sleepier, but his biggest contribution would likely be his distinctively solemn look. Jeremy's facial expressions were unfailingly subdued, and his friends quickly learned to interpret a half-smile as pure delight. It helped that, in sharp contrast to his serious appearance, his voice was surprisingly lively, showcasing his trademark enthusiasm.

"So yeah, great to see you, but we'll leave you two crazy kids alone. I think there are other married couples we need to bond with over thank you cards or something like that." With that comment and an eye roll, Kim led Jeremy away. He gave me a blatant wink that I was sure Liv saw, but I doubted that would hurt me.

"Yes, take care Liv—the years have treated you well... hey!" The big wink in plain view, combined with the compliment, earned him a punch from me.

"Yeah, bye you two! Say hi to the other married couples for me," Liv laughed and turned back towards me, her eyes now making her purpose abundantly clear. "So, where were we?"

"Getting reconnected."

"Yeah, let's take a walk and do some more of that."

She held out her hand and I immediately took it. We slowly moved out of the crowd of our fellow alumni and into the distance, following the dimly lit sidewalk into the quad beyond. I had walked down this sidewalk to class many years ago as an enthused and confused kid, one with boundless potential in front of him. This was a Cal who couldn't have imagined his five-year reunion, not to mention a married Jeremy and Kim. But that Cal also couldn't have predicted he'd walk through Geary's quad hand in hand with Liv Peterson.

When I leaned over to kiss her a few minutes later, I felt the ghost of my collegiate self smiling at me, pleased with how his life had played out. Many things had changed, but at that moment the gulf between he and I had never been smaller.

####

The next morning came suddenly. Usually it took me a while to regain consciousness, but the knowledge that another person shared my bed caused an immediate alertness to descend once the alarm began to blare. I slammed my hand over it quickly, not wanting to wake Liv, but the damage had been done.

"Hey you." Her words slurred just slightly as she slowly awoke and turned to face me. Eyes slowing opening, she took me in, smiled and rested her hand on my face before laying her head on my chest. I laid my own head back onto my pillow, pulled her in even closer and kissed her hair. Exhaling, I knew a moment of real happiness, and the instant I recognized it for what it was I closed my eyes and wondered if Liv felt it as well.

"Morning."

Eventually, I realized I was a half hour late to work and forced myself to disentangle my body from Liv's warm embrace. However, once fully dressed and ready to leave, I couldn't resist jumping back into bed with her. A grad student without early morning classes, she had no concerns about sleeping in, and more than anything I wanted to delay for another hour. Thankfully, five more minutes pressed up against Liv felt at least that long, so after stealing a goodbye kiss I headed for the door.

But not before turning around and giving one last look towards my bed. Just the fact that she was completely comfortable sleeping in while at a strange house, that she already felt that relaxed in my space, was something special.

"Have a great day." I thought I had said it almost too quietly, but Liv lifted her head up from the pillow and focused her bleary eyes on me from across the room.

"Hey! You too. I had a great time last night."

"Yeah, so did I. Take care."

"Byeeeee." Liv's eyes closed again and her hand emerged from the covers to wave at me. I waved back and leisurely exited my apartment, blissfully distant from the stress that awaited me at work. The midday summer sun was now beginning to blaze down, and I saw shimmering waves of heat rising off the pavement.

Walking through my office doors a half hour later, I immediately noticed Jeff rapidly walking towards his office. He spotted me and impatiently gestured for me to follow. By the time I got to his door he was already sitting behind his desk, typing away at his computer and looking harried.

"Where the hell were you? Shit's been hitting the fan all morning and your desk has been empty through all of it. Hadley really dropped the ball her last couple of weeks—apparently Ted at Weatherton was under the impression they were due some sort of quarterly report tomorrow. On top of that, Nick at Pratt & Lowell called because he's thinks we're overcharging for our services. The fucking nerve of that guy—without us they'd be invisible." Jeff hadn't looked up from his computer yet, but now he did, intensely locking his eyes on mine. I barely registered his gaze—I still saw visions of Liv in front of me.

"Anyways, I need you to cobble together something resembling a progress report for Weatherton—feel free to grab who you need to help out. Also, how's that release coming for Newbury Motors?"

"Hmmmm." I looked up at the ceiling as I gathered my thoughts, and when I looked back Jeff's gaze was already directed back on his computer. "The Newbury release is almost finished—I'm going to send it over to Alison for a final lookover before it gets sent over. Do you want me to tackle Weatherton first, or give Nick a call?"

"Fuck Nick. Let him simmer over there for a bit. I'm not even sure we want his business anyway."

"Ok—Weatherton it is. Apologies for my late arrival." I began my exit of Jeff's office, instinctively closing his door behind him."

"Wait. Come back in here Cal." The door was reopened, and I stood in front of my boss.

"Yes?"

Jeff let the full weight of his stare fall on me, narrowing his eyes just slightly as he attempted to identify the expression on his employee's face. "You got laid last night."

I smiled. "What makes you say that?"

Now Jeff grinned triumphantly. "Oh, you definitely got laid. Good for you Cal, good for you."

"Yeah, good for me. I think I'll loop Luke in on the Weatherton report—it would be good for him to see how they're done."

"Luke?"

"Yeah, the new guy? Blond hair? Started this week?"

Jeff waved me out of his office. "Oh, him. Like I said, use whoever you want, as long as those reports get done right and Weatherton pays us this month. We need that account."

"Yes sir!" I closed the door and walked over to Luke's desk.

"Yo, dude." His shaggy blond head jerked up from his computer screen, where he had been Gchatting someone.

"Hey, Cal. Where have you been all morning?"

"Had to run a couple of errands. Look, I'm about to tackle a progress report for Weatherton that Hadley neglected to do before she left the company—you want to sit with me while I explain how I'm going to go about doing it? Should help lend some insight into how we do things here."

"Sure thing boss." A Geary grad, but one who enrolled the year after I graduated, Luke was a childhood friend of my classmate Russell. While visiting Russell down in Philadelphia, I had met Luke at a party. He had spent that summer living at home with his parents and working at a local ice cream shop—not an unexpected fate for a Rhetoric major in this economy. Eager to get some corporate experience and excited for the change of scenery Boston would bring, he jumped at the chance to interview when I pitched him one of the open positions at my company. Lacking any relevant internships, his genial personality and my recommendation helped him secure the cubicle he currently resided in.

"Nice. You still going to Xavier's party tonight?"

"Yeah, I think so—you think Hannah will be there?" Luke had a thing for my friend Hannah, a crush he had quickly acquired after one drunken conversation at a bar last weekend. Alas, she was my age and a 22-year-old guy getting with her was a long shot at best. But you never knew.

"She might be—I'm sure Xavier invited her too. Worth a shot right?"

"Definitely. Drinks at your place first?"

"I don't see why not. Let's go straight from work to my apartment. She'll take you more seriously if you're dressed up."

"If you say so."

"I do. Ok, if you stop by my desk in like a half-hour, I should have a decent working outline of the progress report to show you."

"Sweet, thanks Cal."

"No problem." I had already started to walk away before Luke had thanked me, intent on starting up my computer and seeing what emails awaited me. Hopefully my whole day wouldn't be too thrown off because of my morning with Liv.

As I waited for my computer to load up and sipped my first coffee of the day, I felt my cell buzz in my pocket. It was a text from Liv.

"Your bed is made. See you soon? :-)"

I wasted no time in responding. "Count on it."

Leaning back in my chair, I gave myself a brief moment to soak it all in. No, my day would definitely be thrown off because of Liv. And that was a great thing.

# Chapter Four

### Pleased to Make Your Reacquaintance

She was just as I remembered her. Long, auburn hair framing a pale, heart-shaped face, eager green eyes that always held a bit of mischief in them, Elliot immediately caught my eye from across the room. Yet, at a bar filled with twenty-somethings several years younger than either of us, I was also aware that my mind was skewing my perception. I was seeing Elliot as she had been, not current version that the years had worked subtle changes on. Much like Wyatt had left any hint of adolescence behind, Elliot looked more like a woman than a girl.

But the smile that lit up her face when she saw me was the smile I had fallen for at the end of my senior year. I had always been a big fan of Elliot's, but it wasn't until the last couple months of my collegiate career that I had considered a romantic angle to our relationship. It had been a fantastic time, albeit brief, one that ended when I graduated and we both decided not to tarnish a wonderful, very collegiate-feeling thing, by making it "serious".

I had always wondered if that had been the right decision. At this point, I couldn't remember the specifics of our dynamic, just that those weeks were carefree and that we both had been surrounded by friends. More often than not, the only alone time we'd spend together would be at the end of the night, when we'd both steal away from a party and crawl into my bed (I had a single and she was in a triple), laughing as we took each other's clothes off. Once, Wyatt, extremely drunk, had crawled into bed between us and immediately passed out. Excluding that time, there had been a powerful intimacy in those dozen stolen moments, alone together in my bed with the sounds of the party still roaring outside.

You almost never realize how great it is to be young when you're young, but I was aware even then of how great those times with Elliot were. Maybe it was because I knew graduation was only a few weeks away, but I keenly understood the unique juncture I existed in at that time. The protected little world Elliot and I created underneath my covers mirrored the same collegiate universe both of us existed in, and I knew that both were temporary creations that couldn't last. But knowing only enhanced the value of that time, and now I looked upon Elliot with a hunger that surprised me. I wanted to be under those covers right now, to feel her body against mine and believe that no number of years could diminish those moments we had shared.

"What is up?!" She rushed over and we shared a big hug punctuated by me spontaneously lifting her off the ground.

"Hey you!" I made an exaggerated show of looking her up and down. "So, the years have treated you kindly."

She laughed, and her eyes shined when she did. "Right back at you Cal. As you can see, I've already gotten you a beer, so take a seat, have a drink, and tell me all about your life."

I sat down and did just that as Elliot eagerly listened, clearly excited about where the years had taken me. I quickly glossed over my job, explaining the basics and how well the company was doing. She asked a couple of follow-up questions and I answered the best I could, coming off both vague and a bit cocky in hindsight. Despite college being far back in our rearview mirrors, I still wanted to maintain some remnant of our old underclassmen/upperclassmen dynamic. To my suprise, it was apparently important for me to seem upwardly mobile and successful, so I made sure to highlight my impressive title and my ample stock options.

As soon as I did, I became acutely aware of her understanding head nod, of her listening just to be courteous, and I became embarrassed. Changing the subject, I mentioned the recent breakup with Liv without saying her name, but Geary was too small of a school for Elliot not to have heard through the grapevine.

"I heard you had been dating Liv—that's who you're talking about right?"

"Um, yeah. It's been a few months now. She's still living around here, but I doubt we'll be talking anytime soon."

"Really sorry to hear that. You been managing alright?"

"Yeah, the worst has passed. It was for the best I guess." I didn't know if I actually thought that, but I felt if I kept on repeating it I would eventually believe it.

"You mind me asking why it didn't work out? Did she want to have babies ASAP, and you just wanted to start off with a puppy?"

Looking across at Elliot, I saw her eyes sparkle with a mischievous look, and was glad that she already felt the level of comfort that would allow her to touch upon sensitive issues with impunity. Elliot was one of the sweetest people I knew, but she didn't shy away from the questions she wanted to ask.

That said, it still hurt to reflect on how it had all fallen apart. I took a long drink from my beer to collect my thoughts before explaining.

"Well," I began, smiling back across at her, "She actually would have been fine with a puppy, but I don't think she was looking to share puppy responsibilities with someone right now. Or maybe she just didn't think I was great puppy-raising material. Hard to say, you know? I guess I'll have a decent idea if she gets married in the next couple of years."

"True, true." Elliot tapped her finger to her chin in thought. "Are a lot of your friends married now?"

"I'd say about half. I think the tipping point is this year—I've already been to four weddings. The best this year was probably Carolyn and Nesbitt's. Hard to top a beachside ceremony. It's funny, I thought you would have been invited to that one—aren't you close with Carolyn?"

"Oh, I was! I couldn't make it though—had a vacation my family had been planning forever. But I heard it was a great time."

"Yeah, it really was..." Just then, a glint on Elliot's hand caught my eye. I instinctively knew what it was, even before my eyes focused. She caught my gaze and held up her ring for inspection.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to notice!" She looked at it and smiled. "It just happened a couple of days ago—I haven't even updated Facebook yet."

So, the old flame was not going to be rekindled tonight. I quickly planted a smile on my face to disguise my disappointment and reached across the table to high-five her.

"Woah, that's fantastic! Who's the lucky guy?"

"His name's Brendan. We met when I was working as a paralegal at his firm. He was lucky enough to get a job at Goodwin and Proctor, so he's moving here to be with me and apparently it made him start thinking long term. He's actually from Vermont too!"

"Is he now?" I couldn't care less. Not that a part of me wasn't happy for Elliot, but I had let myself get too amped up for what this meeting might lead to for an announcement like this to mean anything but a lost opportunity for me.

"Yeah, Montpelier! Loves his maple syrup, just like you." That caught me off guard. How did Elliot know I loved maple syrup? She must have seen the confusion on my face, because she continued.

"I remember how you always used to bring your little jug of syrup into the cafeteria. You'd always complain about how they'd only have corn syrup, and that pancakes weren't worth having if it wasn't with real Grade-A Vermont maple syrup."

"You remember that?" That revelation took some of the sting out of the engagement announcement. If Elliot actually still could recall a little fact about me all these years later, then maybe she felt some of the fondness I did for the time we shared.

"Oh, of course I do." She smiled, her eyes briefly squinting as she recalled. "Before we ever got together, I would see you bringing that maple syrup into the cafeteria and I always thought it was cute. The handsome senior with his special syrup."

I laughed. "Yeah, my mom would always give me another jug whenever I came home." My disappointment was now gone. Elliot had given me an unexpected, pure moment of nostalgia. It was a rare thing to have another person deliver a new perspective on a time so long ago. I had noticed recently that I was increasingly unable to naturally feel a longing for my youth and the years gone by. I could recall memories, but conjuring up the feelings that accompanied them proved near impossible. Maybe my past was such well-worn ground that I had emotionally exhausted it. At some point, dwelling on those "best days of your life" became a stale exercise instead of a refreshing blast of sentiment, and eventually you just give up and leave history alone.

"Well, you haven't changed all that much from the boy who had maple syrup packed into his backpack by his mommy." I couldn't tell if Elliot said this just to be kind, but I took the bait.

"My crow's feet and white hairs would beg to differ with you."

She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "Bah. Those just make you look more distinguished. But I wasn't really talking about your looks—more your persona. I've only been with you a half hour, after many years of being apart, and I still see the same Cal from Geary."

I shook my head. "See, I find that interesting, because a lot of the time I feel so far removed from the guy I was then. It's been less than a decade, but a lot of the time you could have me convinced all that happened 30 years ago."

"I think that sometimes our surroundings can fool us into thinking we've changed more than we have."

"Excuse me, but do you two want to order another round?" The waitress had snuck up alongside our table, catching both of us off-guard. Despite it being a Sunday night, Charlie's was pretty raucous, something I found myself noticing only just now.

I raised my glass. "Yeah, another for me." Elliot raised her glass as well, and we were back to our conversation in a sea of other people.

"Anyways, as I was saying, you might sit here, all these years later, and draw clear dividing lines between who you were then and who you are now. People do it all the time, for a bunch of different reasons." She paused and finished the last gulp of her beer. "Sometimes they do it purposefully, because they didn't like the person they were before in the previous setting. They would prefer to assume a new identity, and they think just by virtue of their being in a new environment that that somehow grants them the ability to recreate who they are. Other people, I think they overestimate how different they really are because they might feel 'older'. But older isn't the same as 'different'."

"It isn't? Because 'older' is certainly something I feel a lot of."

"No!" Elliot was getting more and more animated, and I found myself being drawn into her argument. "I personally don't think the truth of who you are ever really changes fundamentally—at least once you're an adult. Even all that personal growth we experienced at Geary, I think of it as being more the realization of who we were than any us 'changing' in any drastic way."

"To be fair, there wasn't a whole lot of constraints in college, anything forcing us to sacrifice one way or another. We had a kind of freedom to do what we wanted that we haven't had since."

The waitress returned with our drinks, and we both distractedly thanked her.

"See, that's the thing," Clearly I had said something that she had heard before, because Elliot eagerly launched into a response. "All these responsibilities you have as a post-collegiate adult, everything from paying the bills to shopping for baby clothes, these things can convince you that you've somehow become a different person. And it's bullshit. Sure, you might be more mature, and your personality might have had to adapt to meet new challenges, but that doesn't mean that you couldn't enjoy the same things at 40 as you did when you were 18. And vice-versa. Too much of the time, we let our environment dictate our self-perception."

I stopped and considered what Elliot had just said. It made sense in a compelling way, but at the same time there was something nagging me.

"The thing is though, if we assume an identity based on the context of our lives, how do we know that isn't us? That it isn't just the realization of who we are? How do I know that 'white-collar Cal' isn't more the real Cal than 'Geary Cal' ever was?" What I neglected to say was what if, despite my new "maturity," I was in fact a worse person now than I was before. That the more life I lived, the less proud I was of myself.

Elliot paused, weighing her words. I couldn't help but think whatever she was about to say would be censored a little for my benefit.

"Well, that's something I can't answer for you, because it's really hard to separate who we really are from what we've become, if in fact those are very different things. But I'm willing to bet that, deep down, you know what about you _is_ certain. All I know is the worst thing you can do is to stop examining what's you and what's outside of you."

####

We talked for a while longer, but Elliot's earlier comments about self-perception had turned my thoughts inward. I think she recognized that, because when we finally said goodbye she made a point of telling me I was going to be fine. I brushed off her concerns and wished her and her fiancée the best. We both promised we'd meet again soon, but I had my doubts. Either way, our encounter had instilled a resolve in me.

I walked briskly back to my apartment for some time, my thoughts scattered. Eventually, growing tired of my fragmented mind, I pulled out my phone and called Jeremy, something I knew I was going to do sooner or later this week. I would typically call Kim because she wasn't good about picking up and her voicemail message always made me smile, but right now I wanted an immediate response.

"My man! What's up?" Jeremy's voice, always eager, sounded especially enthused now.

"Hey dog. You down for a visit from me? Maybe this upcoming weekend? It's been too long since I've been back to Brooksport, and I know you and Mrs. Garvey miss me."

"Yeah, when was the last time you came up? Last fall? I guess the last few times we've seen each other have been at weddings and in Boston. Dude, I would absolutely love it if you paid a visit, and I know Kim would too. Wouldn't you Kim?" There was a pause on the other end, explained a second later when Kim's voice came over the line.

"Hell yeah! Cal, you remember Pennie and Noah? They went to Brooksport Academy with Jeremy. You must have met them at some summer parties when you were visiting."

"Hey Kim! Yes, I do. They're real cool people."

"The coolest. Well, they're getting married on Saturday and they'll be a huge after party at Pennie's parents' house. Tons of people will be there. My sisters, Jack, Emily, Ethan, Joelle—they'll all be back in town and I know they'll be thrilled if you came. But, more importantly, we'd really love to see you."

"Well, looks like I picked the right weekend. I'll be there Saturday, and it sounds like I'll break both your hearts if I don't." Really, both Jeremy and Kim seemed overly excited, but before I could drill them with follow-up questions an incoming call came in. It was Hector. My curiosity got the best of me.

"Hey you two, I've got a call on the other line I have to take. But all's good?"

"All is fantastic. Couldn't be better up here," Kim responded.

"Not true! Cal could be out here on our porch having a drink with us and enjoying this pristine country air," Jeremy's voice piped up in the background.

"Yeah, how many drinks have you already had babe? Anyways, Jeremy's right—you're all we need to make everything just right. I'll email you directions to Pennie's place. Take care and we'll be seeing you!"

"Sounds good. Bye!"

Now to see what the hell Hector was calling about. An old coworker friend, Hector and I had seen each other twice since I had been let go from my old marketing agency several years back, but both times were within the first year after I had left. If I could remember his Facebook profile correctly, he had left the agency not long after we had last seen each other and was working out of the Bay Area now. I had just recently considered deleting his number from my phone—that's how unlikely I felt it was that we would see each other again. And now here he was again, popping up at an interesting time. My walk back home had reached its conclusion, and as I opened the front door to my apartment I cradled the phone between my shoulder and head.

"Hello?"

"Why hello! Am I speaking with Cal Reisman?" The voice on the other end was definitely Hectors, although it was a bit exaggerated and high-pitched. He had also pronounced my name "risemen", when it was "ricemen." That's something he had always done wrong before, a minor annoyance I chose to let slide. He was always a little oblivious in general, and any correction would have been in vain.

"You are."

"Just the man I was looking for! How you been buddy?"

"Sounds like I'm talking to Hector Martinez. But that wouldn't make sense. I heard he died of syphilis a few years back." That got a laugh from the other end of the line.

"Just rumors Cal. I've been coping quite well with my STDs, thank you very much. And you?"

"The rash is still there, but other than that doing quite well. Well, definitely a lot better than the last time I saw you. God, we were a trainwreck that night."

That wasn't an exaggeration. Hector had always been trouble. In a good way, or at least that's what I liked to tell myself. He also considered himself a bit of a ladies man, which was more wishful thinking then he'd like to admit. He tried hard though, and it paid off occasionally. That night was one of those times.

"You were a goddamn hero that night. Did you ever talk to that girl again? She was a pretty one if I recall, although a little larger than I prefer." I could tell by the sound of the voice he relished the memory.

"Her name is Lola, and we're engaged."

Silence on his end, as he gauged if I was being serious. I don't know how he would think so. That girl, whatever her name was, didn't even get a number out of me when we parted ways after the wildness that ensued that night.

"Just shitting with you dude. Haven't seen her since that night."

Hector's breath came out at once and was followed by a relieved laugh. "Fuck, you almost gave me a heart attack Cal. Don't do that to me ever again—I'm not a young man anymore." It was actually true—Hector was a fair amount older than me. Christ, he must be like 35 now.

I laughed. "My apologies. Man, I can't believe we brought them back to the office. Bold move on our part."

"Nothing we couldn't repeat tomorrow night! That's why I'm calling. I'm in town for a client meeting tomorrow and thought we could go out and mix it up."

"Mix it up? On a Monday night? Things will be pretty tame out there." Hector had always liked to go out and have some drinks during the week when we worked together. Some for me, many for him. He'd always find a different person to oblige him, but after vomiting in a trash can outside of our office the morning after one such time I made a pointed effort to limit my involvement in his work-week outings. Of course, I didn't have work Tuesday this time around.

"Oh, there's always trouble to be found. Even on a Monday. What do you say? We can catch up, recreate the old times."

The point of my taking an entire week off from work was to take a step back and reexamine my life, to take a hard look at what mattered to me. Hector had not figured into my plans in the slightest, and for good reason. The Hector I remembered exhibited next to no self-awareness, and the times we had spent together were a direct response to how much we didn't like our jobs. We'd get as many people together from the office as we could, go out to a bar, and bitch about coworkers and work while getting progressively more drunk. Overall, I thought back on those years of my life as over and done with, a post-college stupor where your career still didn't matter nearly as much as the stories you could tell after a night out.

That said, Hector had always been a good time, and it had been four years since I had even seen him. Who knew, maybe he had some sage wisdom to grant me?

"And which old times would those be?" I asked. "The time where you pissed your pants on the dance floor at The Elephant Room? The time where you made out with the 50-year-old married receptionist at the Christmas Party? Times like those?"

He laughed. "Oh man, I completely forgot that I kissed Helen! What a night that was! Yes, times like those, except classier. We'll go to a nice club and I'll buy you lots of shots."

"Not too many—I have to work on Tuesday." I was going to use that excuse a lot if I felt like things were starting to get a little too wild.

"Yes, you're a big shot now right? I saw that fancy title on your LinkedIn account. Come a long way from being a Junior Account Rep like you were at Bretton."

"Yeah, I'm doing alright for myself. Should be set for a little while." I winced again at the cockiness in my voice. Did I feel the need to impress Hector as well?

"Well, I look forward to hearing all about it tomorrow night. We'll go out downtown—I'll pick you up at like 9."

"Pick me up? I can just take the T."

"Oh no, trust me, you want me to pick you up," Hector responded slyly.

"Whatever you say. Take care Hector."

"Later Cal."

I had no idea what kind of surprise Hector had waiting for me tomorrow, but maybe he was right. Maybe classy Hector was a different beast entirely. Less sloppy, more suave. I'd find out soon enough.

I had been lounging on the couch in my apartment, and now I tossed my phone to my side before grabbing my nearby laptop and opening it up. Before long, my aimless browsing quickly brought me to Facebook. The first update at the top of my news feed was from Elliot. As of 5 minutes ago, she was "engaged to Brendan Connors." Well, glad she finally got around to it. After liking the update in a show of solidarity with the other 11 people who had already seen and approved the announcement, I clicked on his profile to see who the lucky guy was.

He was handsome, which came as no shock to me. Strong jaw and a full head of graying, wavy hair, Brendan looked like a guy many girls would want to marry. In the pictures of him and Elliot together, they both wore relaxed smiles, even when it was clear they were at some upscale event and surrounded by others who seemed less genuine. We had several mutual friends, Brendan and I, which could be expected based on the fact that we both were from Vermont and that he also went to a small New England liberal arts school. What did catch me off-guard was that one of those friends was Liv.

How did he know my ex-girlfriend? Liv and I were still Facebook friends and I doubted she would hide any part of her profile from me, but I resisted the temptation to visit her profile. After relentlessly scouring it for hints of any new love interests for the first couple of months after the break-up, the last thing I was going to do was become embroiled in her life. Luckily, checking through Brendan's profile quickly yielded the info I needed to make the connection. Both Brendan and Liv, who was a couple of years his junior, had gone to St. Johnsbury Academy in Vermont. From there, Brendan had attended Amherst and Liv had shipped off to Geary, and now their connection was just another reminder of the claustrophobic universe I operated in.

I often wondered how many of the people I walked by everyday on the streets were friends of friends, old classmates of old classmates, or coworkers of those I had shared office space with in the past. Right out of college, when everything beyond the quad seemed so overwhelming and chaotic, that close-knit network made the world seemed manageably small. Now, sitting on my couch in a three-floor apartment building surrounded by dozens and dozens of other three-floor apartment buildings, all filled with people who probably knew me through so and so, it wasn't reassuring—it was suffocating. Those faces, serving as constant reminders of where I had come from, made it hard to imagine I had really moved past my adolescence.

Shaking my head, I wished Brendan and Elliot well and scrolled down my news feed, looking for anything interesting. At my age, that usually meant a new baby or marriage, and it didn't take me long to find a new album of wedding pictures from an old high school classmate named Zach that I hadn't seen in person in probably a decade. That said, he didn't look that different from when we had last crossed paths, and that's what made these pictures of him and his new wife intriguing. While Zach certainly had aged, I couldn't get over the fact that the last thing he looked like was a man ready to be married.

His collar hung loose around his neck, a pretty big oversight for a wedding day. But you never knew, maybe something happened to his outfit at the last moment that required him to borrow the shirt of a larger man. However, the real damning evidence was his face. Wide-eyed and sporting an uneasy smile, Zach looked like a man gritting his way through the day. I wondered how much of it was the ceremony itself and how much was someone who realized they were embarking on a doomed journey. Contrast that with his glowing bride, who couldn't look more ecstatic about their big day. How did she not see what was so apparent? Did she just not care if he was onboard with their union—was the institution itself bigger than that?

My reverie was broken by the sound of music coming through my open window. I recognized the laidback chords as emanating from my neighbors' yard below. Putting my face up to the screen and peering down, I could make out their yard, now populated with either those playing instruments or talking over beers. These jam sessions occurred fairly often throughout the summer, and had been going on each of the last three years I had been in the apartment. I knew warm weather had arrived when those notes hit my ears like clockwork on the first nice night of the year, and at this point I knew they wouldn't be able to fit in many more gatherings before it became too chilly at night.

Which made me sad. Not knowing very much about these neighbors gave me the freedom to project a lot onto them and their lives, and most of what I imagined was based on the casual joy of the music they made. And I wasn't the only one. I liked to think they were the unofficial mascots of the neighborhood—a bedrock in an otherwise transient community—and a particularly rowdy session this time last year had led to this exchange between Liv and myself:

Liv: "They're really having some fun tonight aren't they?"

Me: "The neighbors?"

Liv: "Yeah, how old do you think they are?"

Me: "They have to be in their thirties right? Kids too I'm guessing."

Liv: "Definitely. And I'm sure their kids aren't real difficult either. Like they're all past the stage where they keep their parents up all night. Now they're just toddlers that say adorable things while their parents have drinks and play instruments."

Me: "And now that the kids aren't babies, the parents can get a good night's sleep and have active sex lives again."

Liv: "The moms all have their pre-baby bodies back, and the dads always manage to get in a couple of runs a week."

Me: "Yeah, I saw the wife who lives there once at the grocery store, and she definitely keeps in shape."

Liv: "Uh huh?"

Me: "Um yeah, for someone in their 30s."

Liv: "I'll be in my 30s soon. Should I lower my expectations regarding my body?"

Me: "No, definitely not. But yeah, those folks have them all. You think they used to be in bands when they were younger?"

Liv: "I mean, they must have right? Just listen to the tunes!"

Me: "They probably drive Subarus and maybe in five years they'll be able to afford a little cottage on the Cape?"

Liv: "The Cape might be pushing it, but I imagine they manage to do fine for themselves. Not easy to afford a place like they have in this neighborhood."

Me: "Also, the turnout at these things must mean they haven't lost touch with their friends. Even with kids and jobs and all that, folks still turn out to jam."

Liv: "Yeah, you think any of them have drinking problems?"

Me: "They drink a little too much now and again, but it's never anything that impedes their lives. And maybe a little pot now and again, whenever that one friend shows up with a dime bag."

Liv: "Sure, what's the harm right? They lead full, productive lives, simultaneously balancing career and family. This is their time to relax, and they're not going to half-ass it."

Me: "I bet you that there have been some hijinks there too."

Liv: "How so?"

Me: "Like, maybe one of the husbands and another of the wives have had an affair. Or maybe the babysitter shows up one night and makes a scene because the dad pulled a move on her when he drove her home one night."

Liv: "Now that's what you're imagining?"

Me: "Yeah, and the babysitter is like a Swedish au pair and..."

Liv: "Ok, I'll leave you with that. I'm off to bed."

Me: "Wait—Liv?"

Liv: "Yes?"

Me: "You think we'll be them one day? Like, we'll be one of the couples that find that balance, that can settle down and not make it feel like you're giving up who you were?"

Liv: "That's still a long ways away."

Me: "But you just said your 30s weren't so far away."

Liv: "Well, they aren't for _me_. As far as _us_ , we _just_ moved in together."

Me: "But you haven't met any of them."

Liv: "No, but I'm guessing they're mostly married with kids. Neither of which are things we're concerned with at the moment."

Me: "Yeah, the two I already have are plenty for me."

Liv: "Funny guy. Alright, good night. Love you."

Me: "Love you too."

She was right. There was no reason for _us_ to worry about it. It turned out that the ideal laid out by the couples down below would always be beyond us. Maybe we would find it individually, but right now that didn't look like a likely prospect. I pulled away from the window and the sounds of merrymaking, flipped my laptop shut and walked back across the kitchen to my bedroom. On my way I gave a quick glance to a sink filled with dirty dishes. I'd get to those tomorrow.

####

Those dishes, crusted over and overwhelming my sink, were still there when Hector came to pick me up the following night. I, despite all my well-laid plans to get up early and do something with the day I would have otherwise spent at work, had slept in until noon.

Technically, I opened my eyes at around 11, but didn't leave the bed for the next hour. Laying there on my side, facing the wall of bedroom and staring blankly into space, I couldn't summon up the resolve to move. In fact, the rest of my body barely registered—for all intents and purposes, I was a set of eyes that occasionally blinked and lungs that expanded and contracted. There was something so liberating about that state of consciousness, about being awake but immobile. I was alive, but I was perfectly content with just the awareness of that fact. No need to actually commit to any action, not when I could just lie on my sheets and exist.

Eventually though, my indulgence began to wear on me and I finally forced myself out of bed. Even then, I still had a solid workday's worth of time to use fruitfully. Eight hours later, my noteworthy achievements included doing some laundry, watching a documentary on hummingbirds and taking a walk down to the Charles River.

There, sitting in silence on the banks, letting the late summer sun soak my skin, I found myself staring off into space yet again. Unlike earlier in my bed though, I zoned out now with the hopes of marshaling my thoughts and starting to comprehend the source of my uneasiness. Instead, what I got were more scattered, unfocused reflections that ranged from guessing what the girl sitting near me looked like naked to wondering if and when I should get up to get a burrito. Most of what I considered didn't stay between my ears for very long, and even that which did didn't feel too revelatory.

Yes, I clearly wasn't happy. Yes, losing Liv probably still had something to do with it. Other than that, nothing really stood out as important, and I seriously began to doubt my ability to think my way out of my malaise. I couldn't shake the impression that I was waiting for something to seize my life and slap it around a little, and that trying to sort out my problems myself was a lesson in futility. Plus, a homeless man eventually kneeled down by the water and began to methodically masturbate under his clothes. When it became clear his soft groans were going to intrude on my mediation, I picked myself off of the grass and headed back home.

Once there, there wasn't much time to spare, so I grabbed a beer and headed to the shower. Nothing quite like a cold beer in a hot shower. Maybe it was the drinking in the shower, a common collegiate ritual from many years back, but I began to feel coiled and ready. Sure, it was a Monday, but classes were starting (or had already started—I had no idea), and perhaps wherever Hector and I ended up tonight would be filled with college kids looking to get wasted their first week back. Maybe I wouldn't feel almost 30, and maybe Hector wouldn't look closer to 40. No mistaking it—there was a charge in the air.

My chest felt full and my head light, but not from the beer. I was so taken with this unexpected rush of anticipation that I pulled an old bottle of Tommy Hilfiger cologne, one-fifth full, from the top of my desk. After brushing away the dust and taking the cap off, I gave a brief spray into the air and smiled. This was no ordinary cologne—it was over a decade old and last was regularly in use sometime during freshman year at Geary. At that point I still felt like cologne helped my chances with the girls, and every weekend night I'd give a few sprays to my bare chest and go out feeling that much more confident before I inevitably failed yet again. Finally, at some point I had actually begun to encounter success with women, and when that happened, using men's perfume lost its value.

However, something funny had happened in the years since then—I began to reflect fondly on that time when I was all downward looks and stammers. Sure, I wasn't thrilled at the time, but there's always something about that immaturity that's endearing in hindsight. With that in mind, at the end of senior year I decided to give myself a few squirts before heading out. While it didn't help me romantically, even with underclassmen who I otherwise could have expected to have done well with, I did have a really fun time, getting too drunk and laughing on the floor of my old dorm room with the freshman who currently lived there.

From then on, I casually decided to use the Tommy whenever I felt like I had nothing to lose and just wanted to feel like a goofy kid again. In the years that followed, there were probably a dozen separate instances where I felt like it was a "Tommy" kind of night, and a Tommy night always ended interestingly. A few times I even hooked up with girls, but each hookup was more remembered for how hilarious the circumstances were than for the girl involved. In fact, that last time I had seen Hector had been a Tommy night, and the results didn't disappoint. Somehow I found myself on my back on a pool table in a crowded smoky bar with a rather buxom female on top of me. Hector told me via email the next day that watching me and her make out in front of dozens of awed spectators was one of the highlights of his life.

The messiness that always seemed endemic to Tommy nights wasn't ever the reason I sprayed myself though. The only justification I needed to give myself a brief dousing was the hint of anticipation that was still capable of accompanying the build up to a night out. That anticipation was a frequent bedfellow when I was younger, a gut feeling that something I had never experienced before was awaiting me. The allure of the new, I liked to refer to it in hindsight. As the years went on, nights out and the experiences that accompanied them became more habit, but that made the rare Tommy night all the more special. If for any reason I felt unreasonably cocky and willing to take risks, the Tommy came out.

It had been some time before Liv that I had last smelled cologne on my skin, but one whiff immediately took me back to a time when being reckless was a pardonable offense. Truth be told, even if this night was a waste, it was worth it just because it was capable of inspiring this giddiness in me.

A honk from outside, immediately followed by a text, confirmed Hector's arrival, and I hurried outside, eager to get the night started.

There he was, idling in the middle of my street in a bright red Porsche.

I smiled as I ran out. "That a 911?"

Hector stuck out his hand and clasped mine. "My man! You know it—the company said I could get any rental I wanted, so I thought why not? You like?"

"Kind of hard not to. Great to see you dude."

He smiled. "You too bud. Come on, hop in and let's get the night started!"

I did as he asked, contorting my body slightly to make my entrance to the passenger seat a little smoother. Once I was settled, I immediately buckled up. I knew Hector too well not to.

"Well, isn't this something?"

"We haven't even started driving yet," he replied. "Hold on tight!" Apparently, Hector knew how to drive stick, although the stuttered engine noises indicated not too well. Regardless, we rapidly navigated our way into the city with the windows rolled down, our journey punctuated by occasional hoots from Hector whenever he gunned the engine. I would have been a little self-conscious of the yelling, or of him catcalling the few girls we were able to register before we flew by them, but it was a Tommy night after all.

At the first red light that managed to catch us, I rotated in my seat and gave him a once over. I wasn't thrilled by what I saw in front of me.

By the time I had met Hector, he was the same age I was now and had left any hint of boyhood behind him. He was one of those guys who had graduated from college already having the slightly bloated face of a thirtysomething who drank too much. In my experience these people, no matter how in shape their bodies might actually be, always came off looking kind of overweight and older. That said, he looked worse for the wear even in comparison to how I remembered him. Two chins now existed where I was pretty sure there used to be only one, and his dark hair had thinned out considerably. And when he turned to face me after yelling a lighthearted slander at a couple college-age girls walking on the other side of the street, I could see he wasn't getting enough sleep. Haggard was the first word that popped into my head, despite the genuine smile he currently wore.

"I mean, they liked it, right? Anytime a guy in a Porsche compliments you, it's hard not to be flattered." Hector waited a second for me to confirm his rhetorical question before hitting the accelerator again.

"So, where are we off to tonight? What club is going to be filled with eligible ladies?" Something was nagging at my brain, a relevant fact about Hector that I should be recalling, but it kept on eluding me.

"Oh, have some faith would you Cal? You don't think I would raise your hopes by renting this car if I wasn't sure I would get us some action."

"Strip club?"

"You give me no credit whatsoever."

"Fine, no more questions about our destination. How you been doing though?"

Hector took his eyes off the road for a brief second and gave me a look that I think he meant to be satisfied, but which just came off as exhausted. I found myself wondering if that was how I looked when people asked me the same question.

"Real good man. I'm management now at my company and have a bunch of young kids underneath me. Sometimes I'll take them out and get them all wasted—reminds me of how we used to do it up. Search Solutions is doing well too—I think we'll go public in the next few years."

"That's great to hear—can't say I'm surprised." I meant it. As much as Hector was a shitshow outside of work, he always showed a natural ability to manage people and clients. Whenever I had been involved with any of his projects, I'd always been thoroughly impressed with how he presented himself—it was like he became a different person once the client joined the conference call.

I flinched as we ran another fresh red light. "How's the work/life balance though?"

Hector paused before answering. "Yeah, I suppose it would be nice to spend a little more time with the lady at the homestead, but that's how it goes right? If you want to make your mark, you have to put in the time."

That's what I had forgotten. "Oh yeah, how's living with the fiancé?"

"It's definitely a change, I'll tell you that," he replied cryptically. "It's nice to come home and have dinner made once and a while, but sometimes you really just want your own space, you know?"

"Well, I have tons of space ever since Liv moved out a few months ago, and it's not that great."

"You were living with a special someone? I had no clue. Sorry to hear it didn't work out though." Hector said this as he pulled into a spot in a parking garage and put the Porsche into park. "On the plus side, look at all the freedom you can enjoy! When I was your age I wasn't worried about settling down, and I don't think you should lose any sleep over being single in the prime of your life."

"This is the prime of my life?" I opened my door and awkwardly sidled out of the Porsche. I really didn't know how anyone of above-average stature could look smooth exiting a car like this.

Hector slammed his door and slapped the roof. "Well, if you do it up right it should be! Which is why I'm here tonight—to show you the proper way to enjoy the fruits of your labor."

"Ok, lead the way then my friend. I look forward to your guidance." As he sauntered ahead, I let a barely perceptible sigh escape my lips.

####

If I had ventured a guess about where Hector would bring me, I was pretty sure I could have pinpointed the Cactus Club as a likely location. Recently opened, it was a place I heard discussed frequently at the office as the place to go if you were a girl who liked to dance (aka a girl) or a guy who wanted to have access to many attractive dancing girls. I myself never had any desire to go to a place like this—I had received invites from some of my younger coworkers who frequented it on the weekends—but I had to admit it felt good walking past the dozens and dozens of people in line once Hector pulled out his VIP card.

"I have a buddy who works in our Boston office that owes me a favor, and he said this place is the hottest spot in town," Hector yelled over the din of the milling crowd outside the club as we walked by. "Turns out he had a couple of VIPs to lend us for the night...you see some of the girls in line?!"

It was true that there were many attractive young women in the crowd. My guess was that the big turnout was due to the "DJ Mist" being advertised on a big placard over the entrance. That, and school was clearly back in session, which for the first week or so meant there wasn't much homework but plenty of free time to put yourself out there and test your prospects with a bunch of new faces.

"You see them checking us out as we went by?" Hector asked as we settled into a booth near the bustling main dance floor. "They'll remember us when they see us again—it's just too bad I couldn't have rolled up in the Porsche."

I wish I could say I felt as confident regarding our chances with the many scantily clad women populating the dance floor. It was a bad sign that I felt like, now that we had secured a booth, I would prefer to just scope out the scene the rest of the night. Hector wasn't having any of it though, quickly draining his first gin and tonic while urging me to finish my own as he left our table. By the time I had, he had returned with a pair of old fashioneds... for each of us. I raised my eyebrows.

"What? It's a madhouse at the bar, better to just stock up now," he said as he raised his glass up. "Cheers buddy. To making the old new again."

I touched mine to his. "To staying fresh."

Hector gave me a big smile before downing half his drink in one gulp. "So, who do you like out there?" From our corner it was difficult to get a look at the whole dance floor, but in a way that made it better. Too many choices as is. I'm sure we could have wandered out onto the dance floor and made an on-the-fly decision regarding a dancing partner, but I knew he felt just a protected sitting down as I did. Despite his bravado, Hector must have been aware that most of the people at the Cactus Club were at least a decade younger than him, and the car he drove wasn't going to matter in that instant a girl decided whether or not to ignore him.

"I'm seeing a lot of options. Anyone caught your eye yet?" I replied. But what was he even hoping to accomplish? He had his fiancée—was he looking to cheat on her? Did he just want to relive old times and feel like a young bachelor again, but in the end it would just be a harmless adventure?

"Yeah, check out the redhead and her friend over there." Hector gestured to the center of the dance floor where two statuesque, model-looking types were drawing the attention of much of the crowd. One was a pale-skinned redhead who I would have guessed was foreign, while her friend was an exotic-looking brunette who looked to be Hispanic.

"Are you kidding me? There's a reason they're dancing by themselves—no guy is drunk enough yet to make a run at them."

He winked at me. "Yet. We just have to beat them to the punch."

"By that, do you mean get drunk before them or talk to those girls first? Because I doubt we have much time before they become unavailable."

For a second, Hector didn't look sure, because answering the latter question would mean getting up now and approaching them. Arriving at his decision, he finished his second old fashioned, arose from his seat and gestured to me to get up as well. I did as he asked, looking at him in anticipation of what he had planned next.

He clasped both my shoulders. "Ok, Cal, the next round is yours. Once you manage to bring those drinks here, I'll have come up with a few good opening lines." Seeing the doubt in my face, he explained. "Look man, I'm not worrying about those two girls getting taken away from us. I am concerned about us going in unprepared. Give me some time to gameplan."

I didn't believe that preparation would be our Achilles heel in this situation, but I humored him and made my way out to the crowded bar. After what felt like an hour later, I was back at our table with another pair of drinks. I couldn't be sure, but it looked like Hector had drank a significant portion of my old fashioned while I was gone, but I was already feeling the effects of the booze too much to protest. Hector had had his phone out when I arrived, but put it aside and looked up at me with a confident stare.

"While you were gone I came up with some killer lines to woo those ladies." Hector was starting to sound drunk, which put into further jeopardy our chances. Sitting down across from him, I slid his drink across the table. He wasted no time raising the glass to his lips.

"So, are you going to run those lines by me, or are they just for you?"

Holding a finger up in the air as he finished another mighty gulp, Hector slapped his glass on the table before answering. "No no, I'll give you a good one too. You be the girl and I'll be you."

"Ok..."

He leaned over and gave me what I'm sure he considered to be a seductive look. "Excuse me, but I think you dropped the conversation... wait that's not it. Hold on." He pulled his phone over and peered intently at the screen before trying again. "I think you dropped something behind you."

"Are you serious man? You don't even know your pick-up lines? If you can't do them with me, how will you manage with a girl?"

"Oh come on man, just ask me what you dropped."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. What did I drop?"

"Our conversation! Let's pick it up again in a more private place."

I just shook my head and smiled. "That's my line?"

"Yeah, it should work like a charm!"

"I think I'll just wing it." Winging it seemed like a better idea the drunker I got.

"Ok, your loss." Finishing his drink and gesturing to me to finish the substantial remains of my own, he got up from our table and quickly jumped up and down a few times, bracing himself for what now seemed like a doomed mission.

There was still plenty left in my glass when I followed suit, but I was definitely intoxicated enough for that to be a moot point. Steeling my alcohol-soaked nerves, I took note of the aggressive beats pulsating across the dance floor. I almost thought I recognized the song being mashed up, but it was so distorted that I quickly gave up trying.

"They're still available!" Hector yelled over the music, gesturing towards the two models. Even if they weren't actual models, looking like models meant the same thing here. He was right—they were still dancing with just each other, looking dismissive of the crowd. "Available" though, that was another story.

We both waded our way through the dancing masses, never letting our eyes leave our prize. I just thought how weird it would be if they noticed us before we got there. I think we'd both feel so self-conscious that we would just turn around and go back to our seats. Luckily, they didn't, and soon we were dancing alongside their lithe bodies. I managed to get as close as I could to the brunette's body without actually touching her, counting on the press of bodies around me to disguise my intentions for as long as possible. Then, slowly, imperceptibly, I inched my pelvis up behind her, gently pressing it forward as I tried to move in unison with her movements. After several seconds of this and her not moving away or acknowledging my presence, I pressed a little harder, making sure she knew there was a gentleman to her rear. Looking over her shoulder I saw Hector, already working up a light sweat, dancing similarly with the redhead, who also didn't look to be aware he existed. Stage 1 was now complete.

Stage 2 though, that was where the issues would most likely arise. After a minute or so of moving with my partner like this, there was no mistaking my presence. I wasn't sure why she hadn't turned around to examine me yet—maybe she allowed my dancing just out of respect to my audacity. Or maybe she had seen me out of the corner of her eye and liked what she saw? Seemed improbable, but who knew—maybe she had smelled the Tommy. Only one way to find out, so I moved my hands down to her hips, feeling the soft fabric of her dress slide up and down her body as she moved.

I couldn't decide what was more surreal—that I was experiencing the contours of this girl's body, or that she was apparently going to allow it. Not only allow it, but encourage it—I felt her hands come to rest over my own, indicating a tacit approval of what I was up to. My fears began to subside and I allowed my focus to shift to the only two things that mattered: the pounding rhythm of the music and making sure to keep up with the dancing of my new companion. As more of the alcohol made its way through my system it was getting a little harder to be as smoothly kinetic as I would have liked, but I was holding my own for now.

I wish I could have said the same for Hector. He had also rested his hands on his girl's body without complaint, but the alcohol and his own lack of fitness were conspiring to make him look progressively more and more sloppy, especially in comparison to his female counterpart. If she had noticed the sweatiness or uneven quality of his dance moves, she gave no indication, but I couldn't help but think it was only a matter of time. The gulf between this statuesque stunner and the pudgy, sweating, balding guy behind her seemed unable to be bridged—anyone could see that. It was just a miracle it had gone as far as it had.

Another few minutes passed until the thrill ride came to an abrupt halt. Without turning around to confirm her situation, the redhead must have sought out the silent opinion of her friend. I didn't need to guess what the look on the brunette's face must have been, because it resulted in Hector quickly losing his dancing partner as she moved over to my dark-haired companion. This resulted in the brunette extricating herself from my grasp as well, and just like that Hector and I were back by ourselves in a sea of young writhing bodies. Hector seemed intent on reclaiming his prize, but I quickly moved to intercede before things got worse. I wasn't sure if he'd accept my interference, but one more look at the models and my expression must have made the situation abundantly clear. His shoulders slumped a little and allowed himself to be led back to our table.

"You want another drink?" It was exactly what he didn't need, but I still felt I should ask. Thankfully, he waved me off and stared forlornly out at the dance floor with unfocused eyes. The music that, while too loud, may have seemed familiar earlier, now just felt suffocating and foreign, a soundtrack to a movie I wasn't thrilled to be an extra in. I tapped Hector across the table and got his attention. It was time to go.

####

Based on his pained expression, it looked like Hector had burnt his mouth on his slice, but I couldn't be certain. He had been completely silent since we left the club, only making a protesting noise when I wrested the Porsche's keys from his grasp. He had pulled them from his pocket and, while I couldn't imagine he was considering driving anywhere, better safe than sorry. I hadn't felt the need to talk either, so I let the drunken silence remain as I led us to a pizza place I knew nearby. It was just about midnight, which meant the late night rush hadn't happened yet, and we were quickly able to grab a pair of gigantic slices of cheese before seating ourselves by the window.

"You alright?" If he had burned the roof of his mouth, that hadn't prevented Hector from quickly polishing off his slice with one last mighty bite. Upon hearing my voice, his blank stare shifted up to mine and he squinted, attempting to gain some focus.

"Yeahi'mfine." He quickly spat out those words with effort, brushing off my concerns with a wave of his hand. "Just...need some time to recover."

"Ok, take your time. I'll get you some water." After bringing back a cup and making sure he took a few healthy gulps, I contented myself with checking up on my fantasy football team on my phone, occasionally looking up to watch the flow of people walking by the window. The pizza place was surrounded by bars and clubs, so most of the foot traffic was comprised of groups of intoxicated twentysomethings. Most of them looked to be in an excited rush, but it wasn't because they felt their hedonistic pursuits were in danger of ending soon. I mean, why would there be a finale to the fun? Why, when there were always more free nights, more bars, more money to burn through?

Adolescent indulgence had expanded far beyond adolescence, the natural result of a convergence of factors ranging from birth control to globalization and the influx of wealth to an overly educated and casually conceited class of individualists. Surrounded by a bubble of privilege and propped up by degrees increasingly unable to be attained by the other half of society, these boys and girls were my peers, and our search for self-fulfillment defined our existence. Freed from the financial and domestic constraints of our forefathers, granted access to technologies which would have been thought impossible a generation earlier, we went about our lives feeling entitled to endless opportunities granted to us by our station in life. Starting a family, choosing a career or a life partner—all of these decisions could be put off. Just go back to school and accumulate more debt while you spend your paycheck on overpriced microbrews. Whatever the rules used to be, they could be flaunted to an extent never seen before in human history.

Of course, even in these carefree times there was a reckoning to be had, and in front of me was evidence of it. While his eyes had regained a little of their focus in the past half-hour, Hector still looked ragged and defeated. I could guess it was the result of more than just the alcohol, but until he sobered up a little I wouldn't know for sure.

"Come on man, let's get some fresh air. It'll help clear your head." I stood up from our seats and gestured for him to do the same.

"Ok sure—you lead the way." Hector gathered himself and tried to shake away the cobwebs before following me out the door.

We walked in the direction of his hotel for some time, still not saying anything to each other. Hector's steps seemed sure enough though, and eventually he was able to attempt conversation.

"I'm going to be pretty hungover tomorrow, aren't I?"

"Yeah well, I don't think I'll be feeling too great either."

"Man, fuck this shit. Fuck it all." Hector went as far as kicking a discarded beer can off the sidewalk to illustrate his frustration.

"Hey, it's not so bad. We got to dance with those girls for a bit before they realized they were out of our league. Plus, you have the fiancée waiting for you at home. I just have an empty apartment and a sink of dirty dishes." If I thought that would make him feel better, I had misread the situation.

"Lucky me right? Hey Cal, you ever been in love?"

I thought back with a critical eye to past relationships, pointedly not dwelling on Liv. "Yeah, I would say so." The lie came easy enough.

"Good for you. Well, I'm 36 now and I can't say for sure I ever have been. Or will be." My eyebrows went up, and he explained further. "I mean, she's great, don't get me wrong, but this whole engagement wasn't exactly my idea. But who am I kidding—I can't do any better. Look at me." He gestured to his unimpressive physique.

"Hey, don't sell yourself short. Like you said, you're a big shot now. And, if I may say so, you're quite the charmer." I put my arm around him for emphasis, but he shook it off.

"Big shot." He said it like he was examining the phrase and its meaning. "Hmmmm, I don't think so. I definitely don't feel like a big shot...hey, you remember Mark French?" The sudden change of conversation threw me off, but I wracked my brain for a face to match the name.

"One of the VPs right? I might have met him once—he wasn't involved with any of my clients."

"Yeah, a real star, and he wasn't even 30 when we were there. Craziest thing though, what happened to him."

"Oh?"

"Not that long after you left, his wife got pregnant with triplets. I think they had just gotten married like a year before. But the guy basically had some sort of breakdown—decided to leave the company and his wife. Moved out to the Pacific Northwest and apparently bought a houseboat."

"Yikes."

"Yeah, it was the hot topic around the water cooler for a while. The women especially were pretty hard on him."

"Well, can't get much worse than abandoning your pregnant wife, right?"

"I suppose not." Hector was definitely still very drunk, occasionally slurring his words, but at least he appeared to be thinking coherently. That said, his eyes again took a faraway look as we approached the front steps of his hotel. "It's just that I always suspected he knew something we didn't. He was a really smart guy, always impressed me."

I didn't know where Hector was going with all this, but we had reached our destination. I held out his keys until he registered they were in front of him.

"Hey, thanks for taking me out. And congrats again on the engagement." After he took the keys, I extended my hand and he clasped it. Not content with just that, he pulled be in for a hug, brief but powerful.

"My pleasure Cal. If you're ever out in the Bay Area, you give me a shout out and I'll give you a proper tour."

"You got it. Alright, take care and be well." I added in the "be well" at the last moment—it wasn't something I would typically say, but I felt it was warranted here.

"Later man." Hector was slow to break eye contact, clearly wanting whatever moment we were having to linger. Not wanting things to get awkward, I slowly backed up as I responded in kind, allowing another group of well-dressed pleasure-seekers to pass between us. By the time they had passed, there were several feet of distance between Hector and I. One last quick wave and I was following them towards the nearest subway stop, leaving my old coworker in his drunken reverie.

Later on that night, I lay in my bed, trying and failing to recall Hector's fiancée's name. It was only the next day that I realized he had never mentioned it.

# Chapter Five

### Doubts Are Not For the Devout

I am convinced that happiness is largely related to managing expectations. So it made perfect sense that being stuck in an eight-person checkout line at 11:30 P.M would piss me off. The Grant's supermarket near my apartment was open 24/7, which gave me the flexibility to put off buying the essentials until late at night. I could tell myself it was to avoid crowds, but it was really just procrastination. Waking up past noon hungover (really should have had a glass of water before going to bed), there were still many hours in which I could have left my house and grabbed food. Or do those dishes. Instead, I carelessly skipped over the channels, spending 20 minutes on a college football game, another 45 watching most of two episodes of the Cosby Show, then well over an hour blankly absorbing some shitty Matthew McConaughey romantic comedy.

The girl in it was pretty attractive though, and I suddenly found that my hand had begun to move down to my crotch on its own accord. Grabbing my laptop, I typed in her name and vainly attempted to find naked pictures, only discovering photo-shopped images of her in positions no respectable actress would ever put themselves in. Naturally, that started a wider search for stimulation, which itself ended more than an hour later with not an image, but a leaked video of another celebrity. Footage was a little grainy, but there were at least some interesting angles.

Now thoroughly disgusted with myself, I sought salvation by cleaning the piled week's dishes. Finishing that, I found that I still felt like a worthless waste of space, so I did laundry and cleaned the bathroom. By that point I believed I could show my face to the world and not be ashamed, so I ventured out into the night for what I wrongly thought would be a quick trip to the grocery store.

Forgetting that I myself could easily be prone to the same judgment, I nonchalantly examined the patrons in front of me at the only open checkout lane. Unlike me, who had a cart full of the next week's supplies (because apparently I was someone who bought eight bags of groceries just before midnight on a Tuesday), their baskets were filled with odds and ends. A Hungry Man frozen dinner, a box of fudgsicles, a bottle of Diet Coke and some Wheat Thins filled the arms of the sad sack in front of me. Actually, he looked like a nice enough older gentleman who maybe had seen some hard times, but just the fact that he was here implicated him as someone not in good standing with the world.

In front of Hungry Man were a group of college kids, all of who looked thoroughly stoned. Several bags of baked goods were accumulated between them, as well as a massive container of tapioca pudding, some packages of wrapped grape leaves and what looked to be a tin of caviar. I didn't even know they sold caviar here. Still wearing his blue Grant's employee shirt, appearing even more impatient than I felt, was an employee looking to end a long day with a six pack of Coors and a pre-wrapped ham sandwich. Alas, he still had a ways to go.

Just putting their thoroughly confusing purchase on the belt was a middle aged Asian couple. Who made a late night run for cinnamon, toilet paper, radishes and a loaf of French bread? They were arguing as well, with the woman wanting to buy a copy of US Weekly and the man vehemently opposed. The matter was settled when he was able to put a Skor bar on the belt as well.

Shaking my head, I glared at the cause of the pile-up, a mentally unwell homeless woman. She was trying to pay for her purchase with what looked to be stamps. The cashier, who I recognized from previous late-night trips, wasn't exactly playing with a full deck himself, and he was struggling to convey to her that stamps weren't an acceptable form of currency in these United States of America. Or any country in the world that I knew of.

"Isaac to the front please. Isaac to the front." Looks like the cashier was calling in the big guns. The homeless woman, sporting a deep tan in addition to a wild hornet's nest of black hair, was getting more and more agitated, pointing at the expansive pile of her belongings overflowing several large bags a few feet away. Despite the exaggerated motions, she was talking softly and I couldn't make out anything other than "take them," which was repeated several times. While she certainly was deserving of some pity, the majority of my sympathy went to Louis the cashier, who was frantically awaiting the arrival of Isaac to the front. I wasn't even sure he'd be able to serve the rest of us after this lady was gone—another few minutes of this and his brain might just shut down.

Thankfully, Isaac emerged at the end of aisle 5, seeming harried. He was an especially interesting looking guy and, as he did his best to placate the homeless woman, I gave him a thorough examination. Pear shaped and well over six feet, his mournful face, sleepy eyes, scruffy beard and thinning hair reminded me of Paul Giamatti. Who knows, maybe Paul Giamatti would have ended up working the night shift at Grant's if he wasn't a skilled actor whose father was a baseball commissioner. He sure had the face for it. It was the kind of visage that could absorb the relentless sadness of potential unfulfilled, all while still managing to crack a vulnerable smile when a pretty girl made eye contact.

Isaac finally managed to get the stamp exchange to depart with her bags, and the line quickly progressed forward with him as the new cashier and Louis, still visibly shaken, bagging. My turn came soon enough, and when it did I quickly answered "paper."

"Not many people ask for paper anymore, but you always do."

Startled, I lifted my eyes from my cart and saw Isaac smiling at me. Caught off guard, I didn't answer for a second. I felt exposed—I was sure Isaac had been my cashier before, but for some reason I had always assumed I never registered with him. He, Louis and the rest were fixtures for the past few years I had been coming to this Grant's, people who didn't exist outside the building's walls. They dutifully served the thousands of customers who traveled through their checkout aisles every week, and I was another anonymous face that couldn't be remembered. Which is how I wanted it, because I saw Isaac and the rest too often this time of night. The idea of them knowing me as "one of the characters," as someone who came in and bought frozen dinners by myself, was too much to handle.

"Yep, big fan of paper." My response came off more dismissive than I would have liked, but when I looked up Isaac was still giving me his sad smile. And holding up my veggie burgers.

"You like these? You have meat, so you're not a vegetarian." He made a face to indicate what he thought of that. "These are so expensive too."

I looked to see if anyone else was in line. Nope, it was just me, Isaac and Louis, who was putting my milk into a bag that I was pretty sure already contained a loaf of sliced bread at the bottom.

"Yeah, they're tastier than you'd think. Healthy too." I rapidly placed the rest of my cart's contents onto the belt and pulled out my wallet to grab my debit card. Looking up again and half-expecting Isaac to be looking at me still, I was relieved to see him helping Louis bag my groceries. Nevertheless, my cover was blown. I had been identified, and that was something I was going to have to stomach if I came back to Grant's.

Isaac stopped bagging and completed my order. "Cash back?"

I looked at the empty contents of my wallet and chose $80. "Yes please."

The register opened up and Isaac carefully counted out each twenty-dollar bill into my outstretched hand. When he was done, he gave me another searching look. I had always thought him to be a bumbling, inoffensive character, but there was something penetrating about those doleful eyes.

"Ok, well you have a nice night." I offered. Louis had just finished putting the rest of my bags in my cart, and I nodded my thanks to him as well.

Isaac smiled that goofy smile of his. "See you soon."

####

Back at the apartment, I had just finished emptying out the contents of my grocery bags into my fridge. Despite buying way too much food for one person, the shelves were still only partially filled. But I had a solution for that—I would buy a bunch of beer tomorrow.

The sound of a door opening turned my attention to the hallway leading towards my apartment's entrance. Only when it closed did I recognize it was coming from the downstairs neighbor's door. No visitors—just me. An urge to text Liv arose, but I shook it off. The last time I had done that, asking how she was, the several hours I waited for a response were unbearable. Finally, I received a smile face and a "life is swell." No questions in return, just a confirmation of what I already suspected. She was better off without me, finally able to resume the life I had interrupted. Well, I wouldn't say I interrupted it—rather, I provided some distracting entertainment along the sidelines.

Sometimes, I wondered if she was with Tyler. Sometimes, apparently, I was a glutton for pain.

####

"Alright, I think I'm going to call it a night." Luke appeared beside my cubicle, his coat on and his messenger bag thrown over his shoulder. My eyes flicked to the clock in the corner of my monitor—it was 8:15, well past quitting time. I tried to summon up some resentment to direct Luke's way, but none was forthcoming, despite the fact that I would be here by myself for at least another hour. Maybe it was just because I was exhausted, but I just didn't see any point. Luke had worked close to a twelve hour day, and it wasn't his fault that Jeff had unilaterally decided a subpar client call with Weatherton necessitated a 20-page progress report. Sure, maybe he deserved a little of the blame for the client being dissatisfied, but even that was largely due to the crew at Weatherton. Luke had officially been handed the account a couple of months after Hadley had left, and they had made it clear they were never thrilled about her leaving in the first place. So, while Luke had been game, the odds were always stacked against him.

"Cool—you sent over the report for edits right?"

"Should be in your inbox." Luke's boyish good looks were taking a hit from the stress—a rash of acne on his forehead marred his otherwise perfect skin, and he looked like he might fall asleep standing up. "Meeting's at 8 with Jeff right?"

"Yeah, he's off to visit them at 11 and wants to go over everything with us first. Any compelling stats?" I would see it for myself in a few minutes, but I was really hoping we'd have something worth bragging about to Jeff and, by extension, the Weatherton people tomorrow.

"Nothing really. I tried to highlight time on site, but it's flimsy at best". The look on Luke's face as he said this broke my heart. This was a kid whose youthful exuberance had evolved over the past year into an attitude of resignation. I had no doubt he knew what I did—if the meeting didn't go well with Weatherton tomorrow, his time at the agency might be over.

"Hmmmm. Ok, I'll give it another read-through and see if I can hone in on any positives. You got any plans for the weekend?" It was Thursday, but I really wanted to get his mind off tomorrow morning. His tense misery weighed heavily on me—I don't think he blamed me for how things had turned out, but I couldn't be sure. I at least knew he had enjoyed his time in Boston when he wasn't stuck in the office, as the shared long hours at the office had forged a bond between us that had carried over to the weekends.

"Hannah and I have been gchatting—we might try to hang this weekend." The mention of Hannah made his face brighten, although I had trouble fathoming why at this point. Luke did very well with the ladies, and always seemed to have a different girl texting him every weekend, yet it was still Hannah he was hung up on. She had certainly noticed, and had even made out with him once a few months back outside a bar, but remained elusive overall.

"Man, I'm telling you, that's your white whale. Best let her go out to sea and out of your life." I wasn't actually too concerned about Luke though—the same untroubled attitude that made Hannah view him as an unserious romantic proposition meant he wouldn't be despondent if she canceled.

"But Cal, I haven't put a harpoon in her yet. Even Ahab got one in, right?" He said it with such a pained expression that I couldn't help but laugh, and I got a grin in response. "Ok, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow. Don't stay too late—I mean it. If the report isn't good enough, it isn't good enough—I don't want you staying until midnight trying to prevent a shitty client from leaving us. For all we know, they've already decided, and no matter how Jeff spins things we're done."

What Luke wasn't saying was that if Weatherton left, he was likely gone as well. But he was right, and I had the luxury of not taking the fall if things fell apart. Plus, part of me thought I might be doing him a favor.

"No worries—I'll just make sure to toss a couple of f-bombs in there and call it a night."

He gave a tired smile. "Alright by me. Later bud."

After Luke had left, I popped up from my cubicle and surveyed the scene. In the distant windows, I could see the highway, mostly emptied out as the rush hour traffic had subsided an hour ago. Despite it being late January, we had still not had a single substantial snow fall. Which didn't mean it wasn't freezing out—I heard the temperatures were going to drop into the teens tonight. All it meant was the earth lacked a cover of white to disguise how dead it was.

Turning my gaze from the distant outside world, I regarded Jeff's office. It was still lit up, but there was no disguising its vacancy. I had hassled him about wasting electricity plenty of times, but he had a thing about wanting all his employees to always think he was around, believing it held them accountable. Which made perfect sense—in fact, I was going to stick around another half hour just to make a good impression on that empty chair.

Still standing, I gave a glance to my phone. Nothing. I had texted Liv an hour ago telling her it would be a late night, the latest in a string of late nights. The lack of response wasn't that surprising—in fact it fit the pattern of the last few months—but I wish I could recall if it had been that way before we moved in together. If I had ever felt I had her full attention, back during the courtship days. I guess her PhD work had really ramped up her second year in, but I couldn't be sure of even that. I just hoped Tyler wasn't at the apartment.

A weird creaking noise coming from God knows where made my eyes widen a little. Being by myself in the office was something I had gotten used to, but sounds like that still had the ability to creep me out. I lowered myself back down to my seat, intent on getting through my work as soon as possible. Beyond the spookiness of a late-night office, working solo wasn't great for morale.

I had joined the agency back when there were only 10 of us, not the more than 50 entry-level workers, managers, interns and part-timers who effectively used up all the available space on the floor we occupied. That was a lot of growth for just two years, and I could see that expansion continuing unabated for a long time to come. But whatever momentum I might have felt when we had company meetings announcing the latest round of hires and new clients was absent during these quiet moments alone in the office. Now, late at night, the numbers showcased in Luke's report felt abstract and intangible, and I struggled to see how my efforts could lend them meaning, either to me or the client.

There had been a time when such thoughts would have gutted my enthusiasm for this job. I could recall moments working late at Bretton alongside Hector where the darkness of the night outside threatened to swallow me whole. I would ask him what the point of all this was, and he would shrug, saying how questions that like were best not asked while in the middle of a cubicle farm.

"But if we were farmers, we wouldn't have to ask those questions." I had once responded.

He had rolled his eyes. "Why, because we'd be feeding our families with our crops? We'd be elbow deep in the soil, making it yield us its bounty? The reason we wouldn't be asking those questions is because we'd be too fucking tired to spare the energy to ponder the meaning of our labor."

"I don't know, I feel pretty tired now. I would even say I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, we're tired, but our exhaustion is the exhaustion of the modern man. It makes us restless, because the only muscles we're using are our fingers, but I'd much rather have my ass planted in this chair than work the fields at dawn."

"I guess."

"It's the price of admission." With that, Hector had gone back to typing. I had started working on my grad school applications that weekend. Those applications had been a nightmare, but that was all in the distant past.

Not that the present was so pleasant, but during my time at this agency I, like Hector before me, had refused to ask the "why" question. Which didn't mean that creeping, numb feeling would never appear—I had just conditioned myself to wait for it to pass. Focus on the little pleasures, ignore the big questions, all the while checking your bank account and feeling a little more secure every pay cycle. Maybe not a recipe for happiness, but certainly a recipe for long-term survival. That wasn't the point of work anyway. Happiness should be found in loved ones, like Liv.

I took another look at my phone. Still no answer.

####

I finally managed to pull into our driveway at close to 10. Liv's Audi, a graduation present from her parents, was parked in front of me. She probably had put on something near 20,000 miles in seven-plus years of ownership, the majority of those on a few cross-country road trips she took the summer and fall after college ended. The final one of those trips brought her out to Jackson, where a few other Geary alums made their winter homes. A big skier herself, Liv stayed in Wyoming after the snow melted (I had never been, but it sounded gorgeous), content to enjoy the pristine natural beauty of the west.

However, she grew restless after her fourth winter there. That, and her parents were beginning to pressure her to start her pursuit of a career of some kind. Or at least just something other than the intermittent part-time employment she had busied herself with that didn't cover her cost of living expenses. Perhaps, her father had suggested, she could take a position at his global consulting firm, Buckley & Company (Buckley, not coincidentally, being Liv's middle name). She was not initially agreeable, but some consistent pressure from Mom and Dad ensured Liv was at an office desk that summer.

Despite the perks of having your father run the successful company in which you worked, she described her time there as suffocating, and after several months she began frantically looking for graduate degrees she could pursue. She settled upon Philosophy, and that next fall saw her enrolled in the PhD program at Harvard. I wasn't sure how many years it would take to get a degree—the way she described the timeline, it always seemed to be shifting. Which didn't seem to bother her, so I didn't let it bother me.

What did annoy me were many of her fellow doctoral candidates, who always were espousing this or that. Sometimes I found myself in the midst of their discussions about free-will or the categorical imperative, and one of them (usually Tyler) would ask me my thoughts. On the surface, it seemed a polite gesture to include the odd man out in the group, but typically I had only been half paying attention and was perfectly content not to chime in. Plus, I never liked the way Liv would look at me when I was doing my best to explain my thoughts on determinism vs. compatibilism. I wouldn't call it embarrassment—tolerance would be a better word I suppose. Or compassionate condescension. Her brow would furrow a little, as if trying to understand my uneducated take on the big questions facing humankind, and her mouth would purse just a little bit. Not the most flattering look, and try as I might to look around at the other members of the group, my eyes would always be drawn back to Liv as I spoke. Just as they were whenever Tyler spoke, an act that would cause her face to light up.

Tyler. If he was my romantic rival in a pure physical sense, I would feel no fear. I had several inches and probably thirty pounds on Liv's classmate. But something told me that, if it ever came down to a battle over Liv, a contest of strength wouldn't be what decided it.

His slight frame, on which clothes always fit perfectly, was matched by delicate features, including piercing dark eyes and full eyelashes that I couldn't ever recall seeing on a man. Then there was the smooth sweep of his jet-black hair, which he always seemed to be wiping away from his forehead, as well as a smile that never expanded fully. This meant that, although he was engaging and friendly enough, Tyler always left you with the impression that he regarded you with a kind of indolent amusement.

Like Liv, he was from money. It was a fact revealed casually with mentions of Christmas vacations to Europe and summers spent at houses on Martha's Vineyard and the Hamptons. This in and of itself was no issue to me, but Liv's easy acceptance of Tyler's adventures contrasted with my raised eyebrows. Whether it was the prestigious New England prep schools they had attended, an ease with money that stemmed from the trust funds each possessed, or a deep understanding of the writings of Hegel, Liv and Tyler's friendship had elements to it which I couldn't relate to.

As I walked up the steps to our third floor apartment, I shook off these concerns. Liv and I also had a deep connection that Tyler wasn't a part of. We had been dating for a year and a half now, and we were in love. Sure, maybe I had sprung the "L" word a little fast, but she hadn't hesitated for longer than a few seconds before saying it back. And when I had asked her to move in with me after just six months together, she had been game. We had our issues, but which couple didn't? What mattered was the way I felt when I saw her face at the end of each day, looking up from her reading to grace me with a welcoming smile.

Opening the door, the smell of pot hit me. A second later, it was followed by the sound of Liv and a guy's laughter. As I took off my coat and my shoes, the man's voice said something, which earned another giggle from Liv.

"That you Cal?" She called out from the back room.

"Yep! Is that Tyler I hear?"

A pause. Some more laughter. "Hey Cal, you guessed correct! What's up man?!"

"Oh nothing, just a fucking 13 hour day of work," I said softly to myself as I reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer. Looking around for something to munch on, I failed to locate the Goldfish crackers I had bought the day before. I had a suspicion where they would be.

"Hey, welcome home!" Liv offered as I entered the room. I could see the smoke alarm had been covered by a towel, which was good, because the air was thick with exhaust. Tyler, his reddish eyes half-lidded and sporting a relaxed grin, was sitting on our beanbag chair and holding the source of the smoke. He extended the joint out to me, but I waved him off, pointing instead at the bag of Goldfish next to the beanbag.

"Ahhhh, were those yours? Sorry, there aren't many left now—Liv and I have been pretty hungry." He tossed it over nevertheless, and I caught it out of the air. Taking a look in, I saw there were maybe a couple dozen left.

"How was your day?" Liv was sprawled out on our couch, a few spare Goldfish around her. I walked past Tyler and bent over to give her a kiss that she accepted with a stoned smile.

"Well, you know, I'm just getting back now, so not ideal." I was not thrilled that she was high, or that she was high with Tyler. The past couple of weeks, she had gotten high by herself several times, a fact I would immediately discover upon returning home. It was a change of pace I found troubling. Even though I only smoked sporadically, I found myself wishing she would at least wait until I got home, or maybe ask me if I wanted to join her. Something about her doing this struck me as passive-aggressively anti-social, like she was walling herself off from me with THC. In hindsight, I much preferred solo, stoned Liv to this version.

"Wait, what time is it? My phone is in the bedroom." She craned her neck in the direction of our bedroom, subtly hinting I should go get it for her. I ignored the hint.

"It's 10." I could have sat down next to her on the couch and put her legs over my lap, but the swirling feeling in my stomach told me that wasn't ideal, so I plopped down in the rocker a few feet away.

Both Liv and Tyler looked surprised. "Woah, it's 10 already?" She looked legitimately astonished, but the proximity of Tyler to his phone made me believe his shock was feigned, for whatever reason.

"How was your day? Didn't you have a meeting with your advisor?" I had just remembered the advisor bit at the last moment.

"Yes." There was a pause as Tyler handed over the joint to Liv. After she had taken a rough drag and let out of a couple coughs, she passed what was left for him to finish off. "Sorry, yeah I met with Professor Otto. He expressed some doubts again about the direction I was taking, but overall he was pleased with my progress."

"Good to hear." If I wasn't so annoyed at Liv right now, I might have told her how good she looked right now. Even in a hoodie and jeans, eyes heavy with drugs, there was no denying she was a pretty girl, perfect skin accentuated by dimples and a smattering of freckles.

"How about you man? Good day?" That question was directed at Tyler, who had just flicked the roach into a nearby trashcan. He looked up and gave a distant look that suggested he was thinking about what he got up to that day. Like I gave a shit.

"Yeah, good day. Was glad to run into Liv here—we had some amazing Vietnamese food and then she graced me with some of this fine weed of hers. You're really missing out."

I turned to Liv, who had been staring off into space. "You guys went to Le's?" Le's was our place.

Still looking into the distance, she responded. "Yeah, I wanted to spread the good word. I got those pork dumplings again—oh man, I wish I had some of them right now."

"Here, just have the rest of these Goldfish." I held out the bag, knowing that the sick feeling in my stomach was going to prevent me from having anything solid before bed. She took it from me and emptied out the remaining contents onto her lap.

"Thanks Cal." She popped one into her mouth. "God, Goldfish are beyond amazing." Tyler opened his mouth wide and gestured to her to throw one his way. She did, and he caught it easily in his mouth. "Nice—let's do one more, but this time close your eyes." The second throw wasn't so smooth, bouncing off his cheek and onto the floor, where a few of the Goldfish's fellows awaited him.

"Hey Tyler, great seeing you, but I actually wanted to have a talk with Liv when I got home..." I let myself trail off, already feeling awkward enough without explicitly saying I wanted him out of our apartment. Thankfully, he began to pull himself off the beanbag without protest.

"Yeah, I'm sure you're exhausted. Probably don't want to get into another discussion about environmental ethics."

I smiled wanly. "Nah, probably not tonight. Not unless Liv wants to help me get to sleep." That at least got an eye roll from her. Tyler leaned over and squeezed her foot.

"Later Liv. Coffee tomorrow?"

She smiled in response. "We'll see. I think I'm supposed to meet my old high school friend Arielle for brunch, but I'm not sure if she confirmed. I'll text you once I see my phone."

"Cool cool. Cal, take care and see you soon." He reached out and we exchanged a quick handshake.

"Yep. Always a pleasure."

####

For a while after Tyler had left, Liv and I stayed where we were, staring off into the distance in silence. It must have only been a minute, but it felt like an hour. Thinking that she was probably too stoned to have a decent conversation, I made short work of my beer and got up from my chair, intent on taking a shower, going to bed and forgetting about this day entirely.

"Are you mad at me?" Her voice stopped me in my tracks, and I slowly turned to consider her pinkish eyes with my own. It was then I realized that, yes, I was angry at her.

"I don't like how often you're getting high." I don't know where that came from, but it made me feel good to finally say it.

Liv sat up on the couch. "What? I'm not getting high that much, and the results aren't nearly as bad as when you get drunk. Just last month you vomited all over the toilet." I liked that she was getting defensive—it made it easier to continue on this thread.

"At least I'm doing it to have fun with friends. I feel like I haven't been able to have a sober conversation with you in weeks."

She shrugged, looking to avoid a fight. "Ok, fine, I'll cut back. I've been stressed recently, so I may have been overindulging." If Liv thought that would pacify me, she was wrong.

"I just wish you would have responded to my text—it's good to know you care that I'm okay. I know I work late, but I almost never work this late. Even if I was wasted, I would still check my phone to see if you were alright. But no, you were having too much fun with Tyler." There was venom in my voice now—each word was another stab and I wanted to draw blood.

"Look, like I said, it's been a really stressful time recently. I've been preoccupied, but I'll work on being more available." She paused, examining me before continuing. "I'm sorry too that Tyler being around upset you—he doesn't have to come around anymore."

"Don't be a martyr. I don't mind Tyler. I mind the fact that you haven't exactly been the best girlfriend." For whatever reason, that comment especially hit home, and her eyes started to well up.

"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been fulfilling whatever role you expected of me." A sniffle, then a single tear rolled down her cheek. The thing is, now that I had gotten her to react, the satisfaction immediately dissipated. I had wounded her, but now all I wanted to do was to soothe her. I still maintained my distance, but I felt my expression soften a little.

"It's just been a long day and I'm really tired. I love you, but I just want to go to bed." I leaned over to try and kiss her cheek, but she pulled away.

"Why? Why do you love me? What makes this worthwhile for you?" And, just like that, I was on the defensive.

I sat down next to Liv as she looked at me with moist eyes. "Are you serious? Every time I see you, I think of how lucky I am to be with you. You're beautiful, funny, smart, kind and an aggressive lover." The last part I threw in to get a laugh, but none was forthcoming.

"I love you too, but sometimes I just wonder if we're the right fit. I know work and school have been stressing us out, but don't you feel like things haven't been right?" Another sob escaped her, followed by a sniffle.

"It's true that things have been a little rough, but I think we can sort them out." I put my arm around her, and thankfully she didn't shake it off. "All I need to know is that I love you, and that I want to be with you." Gone was the frustration I had previously felt—it had been washed away with Liv's tears. All I wanted was for her to focus on the good stuff we had. I tried to summon up memories from before, from when we were still falling in love, but came up empty. I reached out and held her hands, gently stroking their backs with my thumb.

"Liv, I need you in my life. I don't get up in the morning because of how amazing work is. I get up so I can return home to you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm honored that I get to wake up next to you every day."

She had been staring off into space, but now she looked back to me and gave a tentative smile. "I love waking up next to you too. It's just that sometimes, things seem so serious and I get scared."

I leaned in and we kissed. "Don't be scared. We got a good thing going here, and there's no reason to question it. Trust me, I know bad relationships, and this isn't one."

"Yeah, I probably just need to get a good sleep in too. Want to go to bed?" The way she asked the question made me think we wouldn't get to sleep immediately, but I was more than fine with that. It had been a week since we'd last had sex, and it hadn't gone unnoticed on my end.

Afterwards, as I heard Liv's soft sleeping exhalations beside me, I just stared up at the ceiling, thinking nothing but feeling slightly nauseous. I had come quickly and she followed suit soon after, making a soft whimpering sound as she finished on top of me. Liv had then kissed me and told me she loved me, and I had whispered it back in kind. I did love her. I knew I did, and it was the kind of love that would make me get down on one knee. But alongside that love was this unease, ambiguous but always there. I leaned over to my side and pressed my face against the back of her head, inhaling deeply. This was all I wanted, to fall asleep like this every night. Simple joys in a life filled with complex concerns.

# Chapter Six

### Your Subconscious Is Not Your Friend

Wednesday morning greeted me with an unseasonably warm breeze streaming in through my bedroom window. Spurred to investigate further, I quickly got dressed and exited into the bright outside world. Wearing shorts, a T-shirt and flip flops, I was pleasantly surprised to see that, even when the wind picked up, my skin didn't break out into goosebumps. It was clear that, for at least a day, summer had returned in full force.

I walked without purpose around my neighborhood, casually taking in the sights and sounds of a workday outside of the office. Still plenty of young people (perks of being in a college town) out and about, including females to make rapid eye contact with on the street, which just left you wondering if you got their attention first or vice-versa. As I approached a park, I also noticed some elderly folks sitting about on the benches. One in particular caught my attention, so I took a seat with a good vantage point where I could observe him in action without being noticed myself.

He could have been anywhere from 80 to 100—once people became octogenarians I had a very hard time guessing ages. They all just looked shriveled and stiff, their movements so halting that it was often hard to decipher if their minds had been equally eroded. My own mother had just turned 65, and I was thankful I still couldn't detect signs of that deterioration afflicting her. Seeing the merciless effects of aging also made me feel grateful my father was forever preserved as a 45-year-old in pictures and in my reconstructed memory of his face. Sure, it would have been much better to have had him around for my formative years, and I often wondered how my life would have been different if he had lived, but right about now he would have begun a mental and physical decline that would have been hard to stomach. He had looked a lot like me, but more masculine, sporting a barrel chest and a beard that I still couldn't grow properly and maybe never would, and witnessing that inevitable sapping of strength would have been a preview of what was to come.

This particular older gentleman though, he seemed perfectly at peace with the ravages of time. He still had a full head of snow white hair at least, but the rest of his wrinkles, veins and spots indicated a man whose skin was a threadbare blanket over his weary bones. However, he wore a smile as he stared off into the nearby playground filled with parents and their laughing children. It was a smile that remembered, but what exactly was it recalling? His own time as a parent, when he may have brought his kids with him to a park similar to this? I could only assume his wife had passed, but maybe one of the young mothers out there reminded him of her? Or perhaps his thoughts went to his children, now grown and living their lives in lands far away, no longer needing whatever fatherly wisdom he once imparted to them.

Whatever his thoughts were, they didn't appear to be troubling him. It made me think of a song lyric: "as life gets longer, awful gets softer." This fellow, most likely on the verge of a rapid degeneration which would eventually prevent the strolls that brought him to this park, looked to have found that elusive peace so many sought throughout their lives. I wondered if he had always had the sense of inner calm he now projected, or if it had just slowly come to him in his twilight years. Did the gradual softening of the mind, the dulling of the world's sharp edges, make it easier to stomach life's sufferings, or had he already seen so much in his long life that he was able to cushion himself from the pain in order to appreciate the beauty? Or did life just come into focus near the end for some, granting insight that soothed and reassured?

Right now, what was coming into focus was the shapely behind of one particular young mother pushing a stroller through my line of sight. Her well-maintained posterior, encased in denim, came into sharp relief with every step she took, and I found myself unable to look away. Eventually, her progress took her past the old man as well, and I smiled wide when his eyebrows raised in acknowledgement of the view he now enjoyed. After she left his immediate line of sight, he shook his head in admiration. Up until that point I had thoughtlessly considered him asexual, his libido long ago scuttled, but it was reassuring to know he was able to appreciate some of life's more vulgar pleasures.

"Are you working up the nerve to ask him out?"

I jumped out of my seat in surprise, turning to see Luke standing beside my bench.

"Jesus Christ dude, you scared the shit out of me."

He grinned sheepishly. "I'm sneaky like that. So, do you want me to try and get his digits for you?" He gestured over to where the old man, now aware of my presence, was looking over at the two of us.

"Nah, I think I'll play hard to get for now." I waved at my new friend, and he gave me a confused look before returning to his playground gazing. I regarded Luke, who I hadn't seen in a few months. "So, what have you been up to?" It had only been two years since we first met, but in that time he had already distanced himself considerably from the boy he had been after graduation. Now, instead of being a junior employee desperately trying to figure things out, I could view him as a fellow adult confidently making his way through the world.

"Been bartending at Boathouse for the past couple months. It's where I was actually headed now." The Weatherton meeting had always been a lost cause—Jeff realized it as soon as he arrived at their offices and found another agency waiting in ambush. Luke's report, presented by Jeff, had fallen on deaf ears, and once Weatherton's paychecks stopped coming in it only made sense that its account manager would be the one laid off. Yet, as he stopped by my cubicle on his last day, Luke's expression had been one of relief, not defeat, and we promised to keep in touch as friends after he left. We hadn't done a great job the past several months, but he had invited me to a housewarming party this Thursday at his new apartment.

"That's a fun place—you must be making bank."

"You're too kind, but you and I both know it's filled with douches. But yes, those same douches tend to tip well. Definitely making more than I was before." He looked down at his feet briefly, but when he looked up he found no reproach in my eyes. I got where he was coming from.

"It must be a drain though. I had an uncle who bartended at a place like Boathouse—he always told me it was a young man's game and that it was easy to get burned out."

Luke shrugged. "Yeah, there have already been a few shitshow days, but it helps that you're moving around—makes you less restless. Plus, you can leave the stress behind when you go home, not like with us before." Just then, a confused look passed over his face. "Wait, aren't you still there?" He peered intently at me. "Why aren't you at work?"

I smiled and tried to look casual. "Decided to take a sick day. You know how it is—sometimes you just need to make up an excuse to get away."

He gave an understanding nod. "So, how's it going there? Business good?"

With most outsiders, I would have adopted a confident tone, but Luke had already been through the ringer so I kept it matter-of-fact. "Pretty solid. We got a couple big new clients after Weatherton left, thankfully, including one of their biggest competitors. We're actually considering taking over another floor." I let him absorb that information before continuing. "James Chang and Louise both left a month ago though, so we're still reeling from that." To be more accurate, _I_ was still reeling, as they had both been experienced team members whose clients had to be covered by junior employees overseen by me. The look on Luke's face showed that he knew what had been left unsaid.

"Man, I don't know how you do it sometimes." He shook his head. "I really don't. Well, I just hope you end up getting a big payday at the end of it all."

"Fingers crossed." I didn't know how confident I felt about that anymore, but it wasn't worth considering at the moment. "Saw a link to your band's website on Facebook—some great songs there. You guys got any shows coming up?" I wasn't lying—Luke was the drummer in a band called "Love Remains" that recently formed, and they were real good.

Luke's face lit up. "Awww, you're too kind. I am just pumped to be able to play music again—you know I used to at Geary?"

"I did not."

"Yeah, I was in a band with Russell's younger brother called Planet Dog. Mostly jammy stuff though, not like this, but I've been having a blast. We might actually play at our housewarming party tomorrow night—our first live performance. Are you coming?" Shit, I had forgotten to RSVP.

"Oh man, I forgot to write back. I'll be there for sure, especially now that Love Remains will have their big debut."

"Great to hear—should be a big turnout. Hannah will be there."

"Oh, sweet. You make any headway with her?"

"Working on it still. She was dating some guy, but I think they're done now. I'm thinking the band will do the trick. If this doesn't work, I'm out of options." Luke checked his cell phone. "Oh shit, I'm going to be late." He reached out his hand, clasped my hand and pulled me in for a hug. "Great to see you Cal, seriously. See you tomorrow, and anytime you want see two guys fight over whether Choate or Deerfield Academy is better, stop by the Boathouse and drinks are on me."

I laughed. "You got it. Take care." He jogged away, saluting the old man as he passed. If he noticed, he gave no indication.

For the first time, I noticed black clouds looming in the distance, and the air had started to take on a stuffy quality that signified the advancing storm. I checked the weather on my phone to confirm that yes, isolated thunderstorms were expected today, and began my trek back home. One last look at the old man still had him staring peacefully ahead, apparently oblivious to the dark skies approaching.

####

The rain was coming down in torrents, loudly defining the frame of the car with its pounding droplets. But that was fine by me, because I was safe. My little body struggled to see over the dashboard before settling back down into the depths of the seat, knowing that what lay ahead wasn't a concern of mine. The sound of thunder came from my left, and I turned to see my father, the driver, looking anxiously out at the road ahead. He opened his mouth and the roar began anew.

"Daddy?" I asked, hoping to hear his voice. Again, he began to speak, but his words were swept away by the sounds of the storm. I gestured frantically, trying to make him aware of my presence, but his attention was focused solely on navigating our car. Now desperate, I went to grab the sleeve of his shirt, but before I could reach him his door flew open. The sound of the storm tore through the inside of the car and I recoiled in fear, shielding my face from the stinging spray of the rain outside. Another thunderclap, this one especially jarring, knocked me back against the passenger door. Stunned, I tried to focus my eyes, and through blurry vision I saw my father was gone. I frantically clamored across the seats, but when I looked out the open door all I saw was the pavement rapidly sliding by below. Raindrops stung my face, and I became acutely aware of how fast the car was traveling down the stormy road. Stretching out with tiny arms that grew by the second, I managed to pull the door shut and quickly assumed control of the vehicle, now also able to reach the pedals with my adult legs.

The thunder was now a distant rumble, intermittently reminding me of my father's fate, but I had a car to drive. Looking in the rearview mirror, I saw the reflection of the old man from the park staring back, grizzled and shrunken. However, his eyes were still the blue, clear eyes of twentysomething Cal, staring out and assessing the situation.

It appeared to be twilight outside, although the sky was so overcast it was hard to exactly determine the time of day. But while the sun was nowhere to be found, a dull light emanated from somewhere to illuminate the traffic around me. I had never seen a highway this big—it looked to be at least a dozen lanes wide and was filled with other cars, many of which were passing me. I couldn't make out the drivers behind their darkened windows, but the way they swerved in from of my vehicle implied they weren't thrilled with my driving.

"Alright, alright, calm down folks," I found myself saying to the angry invisible motorists, pressing on the accelerator to keep up with traffic. Before long I was the one doing the passing, getting annoyed at the slower cars in my way. "Come on buddy, you gotta be kidding me!" I threw up my hands in outrage at the sluggish minivan blocking my path. I honked to no avail, so I hit the gas and slide into the open right lane. As I passed, I made sure to sarcastically wave, shaking my head. "Don't these people have some place to be?" I asked out loud, before realizing I had no idea where I was going.

The highway didn't seem to have any surrounding landmarks, just lane after lane of asphalt bookended by nondescript terrain for miles on either side. There weren't any road signs or exits either, only endless road that occasionally curved left or right. The uniformity of the route encouraged me to drive faster, punching the gas pedal as I anxiously sought the end of this surreal commute. Meanwhile, the thunder continued unabated in the distance.

I barely noticed it at first, so focused was I on leaving behind these crowded lanes and getting into the theoretical open road beyond, but the highway finally begin to gradually slope upwards. Excited for the change of grade, I sped up even more, despite the fact that there were still dozens and dozens of other vehicles filling the lanes up ahead. The incline became steeper and steeper, but my fellow drivers and I continued our journey regardless. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the road began to level off, although I now had the distinct impression that we had gained serious altitude. It was only then that the rollercoaster comparison occurred to me. By the time it did, I quickly recognized it had come too late.

When I was a kid, my aunt and uncle would take me and my cousins to the local amusement park, and inevitably we would always end up on Ticket to Terror, an aggressive train-based rollercoaster. I never desired to go on this particular thrill ride, spotted with rust and run by a carnie who looked barely conscious, but my cousins always insisted and I refused to be considered a pussy.

Squeezed in and belted down, my aunt and uncle would give me a thumbs up as we left the loading platform and began to climb. Being strapped into my seat so securely only served to exacerbate my fears, mainly because I believed the most likely scenario was not me coming out of my seat, but the train coming off the tracks. In fact, some sort of ejector seat with a parachute, as useless as it would have been in the event of a crash, would have gone a long way towards alleviating my worries.

The worst part was never the actual descent. Don't get me wrong, the dizzying fall was awful, but I mitigated the effects of the plunge by closing my eyes and burying my head into my lap. What really unnerved me was when the train reached its zenith after what seemed to be an endless rise to the sky. The moment before gravity was allowed to take effect was when my throat would clench and a sense of paralyzing helplessness would claim me. We were going to barrel down from this peak, I was likely going to die (the fact that I hadn't died on previous trips didn't dissuade this belief), and there was nothing I could do about it. Maybe someone else in that situation might experience a sense of fatalistic resignation, but I couldn't find it in myself to accept that my eight-year-old life was about to end violently.

Ahead, the traffic was disappearing and, as the implications of this began to register, that familiar dread again reemerged in my chest. I frantically searched around for some way out, but at this point the cars were all jammed up around me, effectively preventing any lateral movement. Even hitting the brakes had no effect—still, the press of vehicles moved inexorably forward. Now frantic, I opened up the sunroof and crawled out onto the roof. The rain had stopped, and in its place was an eerie calm that silenced the sounds of the cars around mine. I didn't even notice any wind as I tentatively stood up and gazed upon my fate.

A half-mile ahead was all there was. After that, the earth vanished—row after row of my fellow travelers were driving into some sort of abyss. As my ride got closer to the precipice, I could see that some drivers were trying to swerve away when they became aware of where their journey was bringing them. Alas, it was for naught—they went over, just like those whose progress remained constant. What awaited me once I too reached the end of the world wasn't apparent, but it made no difference—I would find out soon enough.

The thunder rang out again as I approached the chasm. Despite the seeming violence of hurtling over a cliff, there was a graceful fluidity to the cars' demarcation from the road. Now only a few rows of traffic away, I still couldn't hear any sounds emanating from the vehicles as they flowed over the edge. There were no honks, no screeching brakes, no screams from within. It was almost like a waterfall, with each of us as a droplet in the river cascading down.

My last thought before I reached the brink was that I was grateful to be outside of my ride, arms outstretched and head tilted upward. The thought before that was of my grandmother, who had died my senior year in high school. She was a woman who had emanated life every second until her last. Even then, unable to speak due to throat cancer, she had captured my gaze with her own and gripped my hand with surprising strength. She knew she was dying, and so did I. But her eyes still screamed with life—they pinned my own and made me understand that she also wasn't content with her passing. As I stared into the void, I liked to imagine I looked similar.

####

The light exploded throughout the room, and was immediately followed by a thunderclap that sounded like it was coming from inside the apartment. I let out a cry and dove out of my bed, roughly hitting the floor and clasping my head in my hands. My senses completely overwhelmed, I crouched and tried to comprehend what was happening. Another flash of light, matched by a corresponding burst of thunder, this one slightly less deafening than its predecessor, followed several seconds later. Still breathing heavily, I allowed myself to relax a little. Just a bad thunderstorm. I now remembered the far away rumbles that had helped lull me into sleep earlier—after a minute of lying on the floor, they became distant once again. Now the only sounds were the light patter of rain and a far-away car alarm, most likely set off by the storm.

Long after the alarm had stopped and the storm passed, I still lay on the floor. I was thoroughly unsettled from my dream, but I couldn't make out any details in hindsight. There was a sensation of falling, but the rest was just darkness. I knew from past experience that you couldn't will a dream into memory, but I couldn't resist. Finally, a point came where my curiosity was outweighed by the discomfort caused by the hardwood floor, so I reluctantly rose to my feet. Still feeling disoriented, I climbed back into bed and faced my alarm clock. 2:16 stared back at me in fluorescent red.

With the sound of my own breathing for company, I stared at the ceiling and waited for sleep to reclaim my mind.

# Chapter Seven

### Party Down

"I'm sorry, you're where?" The connection was fine, but my brain was having troubling registering what my mom had just said.

"I told you honey, Paul and I are in Hawaii on vacation. I explained this a couple of weeks ago when I called. He has a conference on Oahu and suggested I come along for the week. It's so beautiful - I highly suggest paying a visit sometime. They have the most amazing flowers out here, and we're going to go ziplining later today! Do you know what ziplining is?"

Now the memory of the conversation came back, albeit spottily. I usually zoned out whenever Paul's name was mentioned, and unfortunately this time he was a critical element of the story.

"Yes, I know what ziplining is." I don't know why that question made me annoyed, but it did. "Wait, how long are you both going to be out there? I was planning on coming back home tomorrow night for a visit."

"Oh honey sorry, but we'll be coming back on Sunday night. I mean, Gramps will still be there—we're having a nurse's aide check in on him every day we're gone, but I'm sure he would be excited to see you." Gramps was so out of it most of the time that I highly doubted he would even realize I hadn't seen him since Easter, but her comment still made me feel guilty.

"Yeah, I guess I'll still stop by and pay him a visit. I was going to spend the night too."

"Well your bed should be fine to sleep in. Oh, it's too bad that we won't be around. It would have been so nice to see you—it's been such a long time since you visited." I resented that she had said "we" like Paul's presence would somehow add to the experience. After dating for the past couple of years, they had decided to take the unnecessary step of moving in together this summer. His divorce five years before had relegated him to an apartment in Burlington while his wife and kids lived in his old house, and I didn't see the issue with that arrangement continuing. I'm sure his apartment was very nice, and based on what my mother said, he spent plenty of time at our place as is.

Nothing against Paul—he seemed like a decent enough guy, and my mom deserved some companionship. But the idea of him setting up shop in the house where I had grown up was a lot to handle. That was one reason I hadn't been back since Easter. The other was the Liv situation.

"Yes, I know it's been a while. I'm sorry about that Mom—it's just been a crazy last few months." I didn't mention Liv, but I didn't have to. She caught my drift.

"So, have you found a roommate yet? You know you can't afford to keep on paying that rent all yourself. The prices down there are just insane!" My mom had decided to take the practical approach to the Liv problem—finding another warm body to eat up her $800 share of the rent. Even when Liv was covering the remaining few months of our lease, out of guilt or just because that kind of money didn't especially faze her, my mom still had insisted I get a roommate to keep me company. She hated the idea of my living by myself so much that when I told her I had talked to the landlord and had arranged a month-to-month arrangement starting in August, it had almost brought her to tears over the phone. She was right though, it wasn't financially viable for me to keep on covering rent for two every month. I still had college loans to pay, after all.

"Yeah, I'm working on it," I lied. I tried to come up with a specific question to ask about Hawaii, but my mind came up blank. A few seconds of silence, then:

"So, did you get my letter? I sent it right before we left." The letter had included a brief note telling me she had been thinking about me. It also introduced the other contents that shared its envelope: an obituary cut out from my town's newspaper and a print-out from some website that listed ideal jobs for creative types. These included a position roughly similar in description to the one I currently held. Also mentioned were television comedy writer and wedding planner. The obituary was of a girl whose name I didn't recognize. She had been the passenger in a car driven by a drunk driver. He had survived.

"I did. Who is Jennifer Hicks?" Sitting on my bed, bathed in the fading light of the sun setting outside my window, I stared up and wondered if I should worry about the cracks I saw on the ceiling.

"Well, that's not her maiden name. She used to be Jennifer Nelson—wasn't she in your grade?" Jennifer Nelson had been at least a couple grades below me and I barely remembered her, a fact I relayed to my mother. "Oh, well I thought you might like to know. So sad." She sounded wounded.

"Definitely. Just don't get behind the wheel." I wondered if my mom had ever figured out it was my friend Matt—who had volunteered to drive me home from a party although he may have not been sober in hindsight—that had run over our mailbox my senior year in high school. When pressed the next morning, I had merely shrugged and forced down another spoonful of Lucky Charms, determined not to throw up and give myself away.

"And how's work?"

"Same old, same old." I didn't see the need to mention my decision to take the week off. "Real busy this week, but I still made time to catch up with Elliot. Remember her? She just moved to the city." My mom had briefly met her at graduation over seven years ago, so I don't know why I even asked.

"Sorry honey, I'm not sure I do. Did she go to Geary with you? Is she single?"

"Yes she did. And no she isn't—she just got engaged." Once again, I had no clue why I brought up Elliot.

"You should try one of those online dating sites. I saw a really funny commercial for one the other day, but I forget what it's called."

"I'll look into them. Alright Mom, you and Paul have a fun time out there. Enjoy the ziplining for me, and try not to get burned." For someone with a pale Irish complexion and a lifetime of nasty burns, my mom had a surprisingly short memory regarding the effects of the sun on her skin.

"Oh don't worry, Paul has already made sure I'm covered in suntan lotion. Ok, I'll call Gramps and let him know you'll be stopping by. I'm sad I'll be missing you though."

"I'll be back soon."

"Ok, well, I love you. Are you ok?" She always ended our calls with that question, and it always bothered me. If I wasn't ok, why would I tell my mom right before I hung up? Yet, for some reason, I paused. "Cal?"

"Never been better. Bye! Love you too." I quickly ended the call and stared at my phone for a long second. Outside, I heard frantic sounds from what I suspected were squirrels. Curious, I peered out my window into the driveway below. A dead pigeon lay there. The two squirrels were fighting over his carcass. One scampered away after a brief scuffle, while the other settled in and began to nibble away. That was a first. Well, it was getting late—I had better get ready for Luke's party.

####

It didn't take long at Luke's to realize I had underestimated how tame the social gatherings of adults my age had gotten. It wasn't just the keg I was stationed at, or how young the faces looked, but the reckless rhythms of the conversations around me. The energy in the room was palpable.

It made sense, as it had been a gradual transition from collegiate debauchery to the relatively relaxed outings I attended now. A typical undergrad week had consisted of multiple party nights where many attendees would be going "big." We didn't think of it as "going big" then, but at some point after graduation, the question sometimes asked was "you planning on going big tonight?" The point of this query was to identify if this night, whether it was on a weekend or during the work-week, would consist of reckless drinking without regard to the consequences. To live it up like we used to back in school, when hangovers weren't so bad and an early class could always be slept through.

Before long, "going big" wasn't something one would eagerly embrace, and weeks would pass where you wouldn't wake up with an awful headache. Then months. Sure, you didn't have the accompanying wild stories either, but you could at least function the next day. It was a trade-off that seemed more and more reasonable as time passed. Plus, as we began to see ourselves as established adults, vomiting in a stranger's bathroom was no longer an action that one could justify to oneself as a harmless youthful indiscretion.

There had been a moment a few years out of school when I had woken up on a friend's kitchen floor, surrounded by my own puke. As I frantically cleaned up the mess, trying not to expel the remaining contents of my stomach, it began to dawn on me that this just wasn't acceptable behavior anymore. I had no desire to tell anyone that I had blacked out for a large portion of a night before, or that I only discovered I had eaten what appeared to be falafel the next morning. Instead, I felt mildly ashamed, keenly aware that I had most likely made an ass of myself. Making an ass of oneself wasn't such a bad thing when everyone else was doing the same, but that creep to respectability rapidly gained momentum as peers all began to fall in line. You didn't want to be the notable exception to a culture of responsible drinking.

Meanwhile, the idea of even going out with your friends a couple of nights a week began to seem a bit cumbersome. Jobs and/or graduate school took a lot out of us and, as the years went on, we weren't all living with each other anymore. A few kids got married and moved out to the suburbs, while evolving careers pulled many others away from the original enclaves that all of us had inhabited in those first couple of years after college. Greater Boston, for example, still contained dozens of friends and former classmates, but you would rarely run into folks like you did when it all seemed like we resided in a two-mile radius of each other.

Facing busy schedules and increased distance, it became all too easy to settle into complacency. Why voyage to see someone with whom the bulk of your shared history felt like it took place in another life? Or to see a coworker who, while pleasant enough, just didn't warrant an hour round trip, especially when you had a TiVo filled with a week's worth of Daily Shows you had been too busy to watch. These factors increasingly trimmed the turnout at gatherings that were held, and those that did attend typically had a significant other in tow. The predominance of these pairings meant that the sexual tension that often added a charge to parties was largely absent. This was unless swinging came back into vogue, but I had my doubts I was going to be sending out an Evite for a key party anytime soon.

All of this didn't mean that, when parties _did_ occur, laughs weren't had, good food wasn't enjoyed or that people didn't get tipsy, all while still getting home at a reasonable hour. And, in general, that kind of soiree was a nice conclusion to a stressful week. Our appetites for drama and binge drinking had already been satisfied by years of late nights and messy hookups—compared to the solid relationships and craft beers we now enjoyed, the appeal just wasn't there. Except that my "solid" relationship hadn't been so solid after all, and the Keystone I was currently drinking tasted surprisingly refreshing.

"Real glad you made it Cal. A single thirtysomething like you could do very well at a party like this." Luke looked up from the beer he was pumping himself and smiled widely. I had arrived at 9, and this was at least his third visit to the keg in the past half-hour. He was clearly trying to calm his nerves, but I couldn't tell if he was more nervous about his band's first show or Hannah's planned appearance.

"Still only 29, but I get your drift." I scanned the apartment's crowded living room from the safety of the kitchen, taking note of the several attractive faces I spotted there. Looking back at Luke, I saw him take a big gulp from his newly refilled Solo cup and wipe the foam off his upper lip. "Hey, you're probably going to want to pace yourself if you expect to play tonight."

He nodded his head sagely. "You're right." Taking another drink, he handed the half-full cup to me. "Keep that away from me, at least until Hannah gets here." Looking around, he failed to spot her, so he checked his phone for what must have been the fifth time in the past five minutes.

"So, when do you think you guys will go on?" My words must have gotten lost in the din of the partygoers, which had just inexplicably risen an octave, because Luke looked confused as he glanced up from his phone. I repeated my question and he peered out again at those gathered, taking stock.

"I think when some more folks show up and things really get rolling. Plus, our lead singer isn't here yet. I texted him a while ago though—he's on his way."

There must have been at least 40 people already in this apartment and I wasn't sure how many more it could hold. I recognized a dozen or so people from Geary, all of whom were younger than me but older than Luke. I assumed that some unfamiliar faces were Geary grads as well, but couldn't confirm it because there was no way they went to school with me—they all looked barely legal. I was also sure many others were friends of Luke's two roommates and bandmates, Evan and Rob. I had met Evan when I first came in, a slight, bespectacled kid who I could very much imagine playing keyboard in their band. Rob, on the other hand, didn't quite fit the mold. Apparently he had been recruited to play basketball at Syracuse, but had chosen to go to Williams instead. There, he was part of an acapella group and played bass in a band. He still looked like a basketball player though—looking about six-foot-six and well over two-hundred pounds, and if that didn't make him stand out in this party, his mahogany skin did. After finishing telling a story that left a largely female group of listeners all laughing loudly, he grabbed one of their cups and made his way over to the keg.

"Hey man, I'm Rob." As Rob began to fill up his guest's cup, he extended his hand to me and gave it a healthy shake.

"Hey, I'm Cal. One of Luke's friends."

Rob looked over to where Luke was intently checking his phone again. "Oh, you went to Geary too?" I nodded. "Does that mean you know this Hannah girl he's obsessed with?"

I laughed. "Yeah, Hannah and I are friends. She graduated with me."

Rob shook his head ruefully as he switched cups and began to fill his own. "I met her once with Luke—she's cute, but nothing special. I don't get why he's so into her."

Phone back in his pocket, Luke walked over with a big smile. "Great news. Tyler's going to be here in a half hour, and he ran into Hannah on the T. They're at another party nearby right now, but they'll be leaving soon."

Tyler? Hearing that name made my jaw slightly clench, but I had a hard time imagining the Tyler I knew on stage. Plus, it was a fairly common name.

Standing up with his beers in hand, Rob towered over both of us. "Alright, we can start setting up when he gets here and has a few beers. I don't want him nervous when he starts singing—he's our sex appeal and I want the ladies to take notice."

As Rob walked back into the action, I turned to Luke. "So, how did you get the band together? You guys all know each other?"

He reached over and grabbed back his beer from me. Apparently, now that Hannah was on her way, he could start drinking again. "I know Evan from high school, and he works with Rob. Last year, the three of us just started jamming together on the weekends with Evan's old roommate, and it was a blast." I remembered then that Luke had mentioned his jam sessions during work, but I had just responded with polite, mildly disinterested replies. "But yeah, Evan's roommate moved to D.C. this summer, so we put out an ad for a lead singer and guitarist. Tyler replied, and we've been playing together for a month. He's good—has stage presence. He showed us some YouTube clips of him and his band from college, and they were pretty impressive."

"So you're saying that one day I am going to brag to people that I was at Love Remains' first show?"

Luke put a hand on my shoulder. "You said it, not me." He turned his head and examined the apartment's reveling guests. When he saw something he liked, he began to guide me out of the kitchen. "Cal, there are some people I'd like you to meet. Would that work for you? Talking to some people?"

"Yeah, that could work. Just let me refill my cup." The less drunk I felt, the more overwhelming this party was. At least based on how intoxicated everyone else seemed, I should be able to get nice and wasted without anyone noticing.

####

"So, you're telling me that you never went skinny dipping in Parker Pond?" Ingrid smiled teasingly, brushing a strand of dark hair out of her pale face. "What other rites of passage did you miss at Geary? You must have at least hooked up in the library?"

It was a testament to how attracted I was to this girl that I managed to maintain eye contact, when all I wanted to do was to glare to my right at Tyler, who I could hear doing a soundcheck. Her face featured two big, inviting green eyes, a strong nose and a wide, bright smile that came and went at just the right times. Also, dressed simply in jeans and a V-neck T-shirt, there was no missing the tight contours of her body.

"I mean, there may have been some heavy petting in the stacks, but I always figured jumping into the pond would end up in me getting some intestinal parasites. I mean, you might have them in you now, stealing nutrients."

She laughed. I had already decided I loved her laugh—it was carefree, genuine and just kind of joyfully burst from her throat. "Well then, I had better try to kill them with more alcohol! You want a refill from the keg?"

I drained the remaining half cup I had and stifled a burp before handing my empty vessel over. "Yes, please. You're too kind." I gave one quick glance at her butt as she walked away, only briefly admiring its tight dimensions before I cast another look over to where Love Remains was getting prepped for their big debut. Well, three of them at least—Luke, sporting a goofy grin and vigorously nodding his head at whatever she was saying, was across the room busy trying to make Hannah feel like the most important person in the world.

Then there was Tyler, who, looking nonchalant as usual, had shown up with Hannah. The fact that they knew each other shouldn't have been a surprise, especially considered how interconnected my peer group was, but it was. A feeling of mild paranoia quickly set in, fueled by the idea that I had been a patsy in Liv and I's relationship. As the one who got dumped, it was natural to feel played, but you always wondered if everyone else had known it was coming. Seeing Hannah walk in, I imagined scenarios where Liv, Tyler, Hannah, Luke and other friends of mine all sat around and discussed me, feeling pity for the guy who remained blissfully ignorant until the end.

I had been deep in conversation with my new friend Ingrid, Geary Class of 2013, so I hadn't initially taken note of his arrival. If he had recognized I was there, he gave no indication, and set about getting ready for the show as soon as he had said hi to some of his friends in attendance. Just seeing him made my chest tight, so I had immediately finished my drink and asked Ingrid if she'd like one. I had actually chugged my next beer at the keg before refilling again, coming to the conclusion that I was going to confront him at some point tonight. The thought seemed juvenile at first, but the more I drank, the more appealing it became.

Now, as I waited for Ingrid to return, I cast quick looks in his direction and tried to guess what he would say in response to my pointed question. I didn't know what the exact content of this question would be, but it would be phrased in the kind of way that would put him immediately on the defensive. I had a hard time imagining what a defensive Tyler looked like, but I planned on cracking his effortless exterior. If I couldn't, maybe I would just punch him.

Reports had been varied from my friend group, but it was clear that, at a minimum, Tyler and Liv had hooked up over the summer. I didn't think of myself as a jealous guy, but a wave of rage had passed over me when I had heard the news, from Kim of all people. You'd think I'd know before someone in another state, but a fellow Geary graduate and one of Kim's close friends had reported to her that she had seen them kissing at a party a couple of months ago in Brooklyn. Thankfully, no pictures had appeared online in any social media venue—I don't think I would have been able to handle a retro-styled Instagram of the two of them together. That said, it had confirmed many of my worst fears and raised a host of other questions. Like whether or not she had cheated on me.

Once I had emerged from the immediate aftermath, my post-mortem assessment of the relationship had yielded plenty of doubts about its legitimacy—for her to have been unfaithful would be especially damaging to the remaining perception I was still trying to preserve of us. I could have called and asked when I found out, and debated doing just that, but I couldn't decide if the desire to know trumped my eagerness to whitewash the past and move on. As it was, outside of that pair of exchanged texts, we hadn't communicated in any capacity since we parted ways. I wondered if she was going to show up.

"Cal, fancy seeing you here." I gave a start. Hannah had somehow snuck up on me as I glared in the other direction at Tyler, who still hadn't made eye contact with me. Weren't people supposed to feel it when you stared at them?

"Hannah!" She laughed at my surprise before stepping into the hug I offered. "You scared me."

"Well, maybe if you weren't so busy hitting on girls who weren't able to drive when we graduated, you might have noticed me waving at you."

I had always liked Hannah. Despite being the daughter of Chinese immigrants, parents she described as quite traditional, she was anything but the stereotypical second-generation Asian-American kid. While an impressive contributor in the classes we had together, Hannah wasn't a hyper-driven overachiever—she told me she could care less about grades (and her GPA showed it)—and I never got the impression that her subsequent entrance into law school was for anyone but herself. Her body didn't fit the mold either—Hannah was decidedly curvy and carried herself accordingly, her posture proudly displaying her buxom figure. I gathered from her that lots of Chinese guys would have preferred she be more petite, but, as she wasn't into Chinese guys (a consistent point of contention with her parents), it was a moot point. Really, other than being fluent in Mandarin, Hannah had made a conscious effort to distance herself from all the typical associations of her ancestry.

We originally met freshman year when she and I had shared a religion class—despite her being an avowed atheist, she was interested in how the devout attempted to deal with life's big moral questions. My first memory of her had been a few weeks into the semester when we had been discussing the problem of evil. We were the only two freshman in the class, but that in and of itself wasn't enough to get me to engage her. In fact, I had no plans of opening my mouth the entire semester—I was perfectly willing to cede the floor to a few very articulate upperclassmen who were clearly well-versed in the subject matter.

Not Hannah though. During this discussion of evil and the problems it presented for believers, a senior who was currently writing his thesis on the subject put forth the idea the man's character was formed in part by adversity, and without evil such moral development couldn't occur. Our reading for that class had been from Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel.

"I'm sure all the children who died in the camps were glad to have the chance to grow morally." Hannah had replied heatedly. The older kid, who had fluidly delivered his argument with the haughty tone typical of all his contributions, stared blankly back. Everyone waited for her to follow-up her retort, but she had seemed content with that statement and settled back into her seat. She hadn't said anything else the entire semester, but after that class I had gone up to her and introduced myself.

I looked over to where Ingrid was filling up our drinks. "Who, Ingrid? She's a fine young lady, and I've enjoyed learning about her life." I scoured my increasingly alcohol-addled brain to remember any relevant information about Ingrid that might be of interest to Hannah. "She's currently applying to law school, I believe, something you would probably want to convince her not to do." Hannah had graduated from Georgetown's law school a couple of years previous, and to my knowledge was still working as a consultant following her failure to secure work in the legal field.

Hannah glanced over with empathy at Ingrid, now chatting animatedly with another young looking girl, before shrugging. "Hey, people all warned me about the job market before I racked up this debt and that didn't stop me. I knew what I was getting into—I just hope she does as well."

"Let's hope so." I paused a second, and I wonder if she knew what was coming next. Something in her face told me she did. "Since when did you know Tyler?"

That elicited an exhalation from her. "Well, first off, I want to say that I'm sorry about you and Liv. I know it's been a while, but it has been even longer since we've seen each other." I accepted her sympathy with a brief nod of my head. She looked over my shoulder to the subject of our conversation before continuing. "I actually went to high school with Tyler. I wouldn't say we're the best of friends, but we hang out whenever friends from school all hang out." Seeing the unasked question on my face, she continued. "As far as Tyler and Liv, I really don't know too much about how things are going."

"So, things are going then?"

"To my knowledge, yes."

"Any idea of how long things have been going?"

Hannah's eyes widened a little as she caught the drift of my question. "Not exactly, but you don't think..."

"I mean, I don't really want to think, but it crossed my mind." I turned and glanced again at Tyler, this time seeing him looking back at me. I couldn't read his expression, but at least he wasn't smiling that fucking smile of his.

"Well, I don't think Liv would do that. Not her style at all." Hannah's response brought my attention back to her, and I did my best to look unaffected.

"Yeah, you're probably right. I mean, studs like me don't get cuckolded." I gave a tight smile and was rewarded with a dismissive wave.

"Exactly. Liv was a huge fan of yours, and she wouldn't want to hurt you." I wanted to issue a correction to that statement, but settled for a few halfhearted head nods.

Ingrid had now returned, and she regarded Hannah with a welcoming smile as she handed me my drink. "Hi, I'm Ingrid." They shook hands.

"Hey there, I'm Hannah. Fellow Geary grad, but before your time. So, I hear you're considering the wonderful world of the law?"

####

"Love, love will tear us apart again..." Tyler sang as the final notes of one of my all-time favorite songs faded away behind him. I was up against the back wall, nursing another beer. I had lost count of how many I had had, but it was definitely close to double digits. Plus a few shots. When Tyler finally pulled the mike away and opened his eyes, the crowd, which had swelled significantly over the course of the show, exploded in applause. Love Remains' first concert had been a complete success, and he was the biggest reason why. Luke was right—he had a presence on stage that demanded your attention.

I was only concerned about the attention being given by one particular audience member in the front. Liv had showed up halfway through the half-hour set, and my eyes had been alternating between her and Tyler ever since, carefully taking note of every look they shared. Now, as he climbed down from the stage to give her a kiss, everything felt distant, like I had stumbled into someone else's life.

Once the applause died down, music again began streaming out through speakers strategically placed around the apartment. The song had an inviting, infectious beat that begged its listeners to dance, and dozens of intoxicated party guests began to oblige. Looking out over the crowd of swaying young bodies, I both desired to get involved and felt profoundly alienated. I recognized I would be able to seamlessly join their merrymaking, a belief confirmed by the inviting look directed my way by Ingrid as she danced with her friends. But while I still felt able to participate, I was also keenly aware that this window was rapidly closing. That understanding, rather than encouraging me to enjoy it while I could, made me resentful. I had no intention of being the one trying to stoke the dying embers of my youth.

Tyler must have alerted Liv to my presence, because she was now smiling and waving in my direction. I gave a wave back and returned the smile. For an instant, I allowed myself to forget about the end, as well as everything that, in hindsight, led to the end. All the little fights, the disappointments and the frustrations, they faded from memory, leaving only that face. Liv had now left Tyler and was walking towards me, still smiling, and god she was beautiful. I wished I wasn't as drunk as I was, but that couldn't be helped.

When she reached me, she didn't say anything, choosing instead to go in for a hug that I haltingly returned, unsure of how to hold her. In fact, I wasn't sure we had ever hugged like this, a bizarre thing when you thought about how intimately intertwined our bodies had been. She pulled away and I reluctantly let go, feeling awkward with the amount of personal space between us. It was disorienting—after getting so used to a certain way of engaging with someone, I now was acutely aware of how inappropriate that same closeness was.

There we stood, a couple of feet apart, smiling. I wasn't sure why she hadn't said anything yet, but I had no idea how to start this conversation.

Thankfully, she put her arm out and lightly touched mine. "So, how have you been?"

Just like that, we were back in my bed that first night over two years ago. The smell of her hair hadn't changed since then, and my skin still responded the same way to her fingertips. I briefly looked her up and down and imagined the body only my eyes were allowed to see. The limbs, the torso, the hills and valleys only my hands had access to.

"Been well. Work's been keeping me busy—lots of new clients." Liv had never really shown much of an interest in my job, but only now did that occur to me. My smile soured and disappeared.

She must have noticed, because hers did as well. "I'm glad to hear that. I just hope you're not staying too late." The night Liv broke up with me, I had come home at 11. I guess once you decide you're going to do something, you have to do it, but my body had almost shut down completely when I had registered what she was trying to say. She couldn't have waited until the weekend, apparently.

"Nah, I'm managing a pretty good work/life balance. How about you? School going well?"

An enthusiastic nod. "Yep, I'm TAing a couple of classes this semester and writing about some really interesting concepts. I spent a month in Tanzania this summer too. Hiked Kilimanjaro!"

"By yourself?" Tyler was talking to a couple of girls on the other side of the room, and I didn't try to hide my pointed look in his direction.

She had the decency to look mildly embarrassed. "Um, no. With a couple of friends."

"A couple?" I wasn't going to let this go.

Liv looked away before making brief eye contact and then letting her gaze drop to her feet. "Look Cal, I just wanted to see how you were doing. There's no need to bring up the past. What's done is done."

"You know I'm still living in the apartment?" I didn't hide the emotion in my voice, although I couldn't tell if I was more angry or aggrieved. A side benefit of being pretty hammered was that I didn't feel the slightest bit self-conscious letting my gaze bore into her.

"You didn't leave? You haven't left? Why?" Liv looked genuinely stunned by this revelation.

I just turned my head and looked away, realizing suddenly that my eyes were wet. That night, sitting next to her on our couch and staring at the floor, I hadn't cried. I just sat there, silent except for passive affirmatives to her arguments as to why we weren't going to work out. The specifics didn't seem relevant—all that mattered was the truth of our relationship. A truth I had known for longer than I wanted to realize. It was too much then to look at her, so I had just let her put her arms around me and walk out of the apartment. I didn't move for hours after she had left. Now, feeling a tear trickle down my cheek, I finally felt liberated.

"Because it shouldn't be that easy, that's why." I met her eyes with my own. "Whether or not you feel you made a commitment to me, I know I did to you. And I promised myself I would honor it a while longer."

Still in shock, she shook her head. "I don't understand. Are you ok Cal?"

I wasn't great, mostly because I was concerned I might throw up. Regarding Liv though, I felt relief. A weight in my chest that I had been carrying around for months had finally eased. If I had been asked a week ago why I had stayed in the apartment, I wouldn't have been able to give a coherent answer. Now though, now I knew. I had been trying to validate everything I had projected onto Liv from the moment we first kissed, desperately holding on to the idea that our relationship had been tangible. But in order for us to have been substantial, she would have had to have been as well. Looking at her now, it was easy to see how I could have gotten confused. Everything about Liv invited grand expectations, but now, thinking back to what we were, it became abundantly clear how off-base I was in my calculations.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I'm just drunk. Reallllly drunk. In fact, I should probably be getting home."

Her worried expression eased a little. "Ok, I'm sorry if I upset you. Tyler had texted me that you were here and I debated not coming, but I thought it would be good for us to see each other. No reason we can't be friendly right?"

I looked over at Tyler, still chatting up Love Remains' newest fans. "I don't see any reason why not," I lied. I leaned in and gave Liv a kiss on the cheek. "Good luck with school, and thanks for the fun." If she thought that was a pretty casual final comment on our time together, she gave no indication. "Thanks! I'm glad I came and we had a chance to hash things out." And, with that, I made my way to the door and she headed back in Tyler's direction. A low-key epilogue to a romance whose failure said more about me then it did about her.

I made a pit stop at the bathroom on my way out, but it was locked. My bladder was straining with the weight of my night's drinking, so after waiting uncomfortably for a strained minute, I leaned in and tried to identify the telltale sounds of vomiting. Instead what I heard was:

"Yeah, that feels so good. You're amazing." That was Luke's voice. A pause, and then:

"Thanks, but let's limit the chatter, ok?" That was Hannah.

Wow. Good for them. I smiled wide and shook my head in bemusement. Well, I might as well just find a spot to relieve myself on my walk home. Without another look to the party still raging inside, I exited the apartment and began a long, stumbling journey back to my apartment. Only when I finally approached my building, finishing the remains of a burrito I had bought along the way, did I realize I hadn't said goodbye to Ingrid.

####

You never realized how fast 75 miles per hour was until you were crouched on the side of the road and cars were screaming past you. My stomach heaved again, and I emptied out some more of last night's burrito onto the ground spotted with old beer cans and McDonald's wrappers. The crippling nausea I felt overwhelmed the fear I would expect to experience when kneeling down in a narrow breakdown lane on a crowded major interstate—my primary concern was soothing the turmoil in my insides. However, I was still aware of the vehicles zooming by, and found myself enjoying the breathless exhilaration that resulted from the close proximity to their kinetic might.

Maybe I was romanticizing my youth, but I really didn't remember the morning after being this bad back in the day. I probably should have stayed in bed until at least noon in order to effectively deal with the crushing hangover I woke up with. Instead, I had called my house, briefly confirmed my arrival with my bewildered grandfather (he couldn't specify when he thought I was coming, but he insisted it wasn't tonight) and taken a few aspirin before jumping in my car and beginning my voyage north.

I had made it all of 10 miles before my stomach did one backflip too many, forcing me to make an immediate pit stop. I didn't regret it though. It may have been reckless, but my willingness to overcome intense physical discomfort reflected positively on my sense of urgency. Freed from shadow of Liv and I's breakup, I was downright giddy to leave the city and revisit people and locations that held concrete meaning in my life. I don't know how long my spirit had been hibernating, but it had awoken now. I wiped the vomit away from the sides of my mouth and stood up shakily, enjoying the empty, cleansed feeling that came from my recent purging. A passing SUV honked at me, and I chose to interpret it as a validation. I pumped my fist and threw back my head.

"Fuck yeah! Wooooooo! Loving every minute! I'm out there baby!" None of this really made sense, but it felt nice to yell for a bit. Another SUV honked and I raised both arms in triumph as I climbed back into the driver's seat. I didn't put the car in drive immediately, choosing instead to stare straight ahead and savor my rediscovered passion for life. After a minute it had largely subsided, mostly because I had no clear idea what I had been so amped about. Regardless, I enthusiastically pressed the accelerator and pulled into traffic. It would be good to be home, to sleep in my old bed and see my Gramps, and that should be enough to keep my spirits up during the long voyage home.

# Chapter Eight

### When Your Memory Fails You

I clearly remembered the first time I had driven through my hometown as an outsider. It had been Thanksgiving break during my freshman year at Geary, and it was only when I saw Pittsfield's main drag again that I felt like I could finally said goodbye to the place where I had spent my previous 18 years. Only when I returned could I confirm my suspicion that I had left my true home behind at Geary, and that I had successfully reoriented myself in three short months at Geary so that I no longer thought of Pittsfield as where my roots where. This rural hamlet of 5,000 souls was only where my family lived. I was just a stranger, passing through on my way to my mom's house, and I imagined that if anyone had called out to me, all they would have received was a blank stare. Of course my studied indifference to the store fronts and my old high school was an immature affectation assumed by many returning graduates, but that didn't change the fact that I did feel a profound distance between myself and the community I grew up in.

High school had never been something I was truly invested in, either socially or academically. I did my homework and got good grades, but the only point of that was to gain access to schools like Geary—I would rarely speak up in class, and only joined school organizations in order to beef up my application. Meanwhile, while I was popular enough and even had a couple girlfriends, I never felt deep bonds with my friends and next to no connection with my peer group at large. None of this had been my choice—most of my friends had been my friends since we were in elementary school, and I put as little thought into what made us friends back then as I did when we were graduating. Even my romantic relationships had just resulted from a combination of adolescent libido and these females showing a passing interest in me.

This meant that the moment I walked onto the quad at Geary, I immediately shed my old identity behind and began constructing a new one. As it had never really fit me well, it wasn't a tough task, but it did mean my on-again, off-again girlfriend senior year and I didn't last more than a few weeks into first semester. She went to ASU, and I hadn't seen her in person since that first Thanksgiving break. Facebook told me she had a couple of kids though.

That next summer I was unable to get an internship, so I was forced to spend three more months back in town working as a dishwasher at a local restaurant, but the year after I successfully secured distant summer employment. For the rest of college, I thought of my home as the equivalent of a bed and breakfast, albeit one with lots of personal memorabilia that was run by a nosy, loving innkeep.

While my perception of Pittsfield hadn't altered too much over the past decade, my view of my childhood home had. I wasn't sure exactly when the transition had begun, but at some point in the last few years I had begun to look forward to trips home. Often they were taken without Liv in the passenger's seat, but if anything that made it better (probably should have seen that as a warning sign). Flying solo, I was able to treat my old home as a refuge, not only from the city, but from a life I wasn't completely sold on.

What awaited there was an example of a lasting existence, one which my mom had firmly committed to. My father and her had moved to Pittsfield a few years before I had been born, decided it was a good place to raise a family, and set about building a life together. His death had obviously been a major blow to my mother's vision for her life, but by that point she had developed a support structure, both at the hospital where she worked as a nurse and within the town at large. Moreover, she and dad had already made a home where they had begun raising me, and I believe she felt she owed it to him to continue what they had started. So there we stayed, and whenever I journeyed back I was able to enjoy the legacy of her decision.

As I faced my own difficulties in manufacturing a reasonable facsimile of the life I had known, the significance of what Mom had accomplished grew in my mind. In fact, while it was true I was wary of Paul's impact when he moved in, the bigger reason I had stayed away for the past several months was that I was ashamed. I was closing in on 30 and all I had to show for it was a white collar job where my efforts seemed to produce little of lasting value. Meanwhile, the girlfriend I had decided to commit to hadn't ever really committed to me, and I was pouring money into an apartment rather than a house I could call my own. By this point in their lives, my mother and father were already successfully building the life I had been lucky enough to enjoy.

The guilt stemming from this insight reemerged as I descended from the hill that overlooked Pittsfield. I pushed it to the back of my brain, instead pointedly looking around at landmarks I knew by heart in an attempt to spot any changes from the last time I had visited. It looked like the Texaco gas station may have been renovated, but beyond that I failed to notice any discernible updates. Eventually, I approached the half-empty parking lot of The Whitetail, the restaurant I had worked at the summer after freshman year. At the time, I had been miserable, the monotony of the day broken only by some of the colorful characters who worked alongside me, but looking back I felt no recrimination. There had even been a fellow dishwasher I considered a friend, although he was forty years my senior: Gene Richardson.

Geno, as everyone called him, seemed ageless to me, but that wasn't because he had escaped the ravages of time. In fact, the opposite was true—his weathered face and slightly stooped body bore the scars of a life lived too hard. Too many cigarettes, too many drinks, too many long hours in the steamy kitchen bending over to lift up racks of cleaned glasses. Geno's timelessness stemmed from the suspicion I had that he had looked relatively similar ten years earlier and would look roughly the same a decade later. He'd still have the same thin brown hair and droopy mustache spotted with gray, and the mottled skin of his face would continue to be deeply lined and crinkled. This meant I couldn't imagine him as a young man, but it also prevented me from seeing what sort of visible changes old age would work on him. He'd already aged himself better than Father Time ever could.

Geno's personality fit well with his appearance. He'd quietly chuckle at a joke and shake his head when he looked up at the clock during exceptionally long shifts, but he'd never let himself get too affected by life's ebbs and flows. He abided it all, his existence defined by his cigarette breaks and the beers he had waiting for him in a cooler in the trunk of his car. Sometimes I'd enjoy a can of Labatt Blue, his brew of choice, with him after work. In terms of taste, it left a lot to be desired (when I asked him why he only drank Labatt, he had shrugged and said it was what his father drank), but now I recalled those late summer nights fondly.

They were largely spent in silence, with Geno taking contemplative drags off his cigarette as we both stared off into the distance. Sometimes, I would look over at him and try to guess at what thoughts might be flitting behind his eyes. Was he thinking of an old flame, or family, or where his life had taken him over the years? As far as I knew, he had never married or had kids, and whenever he talked about his parents it was in the past tense. There was a sister he had mentioned a couple of times, but it was clear he hadn't seen her in many years. He was essentially alone, but it didn't seem to bother him greatly. He seemed at peace with the world around him, content to live out his simple existence until, as he would say, "The good Lord sees fit to take me away." If there had ever been expectations for his life, either by himself or others, he had shed them long ago.

Despite each hour dragging by, the weeks of that summer passed quickly, and before I knew it I was prepping for my sophomore year at Geary. That last day in the kitchen had been one of the longest of my life. I pacified my restless spirit by reminding myself this would be the end, not only of my time at the Whitetail, but my tenure as a permanent resident of Pittsfield. It was the end of August and an oppressive heat wave had had the whole region in its grip for the past week, but the air felt positively refreshing when Geno and I finally emerged from an even hotter kitchen sometime around midnight.

"Beers will taste extra good tonight," he said as he slowly meandered over to his beat up Chevy Blazer. I followed suit, taking great pleasure as I peeled off my stained Whitetail-branded polo, using it to wipe the sweat from my forehead before tossing it into a nearby dumpster. Wouldn't be needing that anymore.

"Yeah," I agreed. "This might be my last Labatt for a long time too. No one drinks them at Geary."

Geno tossed me a cold can and gave me a curious look as he fished out his cigarettes from his pocket and settled himself onto his ride's lowered tailgate. "They don't, eh? Well, their loss."

I no longer grimaced when I drank Labatt, but I don't know if there was anything welcome about the beer other than the fact that it was cold. "Yeah, I suppose. Still, I'm pretty excited to head back next week."

"Next week?" He looked genuinely surprised.

I hopped up next to him on the tailgate. "I know I already told you. Classes start on Wednesday."

"Must have forgotten." He took another gulp of his beer and shook his head. "Still don't know that I get the point of all that anyway."

I laughed. "You don't get the point of college?"

"Yeah. I figure high school is bad enough, right?"

I smiled into my beer before taking a drink. "Well, I can tell you that it definitely has its moments."

"If you say so." He turned to face me, and in his face I saw genuine affection. "Well, you're always welcome back next summer."

I didn't think Geno had any say in who the Whitetail hired, but he was probably right. The kid I had replaced had been caught dealing oxy the week before I started. "Good to hear. I had some good times here the last few months." I wasn't sure if that was true, but it felt right saying it. "Not so sure I'll be back in town next summer though."

In response to that confession, Geno nodded his head knowingly as he stared out from the parking lot onto the silent main drag. "Oh, you'll be back. I'll see you soon enough."

I didn't have the heart to disagree, but he seemed fine not getting a response. In the distance, I heard the sound of squealing tires. There had been two fatal drunk driving accidents just that summer—one of which involved a classmate of mine. I wonder how many times Geno had driven drunk in his life. Probably dozens.

While Geno and I were never again coworkers, I did make a point of stopping by and saying hi whenever I was home during college. With a pang of guilt, I realized I hadn't been back to the Whitetail since graduation, and before I knew it I was pulling into the parking lot. I couldn't be sure who'd be left working there, but it was a safe bet Geno would be one of them. It was mid-afternoon, and the Whitetail was more of a nighttime pub, so I was greeted with silence and empty booths when I entered. Luckily, I spotted Doug, a waiter who had worked there when I had, lounging over by the bar and peering down at his phone. The last decade hadn't altered him too much—all I noticed were a few white hairs. Then again, most people don't dramatically change from 30 to 40, which is what I guessed his age to be. Plus, his prominent acne scars, a defining feature of his, wouldn't be expected to magically disappear with age.

"Hey Doug! How you doing man?" He looked up and squinted at me, leaving me unsure if he remembered me or not.

"S'up. Nice to see you again." He sounded like he looked—thoroughly underwhelmed. If I remembered, Doug had been dating a girl who graduated a year after me at Pittsfield High. The rumor around the Whitetail was that he had made her get not one, but two abortions. Doug was not considered a great guy.

"Hey, you have any idea if Geno is working today? I wanted to say hi."

Doug's eyebrows raised, and his face took on a more curious look. "How long has it been since you last talked to Geno?"

"Oh, a long time. I live down in Boston now."

"Just asking because, you know, he's been dead for like 5 years now."

I shouldn't have been surprised, but for some reason I was. As long as the Whitetail was around, I half-expected Geno to always be out back washing the dishes. "Oh. Wow. I had no idea."

"Yep. Lung cancer. Guy always smoked like a chimney. Sorry." Back to looking disinterested, Doug's attention drifted back to his phone. Man, I had forgotten what a dick Doug was.

"Ok. Thanks so much Doug." My voice had a bite to it, but I doubt he noticed. I quickly exited and made my way out back to the dirt parking lot where Geno and I had shared our silence. Standing there and remembering the time we had spent together, I debated if I should buy a sixer of Labatt Blue and pour some out in the dirt in his honor. I ended up deciding against it—he would have just considered it a waste of beer.

I wonder how long Geno had suffered before he found out—he was never a fan of doctors, so he must have really been pretty sick before he sought a diagnosis, and by that point I bet he had already guessed at the verdict. Still, imagining Geno in a hospital gown hearing the bad news was not something I wished to do. I preferred to picture a particular cigarette break I had joined him on. The two of us were watching a group of attractive college girls pile into their SUV after making a pit stop at the Texaco on their way to a canoeing trip on the nearby Penotree River. We had turned to face each other at the same time and, before I could say anything, he ruefully shook his head and said:

"Ain't nothing wrong with that!"

The look on his face was priceless—a combination of bemusement and awe. I burst out laughing and he had joined me with his raspy smoker's chuckle.

I hoped the end had come quick.

####

Other than Paul's BMW in the driveway, everything about my house looked unchanged from the last time I had seen it. Still white and blue, still had two floors and a garage, still had my mother's vegetable garden out back. The ducks were still there too.

Gramps was a big fan of ducks, for reasons I had never quite been able to understand, and he had wasted no time setting up a monument to their greatness after he had moved in with my mom a few years ago. The sign out in front of the fenced in area said "Duck Village," but by now I think it could be classified as a bustling duck town. There must have been fifty ducks in the enclosure—ducks of various colors, sizes, materials and demeanors. My favorite was a fighter pilot duck with aviators and a scarf, but I knew my Gramps was partial to a plain looking mallard quietly situated in the middle of the action. This particular duck, wooden and simply painted, had been given to him by Gramms the last Christmas they shared together. She had been holding up well then, but within a few weeks her condition had taken a rapid turn for the worse.

Gramp's own decline had been gradual, beginning in earnest with Gramm's passing. Before then, I vaguely remembered an active older man who still went on jogs and had a variety of surprisingly well-informed opinions regarding trending topics of the day. He also would occasionally deploy his cutting wit to great effect at family gatherings, delivering zingers that were genuinely laughed at, not in the patronizing way old people can be humored. That said, it became clear, especially after he retired, that Gramms was the foundation of his life. Whether it was making sure daily living wasn't so complicated (despite being modern in her worldview, she still did the lion's share of the cooking and cleaning), or not letting his statements on culture and politics go unchallenged, she was both the foil and facilitator that made his existence sharp and simple.

During the months of her sickness, Gramps quickly shed not only the pounds, but any vestige of middle age behind. By the day of her funeral, the man I talked to was a shell of his previous self, his movements stiff and his eyes occasionally unfocused. Now unmistakably elderly, he often seemed overwhelmed by life. Always an able motorist, I recalled a drive we took to the pharmacy where he had stopped the car in the middle of the intersection. After notifying him to our precarious situation, Gramps, visibly flustered, backed up our car to the stop sign we had originally slid on by. He tried to play it off as minor thing for the rest of the ride, but I could see he understood the significance of the mistake. Not long after that incident, he knocked over his own mailbox and announced to my mom that his driving days were done. Something about that in particular had shaken up my mom, and she had then begun to pester him consistently about moving into our house. It had taken a year of hassling, but Gramps finally put up his house for sale and set up shop in our guest bedroom.

Good thing he did too, because if Gramps had taken a fall like the one he had a few years ago, it might have been it for him. My mom found him crumpled at the foot of the stairs upon her return from work and, with a neighbor's help, managed to get him to the hospital. He hadn't been able to stand up straight ever since, but if he hadn't been living with us it might have taken days for him to be found. My mother told me that when they discovered him, he had soiled himself. This was a man who had been shot twice saving three of his fellow solders' lives in Korea. You either die a hero, or live long enough to shit your pants.

As I approached the front door, I silently prayed that Gramps would be seated in front of the TV enjoying his favorite show: The Big Bang Theory. I knew for a fact that almost all the geek-culture references went over his head, but he just couldn't get enough of Sheldon's mannerisms. Knocking twice and getting no response, I grabbed the key from under a nearby flowerpot and entered. The moment I first stepped across the doorway was what always made me the most nostalgic—it brought back all those afternoons returning home from school, eager to grab some cookies or make myself some chocolate milk, or those lazy summer days when I'd come in sweaty after shooting hoops outside, desperate for a drink of water. Thousands and thousands of entrances during the years when I was becoming who I was today.

Of course, as I spent more and more of my life away from home, those melancholy recollections of the youth I had left behind here began to grow less and less acute. In fact, there was a sort of cognitive dissonance as I entered now. I knew how much this house meant to me, all the memories I had wrapped up within these walls, but I struggled to feel anything. More than anything, I would love for this place to still provide the same comfort it had given a younger Cal desperate for some home cooking. This time though, whatever worries I carried within me weren't going to be forgotten once I crossed the threshold.

"Hello? Is someone there?" The last word in that question sounded strained, indicating that my Gramps was rising from his chair. I rounded the corner to the living room as he was still trying to get himself up out of the worn-down recliner he had brought with him from his old house. "Oh, Cal, what are you doing here?"

"No Gramps, you stay there," I said as a leaned down to give him a hug. He begrudgingly gave up his efforts to rise and awkwardly returned the embrace. "I'm visiting for the night—remember I called earlier today?"

To my relief, his eyes lit up in recognition of our previous conversation. "Oh, of course, yes. You know your mother is gone to Hawaii right?"

I nodded, briefly distracted by the sound of the laugh track on the Big Bang Theory. "Yep, her and Paul."

"He's always got these conferences all over the world. Always at these fancy hotels." Gramps shook his head like he didn't approve, but I'm not sure he knew exactly what he didn't approve of. He looked so small in his big La-Z-Boy, it was easy to forget what a strapping man he had been, even when I was a kid. As a young man, he'd also had full brown hair like mine, but if his remaining follicles were any indication, I didn't have a lot to look forward to.

"So, how's it been living with Paul. You two getting along?" I scanned the room and, with the exception of a picture of Paul and Mom together over the fireplace, I didn't notice any visible signs of his residency.

An absent nod from Gramps. "Yeah, we're getting along fine. He's usually at work." If he had any more thoughts on the matter of the new houseguest, they didn't seem forthcoming.

Another burst of pre-recorded laughter from the TV. "So, watching some Big Bang Theory?" I settled down on the nearby couch. "What episode is this?"

He looked over at the TV and chuckled. "Oh, I don't know, there's always a few of them on every night, and I try to watch when I can." He shifted in his seat. "So, are you going back to school anytime soon? Are you doing your applications?"

Gramps' memory had never really recovered since the fall that nearly killed him. At roughly the time of his accident, I was 25 years old and had been talking a lot about applying to grad schools, soliciting recommendations from professors like Wyatt's dad.

For my grandfather, that was the point where time became largely fragmented, and ever since he had been unable to keep up with the changing lives of those around him. Despite my having told him dozens of times that I had been rejected from everywhere I had applied, he would, without fail, bring it up every time we saw each other. There were plenty of other stale memories he would mention, such as a girl named Jess I had been casually dating back then, but the grad school topic was the only one that proved to be more than a mild annoyance. Probably because, contrary to what I told him and everyone else, I had never _technically_ applied to any graduate programs.

####

Back at Geary, I had majored in anthropology. It was a subject that, especially when taught by educators like Professor Noughton, brought out in me a previously undiscovered intellectual curiosity. I was especially interested in localized cultures that were being left behind in the rapidly changing modern world, which led to a senior thesis analyzing the impact of globalization on self-image within rural communities. Professor Noughton had loved it, and I had to admit I was pretty proud of those 90 carefully researched pages. However, when school ended, I had given more thought to memorizing the rules of drinking games than to how I could pursue my love of anthropology after graduation. This led to my falling into a job at Bretton, getting drunk a lot with Hector, and eventually being let go when tightening budgets led to two of my clients dropping us.

Rather than being disheartened about my being laid off, I felt a sense of renewal—now was my chance to finally pursue a graduate degree in anthropology! I set about researching schools and gathering the necessary materials for my applications. Not overly concerned about money, I still applied for and received unemployment—I was going to need whatever cushion I could get for the lean years of debt ahead. However, my receiving those government checks necessitated that I show I had been looking for a new job, a requirement that led me to hastily assemble a resume and apply to a few new jobs every week. None of these positions were particularly appealing, but their descriptions roughly synced up with what I had been doing at Bretton. Honestly, I wasn't expecting to hear from any of these companies, but one day a month into my unemployment, I received an email response from one Jeff Murkowski. He wanted to have me in for an interview at his fledging agency as soon as possible.

While my focus was firmly on my future anthropological studies, I figured I should at least hear this gentleman out, so I dusted off my suit and met with him the following day. Supremely self-assured and convinced of my ability to succeed within his company, the interview felt more like a pitch than an interrogation, and I left feeling flush with my own potential. The next day, as I was busily working on an essay, I received a follow-up phone call that made the proposal official.

"Cal, we'd love to have you on the team here. So, what do you think?"

I stared ahead, trying to marshal my thoughts and consider the implications of my starting work for this new, largely mysterious employer. What would this mean for grad school? Well, there was nothing saying my reentering the workforce would prevent me from continuing to pursue my continuing education. Plus, his offer was surprisingly generous for an applicant who didn't really consider himself overly qualified for the position being offered.

"Cal? You still there?"

"Yes, sorry. I'm on board. When do you want me to start?"

In hindsight, part of me certainly knew that I was jeopardizing my graduate education by accepting Jeff's offer, but the allure of steady work was irresistible. Plus, there was something comforting about being pursued, of being valued, which appealed to me more than I realized. I quickly found myself invested in the agency's success, and before I knew it the deadlines for applications were quickly approaching. When asked about my progress by friends and relatives, I maintained that I was still in the process of applying, but neither Jeff nor any of my coworkers knew I was even considering graduate school. My reasoning for not telling them was largely rooted in a fear that my divided interests would be seen as indicating a lack of commitment to the growing company I was increasingly playing a pivotal role in. Also, I knew that confessing my plans to the people I spent the majority of my waking hours with would make me more accountable for ensuring I completed what I started.

Eventually, the deadlines came and went without my sending out even one application. Any guilt or reservations I might have felt regarding this passive decision I had made was largely muffled by the promotion and big raise I received from Jeff after a few months, confirming the suspicion that I had made a practical choice that would pay dividends in the long run. Yet, sometimes late at night, I would lie awake and wonder if I had made the right call, a silent concern that led to the consistent lie I told curious parties. Most folks just accepted my fib at face value, expressing their condolences and/or disbelief that a smart guy like me wasn't seen as worthy of acceptance, but I always had a hunch that my mother, Jeremy and Kim had all suspected otherwise. And then there was Gramps, who was none the wiser for a different reason.

####

Gramps didn't know of my failure thanks to his fractured memory, but that amnesia now led me to come clean about the real reason my educational pursuits had been aborted.

"Actually, Gramps, I decided to hold off applying to schools when I got this new job I'm at." I fully expected an understanding nod. Instead, I received a furrowed brow. For the first time I could recall in recent memory, I felt the full weight of Gramps' gaze. He turned off the TV, rested the remote on his lap, and regarded me with a focused glare.

"Now, why would a smart kid like you decide to do something stupid like that?"

My eyes went wide in disbelief. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I asked why would you put off going to school? Does this new job involve anthropology?"

I laughed despite myself. "No, it definitely does not."

Gramps expression indicated he didn't share in my amusement. "Well then, I don't see the point for you. You were always such a good student, and I remember you talking to me about your paper in college. It seemed really interesting."

"You remember my thesis?" I was floored.

"Sure I do. It was about how small town people are being left behind as the world changes."

Close enough. "Well, the job I have now pays well and it's in a field that is really growing fast. It keeps me on my toes and I have a lot of responsibility there. You always told me you never loved your job, but you were glad to have it and were proud of how you provided for Gramms, my mom and my uncles."

"Those were different times, and I was never a great student." Just like that, the unexpected focus in Gramps eyes faded. He settled back into his chair and stared ahead.

Unsettled, I did the same, wondering where this sudden burst of lucidity had come from. I don't know how much time passed like this, but eventually Gramps began to talk again. Despite a faraway look, his speech was clear and measured.

"Nancy always talked about going back to school, after the kids had grown up, but I didn't see the point. My salary was enough to provide for us both, and the tuition would be so expensive."

Nancy was my grandmother. I tried and failed to recall a time when Gramps had talked about her in any specific way since her death—he often would just sigh and say how she was "something special."

While I had always felt a connection with Gramms, teenage Cal and my grandmother had never had any real conversations of substance regarding her life. This was largely due to my own juvenile obliviousness—it never really occurred to me that she might have an existence outside her being the matriarch of our family. Looking back as an adult, this two-dimensional perspective I maintained of Gramms really bothered me, but any questions I casually threw Gramps' way never resulted in any new information. She was a fantastic mother and great cook. They had met as undergrads at UVM. She loved her flower garden, hiking and backgammon. Those are the facts that defined a woman who regularly quoted Hemmingway and Yates at the dinner table.

"I'm sorry? Gramms wanted to go back to school? For what?" My eyes drilled into Gramps, but he still looked ahead, oblivious to my stare.

"Before we had Chris, she would bring up going to law school. She had been interested in the law at school, and wasn't scared by the fact that there were so few female lawyers." A pause, and then Gramps' look saddened. "I always told her she was so good at arguing, I had no doubt she would make a fine one, but my job moved us around so much those first years." I could clearly hear the crickets outside, a reassuring sound that reminded me where I was.

"Gramps, are you ok?"

He turned to me with tears welling in his eyes. The only other time I had seen him cry was at her funeral. "One night, not long after your mother graduated from college, I found her crying in our bed. When I asked what was wrong, she said she was 'just thinking about sacrifices.' That's all she said."

Gramps lapsed into silence after that, seemingly sinking even further into his chair. His point had been made and I couldn't think of anything else to say, so we both absently watched the proceedings of the sitcom in front of us. It looked like the nerds were assembling some sort of laser, but Sheldon and Leonard were bickering over the schematics. When it went to commercial, I roused myself from my seat. It was dusk, but last night's drinking had taken a lot out of me.

"I think I'm going to go up to my room and lay down a while. Gramps, you need anything?"

Gramps looked absentmindedly at me. "Oh, no, I'm fine. You know your mother is in Hawaii?"

"Yep, I know."

"She's with that guy of hers. They're staying at some fancy hotel. He's always staying at these fancy hotels." Again, Gramps shook his head disapprovingly. I wondered how many times Mom and Paul had told Gramps that they were taking this trip before it sunk in. It was like teaching a parrot how to talk—you just keep on repeating phrases until they respond in kind.

"Uh huh. Ok Gramps, if you need anything just holler. I'll be upstairs." I leaned over and kissed him on his head. I had never done anything remotely this affectionate to him before, but it felt necessary. He tilted his head to one side, as if registering the kiss, but that was all.

I wondered if any of the three of the men he had saved in Korea were still alive.

####

I didn't know how I felt about the fact that my room still looked largely unchanged from when I had last been a regular resident. I suppose if my grandfather had been able to make it up the stairs, my mom might have let him move in and remake the room in his own duck-friendly way, but I think she was more than happy that it remained as a living tribute to my childhood.

A poster of Shawn Kemp ferociously dunking still remained in the far corner, alongside an old SI Swimsuit spread of Tyra Banks. My bureau and closet continued to contain clothes I had worn in high school and hadn't brought to college, while the ceiling sported glow-in-the-dark constellations and several dents from baseballs I had tossed too high into the air. My bed, looking a little worse for the wear, elicited both wistfulness and embarrassment. I thought of the heavy petting my first girlfriend Kelly and I had done on it, always with one ear towards the door in case my mom unexpectedly knocked. One time the petting had gotten a little too heavy, resulting in an all-too-common accident for teenage boys in particular. Despite her being understanding, I could still recall my overwhelming shame.

I stood there for a moment looking at the neatly made full-size bed, trying to reconcile adolescent Cal with adult Cal. With each passing year I had a harder and harder time seeing the world through his eyes, and I suspected before long he would be almost a complete stranger. I vaguely recalled the breathless joy I felt when first experiencing seminal moments in my life and tried to remember the last time I had enjoyed that same passion. After these events, whether it was my first concert or the first "serious" movie that kept my wheels spinning for hours afterwards, I would eventually end up back in this room, laying down on that bed. There, I relived it all in my mind, skin tingling and heart swelling with the immensity of it all. I struggled to recollect any of the specifics of my first make-out session with Brenna Tortorelli sophomore year, but I still clearly remembered being sprawled out on my bed after I had returned from her house, looking up at the constellations and silently pumping my fist.

All of these life experiences had been ravenously consumed, but it was only afterwards, as the fire cooled, when the indelible imprint they would leave on my psyche would harden. It was then that I was able to interpret why what I had just enjoyed mattered to me. It was more feeling than reason—I wasn't eloquent enough to effectively convey my emotions, but at least I could make heads and tails of my sensory overload. Plus, I didn't feel the need to put into words why OK Computer was a groundbreaking album—it just felt like a truth that shouldn't have to be defended. Those truths might exist in my current guise as a 29-year-old man, but they were no longer self-evident.

I set down my bag and made my way over to the bed. As I sat down, spun my legs around and assumed the same position I had so many times before, I noticed that the combination of my weight and the age of the mattress made it feel more like a hammock than a bed. Lying there, I tried to remember if young Cal had ever tried to picture himself as a man my age. I doubt he had. In all likelihood, he had spent his time reminiscing about how elementary school had been a simpler, more carefree time. I did my best to envision what kind of life I might be leading in another 20 years and came up empty. The most I could fathom was that my hair would be thinner and grayer—beyond that I was at a loss. Family? Career? Still alive?

It was all too much to try and comprehend, so I focused on the immediate future. Tomorrow I would undertake a long journey east, and when I reached my destination I would be able to smell the ocean. My two best friends awaited me, and I always felt better after spending some quality time with Jeremy and Kim. They, unlike me, had found their niche in the world, and they wore it like a second skin. Of course, that wasn't a difficult task in Brooksport, a locale that, once you visited, always seemed to draw you back. And, when you returned, it was like nothing had changed. More importantly, it was a place where my thoughts always came more clearly, and that lucidity was critical if I was going to realize my potential. I felt like I had let down adolescent Cal, but I wasn't going to do the same to middle-aged Cal. That guy deserved better.

# Chapter Nine

### Journey's End

There's a lot to be said for the transformative power of a simple change of scenery. Winding my way through the White Mountains, I had only crossed paths thus far with a half-dozen cars, which meant there had been few distractions spoiling the majesty around me. The leaf peepers won't be around for another couple of weeks, and I was more than fine with that. Currently, I was driving parallel to a shallow river that had cut its way through the higher elevations. Its progress was interrupted by rapids and the occasional small waterfall, and I had seen some people splashing about in the pools that sporadically accumulated.

I was torn. While I strongly desired to reach Brooksport as soon as possible, I hadn't been out of the city all summer. Only now I realized how accustomed my eyes had become to man-made monuments of cement and steel. Consumed as I'd been in my own thoughts, even I couldn't remain internally facing when confronted with nature on this scale. Telling myself I would only take a few minutes to grab a breath of fresh air, I pulled over to the side of the road and extricated myself from my ride. I crossed the road without bothering to look either way and slowly made my way down to the river, which I really considered an ambitious creek.

As I got closer, its babbling filled up my ears, drowning out my thoughts. Then I was there, standing on a flat slab of stone sticking out into the middle of the creek's passage. My shoes and socks came off, as did my shirt, and without thinking twice I slid off the stone and waded into the waist-deep depths. My balls clenched in pain as they came into contact with the water's icy touch, but I quickly submerged the rest of my body to diffuse the biting sensation. When I emerged, I let out an involuntary hoot that no one was around to hear. Well, no human.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement on the opposite shore. Brown, massive and probably about 10 yards away, the moose eyed me, its muzzle slightly raised above the water. I didn't know how I hadn't seen the animal before, but now I couldn't miss it. It was a bull, with a massive rack of antlers prominently displayed as it leaned down. Suddenly I felt very exposed. Not vulnerable to danger, as I couldn't visualize those long spindly legs easily navigating the rocks and water between us, but more like an intruder. There were no other people around, no cars passing by on the road that now felt like a mile away. Just this giant forest creature and I, and I had interrupted its midmorning drink.

I still hadn't moved, and neither had the moose. We just stared at each other, giant brown eye vs. small blue eye. Finally, after what felt like an hour, his mighty snout dipped back into the creek and resumed gulping down that freezing mountain water. Apparently, he decided I'm no threat, and I couldn't argue with that assessment. I continued to gape though as my new neighbor got hydrated for the next couple of minutes. Eventually, he had his fill and meandered back into the forest, not bothering to give me another look.

Once I was certain he was gone, I pulled myself back onto the rock, content for the moment to let the sun warm my bones. Lying on my stomach, arms crossed under my chin, I rested my head and stared down the length of the river's descent. From my vantage point, the natural world extended onward without interruption, and for a brief moment I allowed myself to pretend that was in fact the case, that there existed a wide organic world outside of my narrow synthetic one that would have welcomed me into its arms. I could leave my life behind, with all its emptiness and uncertainty, and become immersed, forgotten by the vague expectations and fears that hounded me. There would be no more questioning, an end to the doubts. The rules of nature were self-evident, and by following them I would discover the sense of self that had become increasingly hidden from me. Stripped down and exposed, only then would I find security. When death came, I would accept it without complaint, knowing my place in the world, rather than feeling blindsided by a fate I couldn't comprehend.

"Ah! Motherfucker!" I yelled out as sharp pain bit into my side. I immediately flipped over and smacked the source of the discomfort, but whatever had bit me had already flown away. A bright red dot of blood was visible, and I guessed horsefly. I sat up and idly scratched the bite, listening to the sounds of the river, the birds, and the wind. While I loathed the idea of leaving my warm rock, the brief feeling of zen I had experienced was fading, replaced by more temporal concerns such as how I could handle the rumbling in my stomach. Standing up and stretching, I took in my environs one last time before putting my shirt and shoes back on and making the brief trek back to my car.

Another half hour passed and I was out of the forest. Over the next several hours though, that crisp mountain air clung to my nostrils, only dissipating when I approached my destination and was confronted with the equally distinctive and profound smell of the shore. The salty bays and inlets were only occasionally visible behind the rolling green hills, but I felt the expanse of the sea keenly. I had grown up in Pittsfield, boarded at Geary and currently lived in Boston, but here was home.

####

It was easy to see how Brooksport could have developed into a tourist town, one of those little coastal villages filled with surprisingly pricey restaurants, adorable B&Bs and boutique shops that vacationers can't wait to overspend at. Thankfully, it had avoided that fate, but this didn't mean it hadn't become a destination in its own right, its population swelling every summer with outsiders.

The word had gotten out many decades ago regarding this picturesque community, but a different kind of visitor had responded to the call. Those who answered weren't interested in a few long weekends spent lounging on the beach every year, their interactions with the locals consisting of monetary exchanges and maybe the occasional flirtation from a teenage visitor bored with the scene. These people, like me, were drawn to Brooksport for deeper reasons, and their desire to belong to the community here was an abiding one. They recognized what made the populace special, and they were honored to be a part of it for a few months every year. Some were so smitten that they left behind their settled lives, moving themselves and their families north in hopes of finding something they had been missing in their suburban existence.

The populace of Brooksport contained an interesting cross-section of the working class and the bohemian. Jeremy's dad, for example, was a carpenter, a profession not uncommon in an area that had its fair share of summer homes being built and renovated. His family had lived in the area for several generations, as had more than a few of the families of his high school classmates. Jack, a good friend of his who had also attended Geary with us, was, like many others, a more recent transplant, his parents moving into town when he was in elementary school. They had sought to integrate themselves into a growing organic farming collective that had sprouted up.

The parents of another friend, Pennie, had arrived a decade before Jack's. Her mother, descended from a prestigious New England family, had been drawn by the longstanding artist's colony, and her father was a doctor willing to commute an hour to the nearest hospital. Other's parents worked at the local supermarket, bank or school, but no matter the salary, it seemed as though everyone lived comfortably. In the case of those whose families had been around for generations, this was often due to the selling of swaths of land to out-of-staters looking to set up shop. For others, it was simply because the cost of living wasn't so high up here, and the mere presence of the summer visitors provided an influx of cash that sustained many area businesses.

Those who fled the intensity of the city did so both for themselves and for the families they expected to raise. So, while a large majority of Jeremy's classmates would end up attending college, an anomaly in a region hard hit by poverty and drug-use, they did so without the pressure accompanying the high school careers of those in affluent suburbs. Summers weren't filled with college prep classes or, once in college, the internships increasingly necessary to secure good jobs after school. Instead, Jeremy and his friend group seemed keenly aware of their surroundings, that spending the summer months in faraway cities away from home was a sin. It was much more preferable to pass the summer landscaping or working at the boatyard. After all, why leave the town during the season that everyone else was so eager to visit?

Prominent amongst those summer visitors were the attractive members of the opposite sex. I heard about the "summer girls" from Jeremy early on in our friendship, understanding that Kim was one of them. At that time, during our freshman year at Geary, she still hadn't graduated yet, but when she did and chose Geary, Jeremy made it clear to me from the get-go that he was extremely pleased that Kim Kiley had decided to attend. Not a native myself, I never quite comprehended her allure as being due to anything but the fact that she was an attractive girl. The first time I visited Brooksport though, the summer after our freshman year, I understood completely.

With Jeremy as my guide, my first day was spent meeting his family, sea kayaking with him around the bay, and enjoying some lobster rolls at a local seafood shack. His friend Ethan was working at that shack, which led to the following exchange:

Ethan: "S'up fellas."

Jeremy: "Hey man, this is Cal. Geary friend who's visiting."

Me: "Nice to meet you."

Ethan: "Another Geary guy, eh? Sorry I never got around to visiting you last year at school."

Jeremy: "It's all good. You got three more years to stop by."

Ethan: "Speaking of Geary, you going to Jack's camp tonight?"

Jeremy: "Yeah, definitely. First party of the summer. I think a ton of folks are going."

Ethan: "Sweet. Yeah, I'm thinking a lot of kids will be going big. You know if any of the Kileys will be there?"

Jeremy: "No clue. How many of them are even around this summer?"

Ethan: "I'm pretty sure Kim is, and I saw Anna a couple of days ago. Gretchen just graduated from Cornell, so who knows about her. Sadie is like 12, so I doubt we'll see her out at parties."

Jeremy: "Well, fingers crossed, right?"

Ethan: "Definitely. See you both out there. There's a pan dance tonight too."

Jeremy: "Oh yeah? Well, we'll definitely see the Kileys out there then. Maybe the Nashs too."

Ethan: "Man, I forgot about the Nashs. You think Emily will be around?"

Jeremy: "Not sure. You think you can finish what you started last summer?"

Ethan: "I was so close! Emily will be mine!"

Jeremy: "Alright, good luck with that. Later man."

After we had left, I turned to my friend with a confused expression.

"Camp? We're going camping?"

Jeremy laughed. "No, no. Jack's family has a place on a lake. We just call it a camp. I'll take you out to my family's camp tomorrow."

"Oooo, a lake house. Fancy fancy."

"No, it's not like that at all. More like a cabin. You'll see soon enough."

He was right—Jack's place was rustic and, especially due to the dozens of kids crammed in, it felt especially small. But it was on a lake, and I couldn't imagine a more ideal way to spend the early evening than sitting on the dock below, drinking some beers and watching the sun make its way down the horizon. Eventually though, everyone made their way inside and proceeded to go just as big as Ethan had predicted.

The Kileys arrived not long after the party got going. Gretchen, Kim and Anna, an incoming senior in high school, drew plenty of attention as they entered the house alongside the Nash sisters, Emily and Joelle. It wasn't hard to see why. Kim, Anna and Emily all wore bright sundresses that alternatively highlighted and obscured their frames, while Gretchen and Joelle, both a few years older, projected a womanhood that was by turns intimidating and intoxicating. "Summer girls" was the only phrase that could encapsulate these females. It spoke to their temporal nature—like some sort of exotic bird, they would migrate away when the weather turned cold. All you could do is admire them from a distance while they remained.

Jeremy wasted no time getting up to go say hello, and was greeted warmly in return. He introduced me, and by the time he was done Ethan was already alongside us making himself known to Emily. She was a statuesque redhead with patrician features who seemed shy, while Joelle was a brunette with a similar delicate face matched to a more petite frame. Unlike her sister, Joelle was not shy, and she proceeded to playfully advise Ethan to pump the breaks a little. Unfazed, he continued to pepper Emily with questions about her past year, receiving rather insubstantial answers in return. She didn't seem to mind though.

"So, I hear you'll be a Geary girl next year?" I said to Kim after the initial introductions were out of the way. The resemblance between her and her sisters was strong, but her brown curls and dark eyebrows contrasted sharply with their blond, almost Scandinavian look.

The question got an excited smile from Kim. "Sure am! Jeremy sold me on it last year after I emailed him asking if he thought I should apply."

"Yeah, she was a little hesitant when she realized that's where Jack was, but I eased her concerns." Jeremy was positively beaming in Kim's direction, making it abundantly clear I should focus my attention elsewhere. Anna also seemed out of the question, as Jack had already sidled up to the youngest Kiley present. Upon overhearing his name spoken by Jeremy, he proceeded to smile absentmindedly in his friend's direction.

Shorter and thicker than Jeremy or myself, Jack was often shirtless when I encountered him in the summer, but you never presumed he was doing it as a vanity. It just seemed like he preferred it that way, revealing his hairy chest and roundly muscled shoulders simply because wearing shirts bothered him. He also tended to be barefoot—I would often spot him walking down various coastal roads, making his way to the beach wearing a pair of swim trunks, a surfboard under his arm. Oddly enough, he had a head of hair like 1980s Billy Crystal, dark curls that seemed ripe to recede.

Genial, but capable of great feats of stubbornness, Jack was prone to random declarations and statements that revealed a sort of child's wisdom. He just seemed to operate on his own plane of existence where life was both simpler and more complex than what the rest of us perceived. He still called Ethan "Birdman" because of one time in middle school when a bird had pooped on his shoulder, and once asked me why a random dog was sad. I told him that the dog didn't look sad to me, and was in fact wagging his tail, but Jack insisted. Oftentimes, all you could do was shake your head. That said, he loved throwing parties at his camp and people always came. Interestingly enough, he wasn't that social at Geary—he actually hung out with a different crowd than Jeremy and I and we rarely saw him out at parties—but all that changed back in Brooksport. He was in his element and we were all better for it.

"So, pan dance." Jack's question to Anna didn't sound like a question, but she knew him well enough to understand that's what it was.

"Yeah, definitely! It was just getting set up when we parked down there—are you going to dance with us?" If she expected a vocal confirmation, she didn't give any indication, smiling in response to Jack's conflicted expression. I didn't see Jack as much of a dancer, but he obviously wanted to be alongside Anna when the music started.

"How long does it last?" I chimed in, curious as to this local tradition.

"Oh, all summer," she responded.

I laughed. "No, I meant tonight."

Anna giggled, embarrassed. "Oh, they go until about 9. Everyone will probably head down in like a half-hour."

She was right—before long, an intoxicated crowd of young adults burst forth from Jack's camp and began the half-mile trek down to the town park. The sun had almost disappeared over the horizon, and its remaining rays lent the evening air a golden hue. We walked down an empty country road, undisturbed by any passing cars, reveling in our remaining adolescence. It was summer and, equipped with fresh bodies and eager hearts, we were uniquely suited to appreciate it.

"Cal, right?" Somehow, I had ended up walking alongside Kim.

"Yep, that's me." I couldn't really think of anything else to say, but I was ok with that.

"So, how are you liking your first visit to Brooksport?" She asked, smiling.

"I'll be honest, I had pretty unreasonable expectations thanks to Jeremy and Jack talking it up all during the year."

Just then, the group stopped as we crossed a small bridge leading into town. About 20 feet below, a narrow river was slowly making its way to the not-so-distant ocean, its waters reflecting the light still left in the sky. It appeared its allure was too much for Jack to resist—he had climbed up on the guardrail and was now looking down at the water. Only clad in board shorts, he continued to stare down at the water, gauging something unbeknownst to the rest of us. Whatever qualms he had weren't too substantial, because he proceeded to launch himself into space. We all rushed up to the edge of the road in time to see him explode into the water below, emerging a second later with a sharp cry.

"Woooo! Water's cold!" he called up, receiving laughter in response. As he began to swim towards shore, Kim turned to me.

"So, you're saying it's not the paradise they made it out to be?"

Looking out in the dusky twilight, I saw the river snaking towards to the ocean. A soft buzz of crickets hummed in the background, occasionally punctuated by a bird's song. Up ahead, I could hear the distant sound of music.

I grinned. "I don't think your family would come all the way out here every summer if they were wrong."

"No, I don't think we would." She looked ahead, her face the picture of serenity, before reaching down and grabbing my hand. "Come on, I want to start dancing!" We ran alongside each other, quickly passing the rest of the gang from Jack's party as we approached the town park. We began to see families and some older folks walking over as well, the latter group carrying lawn chairs over to a field ringed with tall pines. The town park was situated in Brooksport's town square, a prominent green space surrounded on either side by stores and homes. Beyond it, we could see a wide swath of the bay, an endless blue that dwarfed the crowd already gathered in front of a stage.

As we passed between two of the old pines, I began to make out the performers on the platform, roughly 20 musicians ranging in age from teenager to octogenarian. Each had at least one steel drum in front of them, and the unique sounds they produced as a group had an unmistakably Caribbean vibe. These island beats would have seemed out of place in any other town in northern New England, rural enclaves where country or folk tended to be the kind of music that gathered a crowd, but here it felt right. There must have been a couple hundred people scattered around the park—it clearly was a tradition they had embraced. Children hopped around with their parents while the older generation, safely situated in their lawn chairs, bobbed their heads good-naturedly. Even several adolescent representatives of the self-conscious middle- and high-school crowd could be found dancing along while their peers watched and gossiped from the sidelines.

As the rest of our party arrived, the ranks of dancers were further swelled. The summer girls wasted no time joining the fray, and Kim left my side to join her sisters and the Nashs. Jeremy and several other locals quickly joined them, shaking and twirling their bodies to the music. Even Jack, whom I had never seen try to dance at any parties at Geary, waded on in, bobbing his head as he hopped about next to Anna. I remained on the sidelines, even as Kim gestured to me to join them, holding up a finger to indicate that I would come over in a minute.

It wasn't that I was afraid to dance—most of those dancing weren't exactly fluid in their movements. And even if I was the kind of person who got nervous about dancing, it was abundantly clear that this was the kind of inclusive setting where no one would feel ashamed if they had two left feet. The reason I held back was that I wanted to do what I was sure others around me were doing: appreciating the view.

The Kileys and the Nashs were mesmerizing, long locks spilling over their shoulders as they spun around, laughing and smiling big white smiles at one another. Anna, Emily and Kim were especially alluring in their sun dresses—there was something almost hypnotic about how the fabric shifted and flared as they moved about. It was as though they weren't from this world and we were all lucky enough to be treated to a private performance of nymphs from a fairy tale. The wildest part was how accessible they were—you actually thought it would be acceptable for you to go out and dance with them. That, more than anything, is what actually froze me in my spot for a few minutes. Finally, Jeremy ambled over, already sporting the sheen of his exertion.

"Come on man, join the fun!" Putting his arm around me, he steered me into the middle of the action, and before long I was hopping around with the rest of them. A few times I caught jealous looks from some rougher looking townies, sitting back near their trucks and drinking Bud heavies. It was too bad—if they knew better, they'd understand that they were welcome too. Everyone was invited to join in the summer fun here in Brooksport, where time stopped for three months every year.

Later, after the pan dance had ended, everyone headed back to Jack's. There, we drank more, laughed more and felt more than we actually were, which was just a bunch of kids drunk on cheap beer and our own hormones. Eventually, Jack passed out, Ethan managed to sloppily make out with Emily before Joelle eventually intervened, and most of those who could drive (including some who shouldn't have) had left Jack's camp. Jeremy and I had been lucky enough to score a ride from his friend Noah, a lanky, gregarious kid with shoulder-length hair who was consistently high. This appeared to be one of the times he wasn't stoned, but when he started to drive 20 mph on a 40 mph road, we asked him.

After a long pause, he turned to us and smiled a laconic smile. "Oh, yeah I'm pretty high right now." More silence followed that, but it was hard to get worried when you felt like you could jump out of the car and be alright.

Jeremy, in the front seat, turned around and addressed me. "Noah took a year off after high school and hitchhiked around the country. He goes to Harvard now though. Going to be a doctor like your dad?"

"Yeah, I don't know about that. Mostly just hiked though. Pretty hard to hitch out there today. I only made it out to Tennessee." Noah didn't appear too bothered by his lack of progress, but he wasn't apathetic either. Slouched in the driver's seat, staring out into the empty road ahead, he seemed like most of life was just fine with him. There was an earnest tranquility about him that I found reassuring, and as we lapsed again into silence I rolled down my window to let the night air caress my cheeks.

I felt hid away, safely protected from the fickle demands of the outside world. Here, I would remain 19 years old forever. I wasn't old enough to comprehend exactly what kind of toll the future would take on my body and my spirit, but I, especially during the past year at Geary, began to develop an acute understanding of how finite my situation was. Three short years and I'd be spit out into the world, hopefully prepared to somewhat be able to handle the responsibilities of adulthood. Knowing that, it was extremely tempting to treat Jeremy's hometown as a long lost fairy tale realm I could escape to if modern life ever became too overwhelming.

####

Ascending the final hill leading into the center of Brooksport, I felt a gentle easing. I think if I had any inkling that my death was imminent, I'd do everything in my power to make my way back to this place.

Jeremy and Kim's place, built by Jeremy's father and brother, was just outside of town—it was a plot of land his family had owned for generations—but I wasn't going there just yet. I had been to Pennie's house a few times during my summer living with Jeremy, all for rather epic parties. Her parents place was one of the more impressive native homes in town, complete with a sprawling lawn that would be ideally suited for the wedding reception.

I made my way through the center of town, past the little shops, old Victorian houses and the mostly empty town park, half expecting to see Jack on the side of the road toting a surfboard and needing a ride. It was silly to expect to recognize anyone—after all, I wasn't a local and had spent a combined total of three months here—but all the faces I did see looked vaguely familiar. I almost waved at a woman I briefly believed to be Kim's mother, but wisely restrained myself.

After a few more minutes of driving, I was at the outskirts of town, cresting a hill that faced the ocean. At its summit was the entrance to a driveway with a mailbox labeled "Pawlick." Cars were parked on the side of the road facing the entrance, so I followed suit, exiting my ride and making my way down the winding, tree-lined road leading to Pennie's parents' house. Finally, the pines opened up to a surprisingly expansive parking lot filled with cars, as well as an impressive view of the sea beyond. Also visible was the Pawlick's house, a massive three-story abode facing the ocean. Not able to be seen was the party, which was apparently being held on the far side of the estate, but I could now distinctly make out distant music and the occasional burst of laughter. Following a path from the parking lot to the front lawn, I recalled taking this same walk long ago to one of Pennie's summertime soirees. Then, there hadn't been quite as many cars, but not by much. And there had been trash cans filled with jungle juice, which was something I sincerely doubted would be awaiting me.

"Hey now. Excuse me dude." I exclaimed as I almost ran into a tuxedo-clad guy rounding the corner.

"Cal?" he replied, stopping and smiling curiously, as if not quite sure what he was seeing. "What are you doing here?"

It took me a second to register that I was looking at the groom himself. Almost all of Noah's once impressive head of hair had melted away, leaving just patches of hair on the sides of his mostly shiny pate. Once I adjusted to that dramatic alteration, he didn't look markedly different. His features remained angular, his smile continued to be peaceful and his eyes still possessed that faraway look.

"Hey man!" I went in for a hug that he reciprocated in turn. "I came up to visit Jeremy and Kim, and they told me I could feel free to stop by the reception after. Hope that's fine. Oh, and congrats on the nuptials. I think that's really cool that you and Pennie ended up together."

"Oh, of course you're welcome—there's plenty of food left and the bar's still open." Noah continued to smile and nodded his head a few times, seemingly still taking me in. "That's great you came all the way up. Yeah, it was a great ceremony, and so far the reception's been fantastic."

"So, where were you headed? Going out to the lookout to get high?" It was said jokingly, but when Noah raised his eyebrows I knew that was exactly what he had planned.

He leaned in a little, smiling conspiratorially. "No one knows you're here yet, right? What's another fifteen minutes? Everyone's still eating dinner and the DJ won't get going for a bit."

"I don't see why not." I hadn't been to the lookout since one especially eventful party the summer I lived with Jeremy, and the memories I had from that night were more than fond. Plus, how often do you get to smoke up with the groom on his special day? Noah led me back down the path I had come before taking a sharp right down a barely perceptible trail leading down towards the ocean. We made our way in silence, navigating a sharp descent through the trees that eventually opened up to an exceptional view of the sea.

There, standing alone on a grass-covered outcrop, was the lookout. It was a sad-looking gazebo, crafted from weather-worn wood. The roof had a few more holes than I remembered, but the rickety railing still remained. Nine years ago, resting my arm on that splinter-filled excuse for a guardrail, I had leaned over and done the unthinkable. I had kissed Joelle Nash. More importantly, she had kissed me back.

Noah wasted no time pulling the papers and a little plastic bag out of an inside pocket in his tux. "I don't smoke as much as I used to Cal," he said quietly as he meticulously broke up the buds and spread them evenly across the paper, "but today felt like the right occasion."

I stared out into the ocean below, hemmed in on the left but extending out impressively to the right. In the distance, I could make out the sails of some large yacht, illuminated in the early evening light. It had been night when Joelle and I had made our way drunkenly down here, but the full moon had provided plenty of light.

There was a stifled cough to my left, and then I felt a finger tapping me. Turning, I saw bursts of smoke coming out of Noah's nostrils as he extended the blunt in my direction. It had probably been close to a year since I had smoked last, and my first inhalation resulted in a series of harsh coughs. The second hit went much smoother, and after a third Noah and I sat back and stared across the sea below. My eyes were a little heavier and there was a tingling feeling at the top of my skull, but I was acutely aware of my surroundings—the salty taste of the air, the soft heat from the setting sun, the occasional gusts of sea breeze ruffling my hair and the distant cries of the gulls interwoven with the sound of the crashing surf.

Noah was clearly content to enjoy in the scenery, appreciating his respite from the hectic activity I assumed had defined his weekend up until this point, and I wasn't about to break the silence. Besides, my thoughts were already drifting from the present and back to the summer before my senior year at Geary.

####

The opportunity was clearly there, but I had been unable to force myself to take action. Joelle took another sip from her beer and smiled at me, clearly intoxicated. She was just over an arm's length away, leaning with both elbows over the gazebo's guardrail. Part of me was worried it would give way and I would witness the most traumatizing moment of my young life. A bigger part of me was concerned that this paralysis would continue and I would blow my chance. Every second I waited was a wasted moment—anytime now someone could stumble down from the party above and interrupt our impending hook-up.

It had happened suddenly—it always did. One instant Jeremy and I were winning a game of Beirut against Jack and Noah, the next I found myself alone with Joelle. Joelle, a couple years out of college and back for the summer before grad school started in the fall—she was getting her Master's in Education—was smiling at me in a way I hadn't seen before. I couldn't fathom why that would be the case—I hadn't picked up any romantic vibe from her before, and why would I? I was the goofy incoming senior, still more concerned with less serious pursuits, and she had always been a more mature post-grad, gracing us with her comparatively dignified presence. Sure, Joelle clearly enjoyed herself at the parties she attended, but she always maintained a friendly distance from us younger guys. With the exception of Noah's older brother Levi—and that wasn't confirmed by anyone other than Noah—I hadn't heard of any summer romances involving the elder Nash sister.

But she had been looking at me in a way that was unmistakable and, after a few minutes of brief pleasantries, we had split off from the rest of the scene and made our way down to the lookout (her suggestion). Thinking it would be easier to make my move on the heels of some clever line, I began to talk in hopes of stumbling across one.

"It must be weird being back. I mean, a lot of these kids seem young to me." I looked back in the direction of Pennie's end-of-summer party, a blow-out that Jeremy told me never disappointed. We didn't know it at the time, but it would actually be the last of its kind—some high school senior was currently busy vomiting and pissing all over Pennie's parents' bedroom rug. Perhaps if Pennie had uncovered the mess before her parents came back from vacation she would have been able to dispose of the evidence, but the kid apparently had hidden it so that it avoided detection until their return.

"I don't know—it's pretty refreshing, especially compared to New York. Everyone is just having a good time and enjoying themselves. Plus, I missed you Brooksport kids." She poked me playfully, and I withheld saying that I wasn't in fact a local. I was more than fine being lumped in with Jeremy, Jack and the rest.

"Yeah, we're pretty great, aren't we?" Without thinking, I reached out and brushed some of her chestnut-colored hair away from her face. She closed her eyes, which I always had thought were brown but just realized now were a very dark shade of blue, and opened them slowly, never losing her smile. When she did, I wasted no time in stepping in close and moving in for the kiss.

Joelle was a surprisingly shy kisser—I had expected her lips to be as assertive as her demeanor—but that was fine by me. It was also fine by me that we were interrupted after only a couple of minutes of making out by several other partygoers who had come down to the lookout to get high. Which was a bit of a relief—while I wasn't that inexperienced with romance, I was pretty clueless of how to proceed from there. The idea of getting her to come back with me to Jeremy's house seemed laughable.

At any rate, she appeared content to just kiss, to enjoy a carefree moment with a college kid before returning to her adult life in the city. Giggling as we made our way back up to the house, we parted ways once we approached the main party. But not before I snuck in one more kiss and she squeezed my hand goodbye.

I would find out later that night from Kim that Joelle had a serious boyfriend, a 32-year-old man who she would get engaged to the following year. A few years after that, they had a child, and if Facebook was to be believed, she was expecting another.

####

I knew that we had been gone too long, but I felt like it was up to the groom to lead us back to the reception. With Noah, I should have known better. Eventually, it was Ethan who came down to fetch the man of the hour. He still lived up here as well, working with Jeremy's dad as a carpenter, and country living agreed with him. The summer sun had bleached out his already blond hair and given him a healthy tan. It had also provided his face with a slightly crinkly, weathered appearance that complemented his sinewy frame.

"Noah, you've been gone over a half-hour and the first dance is about to start. You know the one where the bride tends to need the groom...woah Cal, is that you?"

"Sure is!" I got up from the floor and we exchanged a bear hug. "I just got here when Noah intercepted me."

Ethan caught a whiff of what we had been up to and smiled. "Oh, I'm sure he did. I can't imagine Pennie will be pleased, but as long as you dance alright she'll probably let it slide. Come on, let's get back to the party."

As we walked back up the path, I cut through my mental haze to try and recall when I had last seen Ethan. It hadn't been last year when I was here, so maybe the year before that. Wasn't he with Emily? I asked as much, and he laughed in response.

"Man, it's been a while since we've seen each other hasn't it? Nah, we had a little thing a few years ago when she was back for the summer, but it ended when she started her job in New York. You know, distance and all that." He glanced away when he said that.

"Well, that's too bad—is she here today?" Noah gave me a look that suggested I was correct, but I was interested in Ethan's reaction.

"Yep. She's here with her new fiancée," he answered quickly. "It's always good to see her."

"Still, that's too bad," I said. While it felt natural to categorize Ethan's crush on Emily as just puppy love when we were all kids, his feelings never really waned throughout college. He had some girlfriends, but no one serious. Emily, on the other hand, began a long-term relationship shortly after starting school that continued for a few of years after graduation. Then, Ethan got his shot, only to lose it once the leaves begin to turn. Of course, he never really had a chance, and he should have known that. Once a summer girl, always a summer girl. Emily was never going to stay around beyond the beach months—Brooksport was always a vacation, an escape, and he was never going to be able to distinguish himself from the world in which he existed.

It was a clichéd tale when you considered it from a distance, but when it was your life it was always different. Plus, no love is quite like your first, and I bet that seeing Emily now had stoked whatever embers remained of the boundless passion eighteen-year-old Ethan had once felt for the younger Nash. You could only experience first love once, for better or for worse, but losing it cut like few other things in one's life.

The three of us rounded the corner and came upon the reception. It was an impressive set-up, a white canvas tent half the size of a football field draped over the top half of the Pawlick's extensive lawn, the lower half of which extended down all the way to where the shore began. I could spot a few guests out in the distance, but everyone else was either finishing up their meals or at one of the multiple bars grabbing a drink. In the middle of the spread, a DJ was busy looking over his equipment. There must have been 200 people there, in addition to the dozen members of the catering staff flitting about in their white polos and khaki shorts.

My eyes were scanning the crowd, attempting to distinguish any familiar faces, when I heard a voice call out my name. It was Jeremy, a huge smile lighting up his face as he walked over from the tent with his arms outstretched.

"What's up bud?!" he called out as he approached. His brown hair, which always seemed to be just a little shaggy, stood in sharp contrast to his stylish outfit, a slim-fitting navy suit. "Glad you made it."

We embraced for a long couple of seconds. "You're looking real good in these threads," I said, nodding my head in appreciation as I pinched the fabric of his jacket in my fingers to emphasize my point. "Kim pick this out for you?"

He laughed. "You know she did. She said I needed one nice suit for weddings and the like. Apparently my teacher outfits weren't cutting it."

During almost all of the five years that Jeremy and Kim had lived down in Boston, he worked as a consultant for a massive global corporation. He did well, garnering a couple of promotions, but when we would talk over beers at the end of the week, Jeremy would make it clear that the job was not something he was invested in. Hearing that was cathartic for me, especially while at Bretton—your best friend being in the same boat as you went a long way towards soothing your own restless spirit. Deep down though, I never really expected him to continue along that path—Jeremy wasn't meant to be a cubical guy.

I wasn't sure if using his English major for educational purposes was always in the back of his mind, but over the last couple of those Boston years, Jeremy began to work towards getting accredited as a teacher in Maine. He and Kim had their eyes set on a return back north, with her career as a physical therapist not serving as an impediment to their move. I saw him less as he took the necessary classes and studied, but at first things generally still felt as they had those first few years out of school. Kim, he and I went out and saw plenty of other Geary grads. We were all 25, but serious responsibilities still felt light-years away.

Then, over a couple of years' time, as we started attending our first extended batch of weddings, Jeremy got married to Kim, became certified as a teacher and started making concrete plans with his new wife to move back to Brooksport. When a longtime English teacher retired at Brooksport Academy, they had their chance. The head of school, who had held the same position when Jeremy had attended, was more than happy to extend an olive branch to a native son. Kim got a job at a rehab hospital a half hour away, Jeremy's parents offered to sell them their old house (they were moving into another house Jeremy's dad had built on old family property down by the coast), and just like that all the pieces fell into place. By the time we had all driven up to attend the five-year reunion together, I was acutely aware that the two people I was closest to wouldn't be regulars in my life by the end of the summer. The kickstarting of the romance with Liv had taken some of the bite out of their departure, but there still wasn't a month that went by where I didn't miss J&K.

But here he was now, right in front of me, and I couldn't stop smiling. "Well, Kim did right by you. I still remember that tan number you wore to that dance our senior year—just embarrassing."

"Oh don't worry—I still have that in my closet." Jeremy threw an arm around me and began guiding me through the crowd to his table. The four of us hadn't taken more than a few steps before Noah was intercepted by Pennie. She looked very beautiful in her wedding dress, its cut accenting her figure, and I made sure to say as much as I congratulated her.

After giving me an enthusiastic hug, she took a step back and looked me up and down. "Cal! Thank you! So great to see you! Kim told me you might make an appearance, and I told her that was more than fine with me—we have space to spare and you're always a welcome addition." Smiling big, Pennie made sure to keep her face fixed as she turned to her new husband and her nose crinkled. "What do you say Noah, you ready to get dancing?" I doubted she would allow her consternation to show in public, but I wouldn't be surprised if Noah's disappearance led to some serious browbeating later on.

Noah smiled absently and nodded. "Sounds great to me." Pennie excused the two of them, and I could see Mr. Pawlick, his eyes boring into his new son-in-law, get up from his seat and begin making his way over to where the microphone was set up.

Jeremy, Ethan and I made our way over to the table where we had been seated—well, I wasn't technically seated there, but an extra chair had been pulled up for me. As we walked, Ethan gave a glance over my shoulder, and when I followed his line of sight I was led to the Nash family's table. There I saw Emily, fiery red locks cascading over her shoulders, laughing with a refined looking guy decked out in expensive-looking threads, his well-coiffed dark hair set off by a five o'clock shadow. I wondered if there was some place this guy summered, and how many girls he had left in the dust before he married into another well-heeled clan.

Before I could feel sorry for Ethan, I spotted Joelle. She was wiping some dessert off a toddler's face. After she had fussed over the little one for several seconds, she said something to the guy next to her. This guy, sporting a full, flushed face, was busy chatting up an older couple I assumed were Mr. and Mrs. Nash, but acknowledged her request with a wave of his hand. He then absentmindedly rested that hand on his son's head as the youngster proceeded to smear more cake over his face. As Joelle walked away towards the restroom trailer, I could see she must have been in her third trimester, but she carried her prominent belly gracefully as she slowly made her way through the crowd. Her previously long hair was now cut short, framing the face I had known all those years before. But, as she turned in our direction to wave at someone and I got a good look at her, it was very clear that the girl I had kissed then was not the one I saw now. Hers was the look of a mother and mother-to-be, more mature and possessing an appealing glow I registered even from my distant vantage point. This was not someone who would be caught making out down at the lookout.

It turned out the person she was waving at was Kim, who was also making her way over to our table. She caught my eye and her face lit up. As she rushed over to me, I extended my arms and she jumped into them. I swung her around briefly before putting her down, a huge grin plastered on my face. Kim had an infectious energy that you couldn't help but return, and we just stood there smiling for a few seconds before she spoke.

"You made it! I knew you would make the trek. Now we can really have ourselves a time." Kim's eyes shifted to someone behind me, which gave me a second to brace before I felt a pair of muscular forearms wrap around my midsection and lift me off the ground.

"Buddy!" I heard Jack's voice say. "You're here!" He dropped me, allowing me to spin around to where he stood grinning impishly, several of the buttons of his dress shirt undone to expose the tanned chest underneath. Good to see not much had changed. We gave each other a proper hug.

"Yes, I drove all the way up just to see you." He looked a little confused by that, but I continued. "You're still in town right?"

He shook his head. "Nah, moved out to Portland for a job last year. Accountant."

"Cool, you liking it?"

Jack nodded his head and continued smiling but didn't respond as the silence dragged on for several seconds, with Jeremy, Kim, Ethan and myself all looking at him.

"Ha, ok well I'll take that as a yes. Are you sitting with us?"

"Sure am. You should sit next to me so we can talk. I saw a few great movies that I'd like to talk to you about."

I smiled in response at his directness. "I'll do what I can, but I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to talk." I looked down to his hands, each of which contained a beer. "You got some drinks I see—both for you?"

"Yeah," Jack took a gulp from the bottle in his right hand. "Don't want to be stuck waiting in the line."

"Bullshit," Ethan chimed in. "One of those was for me—I asked you to grab me one when I went down to get Noah."

"You did?" Jack didn't look too sure, holding onto the one in his left hand when Ethan tugged on it. Finally, he let go, looking deflated.

"Ok, I want to say hi to the Kileys and then I'll get one for myself," I said.

We continued on to the table, where the seated members included Kim's sisters Gretchen, Anna and Sadie, as well as Gretchen's infant daughter, husband and a well-dressed guy I assumed was Anna's boyfriend. I was told the elder Kileys were still back home in Connecticut, but planned on coming up on Sunday and staying the whole week. Sadie, who I hadn't seen since she was entering high school, was now a woman herself, just having graduated from Michigan. I went around the table exchanging hugs with the Kileys, double-checking to see if Sadie remembered me—she smiled and said she did—and introducing myself to their significant others and Gretchen's daughter Chloe.

Just then, Mr. Pawlick began his toast to the newly married couple and we all took our seats. As I scanned the area for the nearest bar, I caught Sadie looking at me. She quickly averted her eyes back to the father of the bride, and I felt a faint smile form across my lips. As much as weddings had become a bit rote by this point, I planned on thoroughly enjoying myself tonight.

# Chapter Ten

### Wedding Night

The sun had set and the temperature had dropped noticeably. Not that any of us noticed—we had been dancing more or less non-stop for the past few hours. At the moment, with The Talking Heads blaring out from the DJ booth, most of the wedding party was gathered around Pennie and Noah, both of whom were exuberantly moving about. It appeared Pennie's frustration with Noah's absence was, for the moment, forgotten.

Ties were loosened and sweat shone brightly on foreheads as we jumped and swayed. Jeremy, Kim, Jack and myself were clustered together amid the crowd, thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Between the four of us and the bride and groom were Ethan, Emily and Emily's fiancée. To an outsider, the three of them wouldn't have stood out as a unique group amongst the dozens of others around them, but Ethan kept on playfully bumping into Emily. She would bump him back, all while continuing to dance with her man, as intoxicated by the alcohol as the jubilant vibe of the festivities. In another context, knowing what I knew, the exchange would seem a little melancholy, but the communal atmosphere of this wedding had temporarily wiped clean any perceivable angst.

Our little dance crew expanded slightly to allow Gretchen, Anna and their significant others in, making our cluster more of a circle. I felt someone to my left, and saw that Sadie was looking to join us as well. I smiled and stepped back to allow her to squeeze in. She smiled in response, mouthed her thanks and moved over to where her sisters had been gesturing to her.

The next song was a poppier, dancier track that the girls all seemed to know, but which only sounded vaguely familiar to my rusty ears. The Kiley sisters' eyes all lit up and they began to dance even more frenetically, calling over the Nash girls to join them. It wasn't pan dance, but seeing all the summer girls back together was still a welcome sight, and I could see by looking at Jack and Jeremy that I wasn't alone in appreciating it. And, while none of them were technically girls anymore and Joelle's pregnant belly put a damper on her flexibility, the unabashed joy on their faces as they spun about brought back a welcome feeling. It didn't hurt that they were all wearing dresses either, the fabric spinning as their bodies twisted about.

I wasn't sure who initiated it, but I found myself locking eyes with Sadie as she danced amongst the rest of the summer girls. She was actually the smallest of all the Nash and Kiley sisters, not much over 5 feet, but her body had a compact, athletic build that nicely filled out her outfit. The blond hair she shared with Gretchen and Anna looked a little more unruly than theirs—it partially covered the shy smile she directed my way. Immediately feeling self-conscious, I looked down at my feet and shuffled them roughly along to the beat of the music. I didn't know where this sudden connection had materialized from, but its existence, while not altogether undesired, unnerved me.

When I looked up, Sadie was facing away. Just like that, the warm wistfulness I had enjoyed upon seeing the summer girls back together turned cold. Watching her, so much younger and emanating the same glow her older sisters possessed a decade before, now only served to remind me of the growing chasm between the present and the past. This could very well be the last time that I ever experienced Brooksport like this, with these people and this energy, and that knowledge brought to mind a drawbridge being raised. Whatever genuine attraction I felt towards Sadie had been swallowed up by this piercing insight: she was a symbol of a time that had already passed me by. While it was tempting to embrace it, if only for tonight, the knowledge that it would be gone in the morning soured my mood. More than anything, I was tired of the temporary.

I glanced over to where Jeremy was leaning his head in, trying to understand a very intoxicated Jack over the music, and then gave one more furtive look to the Nash and Kiley dance party. Shaking my head, I proceeded to finish the last third of my beer with an aggressive gulp. Dancing was over. Maybe there could be more drinking (there was definitely going to be more drinking), but first I was going to head towards one of the two mobile bathrooms the Pawlicks had shelled out money for. Porta-Pottys they were not—each looked like a tiny cottage, and based on my previous experience the interior felt like the inside of an actor's trailer.

The line for each was at least a half-dozen people apiece, so I made sure to swing by one of the bars first. Only now, away from the dancing and din of the music, did I realize I had actually managed to get fairly drunk. The kind of drunk where you weren't quite slurring, but certainly the kind where you only were capable of focusing on one thing at a time effectively. It didn't matter when you were jumping up and down, arms around everyone and screaming lyrics. Now, I was struggling to make a basic alcohol decision, my attention jumping around the multitude of options in front of me.

"Sir?" The bartender, very attractive, was staring at me, clearly impatient but still smiling. I smiled back, feeling the pressure.

"Yes, sorry, my bad." I stammered, realizing I did in fact have a slight slur. My eyes, frantically scanning the distant beer selection, were unable to decipher any of the labels.

Finally I just asked for a G&T. I regretted it immediately—at this point in my drinking career I knew the "beer before liquor, never been sicker" rule by heart. The fact that I had broken it, fittingly, showed that I wasn't in the right state of mind to be getting any drunker, so I was almost glad when I spilled most of it a second later. The cause of my spill was the next person in line, who I bumped into in my haste to clear out.

"Oh man I'm sorry." Again, I noticed the slight slur on "sorry." I looked up and saw it was Joelle's husband, face even more florid than before. He was bigger than I expected, looming over me at least a couple inches, and his frame easily carried the extra weight around his middle. He was smartly dressed too, giving the impression of a JCrew model gone to seed. In my experience, guys like him were either the back-slapping life of the party, the kind of person who called you "buddy" about 5 seconds into the encounter, or just straight-up douches. There really had never been any middle ground.

"Hey buddy, it's all good. I'm just sorry for the waste of nice gin." He put his hand on my shoulder and gestured to the bartender with easy confidence. "Excuse me, do you think we could get my friend here another gin and tonic?" He turned to me and gave a conspiratorial wink. "No worries, it's on me."

I almost brought the fact that it was an open bar to his attention, but the impish look in his eye made me catch my tongue. Of course he knew—he was just having some fun. Despite the fact that I was almost 30, this guy made me feel 20—in a good way. Because, although I could handle myself in social situations, people like Joelle's husband exhibited a laid-back charm that made those around them feel like they were in the presence of someone who had everything figured out.

The bartender, clearly not immune to my new friend's charms either, smiled demurely as she handed over my refreshed G&T before asking him what he'd like.

"I bet you'd make a mean Old Fashioned—I'm sorry, what's your name?" That earned a bigger smile from the bartender, who looked like she was barely of legal drinking age.

"Julie," she responded, the playful look in her eyes clearly uncaring that he was almost twice as old as her.

"Yes, Julie, I bet you wouldn't disappoint if I ordered one, so that's what I'm going to do."

"You got it...?" her hesitation requested his own name. Man, this guy was very smooth, but all without giving a creepy vibe.

"Rich. Thanks so much." She was still smiling at him when Rich turned to me, extending his hand. "And what's your name?"

"Cal. Thanks for the refill Rich. Much appreciated."

"My pleasure Cal. You can repay me by enjoying it with me. How does that sound? I don't know too many folks here, and my wife's parents are doing me the honor of watching my kid at the moment. Not much of a dancer either, but it would be nice to walk a bit on this beautiful night. Can't see the stars when we're under this tent."

My bladder, before an afterthought, reminded me of my previous plan. "Rich, I'd be glad to have a drink with you, but I think I'm going to have to take a trip to the men's room first." I gestured over to where the dual lines continued to grow.

Rich gave a critical look to the lines and waved off my idea. "No need to wait to piss, especially when we're already outside. We'll take care of that on our walk." His voice brooked no argument, so I gave none, nodding my head as he turned back to Julie and received his drink. He took a sip and smiled.

"How'd I do Rich?" she asked, looking both mischievous and a little vulnerable. After all, Rich appeared to be a man that knew his Old Fashioneds.

Rich, nodding his head in approval, reached into his wallet and pulled out a crisp twenty. "Julie, you lived up to your reputation. Have yourself a wonderful night." The twenty went into her hand, and based on her face, it was clear he could have asked for more than just his drink at that moment. He only accepted her thank you though, turning to me and throwing an arm around my shoulders.

"Cal, tell me a little about yourself."

As we made our way around the dance floor and down to the coast below, I briefly explained to Rich my line of work and how I knew the involved parties in the wedding. His eyes looked around without ever spending too much time on my own, but it was clear I had his interest, especially after I said I was friends with Joelle.

"So you spent a summer up here? Must have been quite the time."

I sipped my drink, thinking that, even though it was a mistake to have ordered it, it was delicious. "Yep, a few months back in college. Joelle was around for a bit then as well—were you two dating then?" I obviously knew the answer, but wondered what Rich would say.

"When would that have been?"

"Summer of... 2005?"

"Summer of 2005..." Rich looked thoughtful for a second, then responded. "Yeah, we spent most of that summer apart, but I had met her the summer before at an Amherst alumni thing."

We were now about 50 yards away from the soiree, the light from the lamps still illuminating each other's frames, and Rich gave a quick look over his shoulder before undoing his fly and proceeding to relieve himself, one hand on his drink and the other on his hip. Seeing my surprise at his casual bathroom break, he laughed.

"Feel free to do your business as well. Just be casual about it."

I shrugged and followed suit, holding out my glass to his. "Cheers to convenience."

Rich accepted my offer, clinked and took a satisfied sip. "Cheers Cal." He casually zipped himself back up and proceeded to gaze up at the stars while I concluded my business. After I had finished peeing, he turned back to me. "You wouldn't mind if I smoked, would you?"

"Weed?" Whatever was left of my old high had been overwhelmed by the alcohol, but I didn't think I could smoke any more without getting exceptionally messed up.

Rich laughed as he reached into the breast pocket of his sports jacket. "No, even better." A second later he pulled out a pair of cigars, offered me one.

Who was this guy, carrying around cigars? I didn't know anyone who casually carried around cigars. I accepted mine and held it out as he produced a box of matches and proceeded to light me up. After he did the same for himself, he let the first puff of fragrant smoke slowly drift out of his open mouth and sighed audibly.

"Nasty habit, but I can always tell Joelle it's to keep the mosquitos away in the summer. She doesn't buy it in the city, but out here I think I could make a case."

I couldn't remember the last time I had a cigar but, staring up at the stars on a late summer's night felt like a fitting occasion. The two of us took a few puffs in silence, the raucous noise of the party behind us merging with the sound of the ocean in front eliminating any awkward silence.

Watching the remnants of smoke drift away from my mouth, I turned to Rich. "How old is you and Joelle's son?"

"Caleb? He just turned 2 a few weeks ago. Great kid. Seeing his face after a long day at work, let me tell you, that's a special thing to come home to."

"And now you got another on the way?"

Rich continued to stare straight ahead into the open space. The embers of his cigar flared up for a few seconds, then he answered. "Correct. I think the due date is in the beginning of October. I think that'll be it, if you know what I mean." To emphasize his point, he made a snipping motion with his fingers.

I laughed. "You ok with that?"

"Sure am bud. I'm told old to be having kids as is. Child of a second marriage here, so I only remember my dad as an old man. Hell, Caleb will probably be able to beat me in 1-on-1 when he's in middle school."

"Plus, kids are so expensive."

"Sure, I suppose, but that's not really a concern in our situation." I almost asked what he did for a living that would make money an afterthought, but I felt confident enough the answer would be "finance" that I didn't bother asking. Kim had told me that Joelle and Emily's dad was a bigshot at Goldman Sachs, and I don't think the connection between the life Rich could help her attain and the life she had growing up was lost on her.

Rich took a big gulp of his Old Fashioned before continuing, still looking as though he was lost in a reverie. "Man, you can barely see the moon in the city—forget all these stars. But yeah, I think Joelle would have five if she had it her way—she's always wanted a big family."

"Man, I can't imagine having five kids."

My smoking partner gave me an appraising look. "You got a special someone Cal?"

I accidentally inhaled, and the resulting coughs lasted a several seconds. Rich looked over, an amused smile on his face.

I waved my hand as I regained control over my lungs. "Sorry. Broke up with a long-term girlfriend this past year. Currently single."

"Not a bad situation. Things were so easy around 30—I didn't feel like I had to try at all."

I had a hard time envisioning any time in Rich's life where he looked like he was trying hard to succeed. "Nah, not a bad situation. It'd be nice to settle down though, right? I'm not a kid anymore, right?"

That got a chuckle from Rich. "I wouldn't worry about it bud. You're in the sweet spot right now—in another 10 years or so you'll look like this." He looked down at his stomach, doing its part to fill out his well-tailored dress shirt, and gave it a rueful pat. "I mean, Christ, you're at a wedding right now, and I've seen more than a few decent options without dates."

The fleeting image of Sadie's smile crossed my mind, but I shook it off. "Yeah, we'll see."

A chiming noise emanated from Rich's pocket. Moving his drink to his cigar hand, he rustled about and checked who had texted him.

"Hmmm, looks like it's time to call it a night. Joelle says Caleb's had about enough, and that means we have too." He checked his watch. "Hey, 10 o'clock—not bad. Proud of the little guy." Finishing the rest of his drink with one quick gulp before tossing his cigar in the glass, Rich extended a meaty palm in my direction. I took it and did my best to return the enthused grip.

"Cal, thanks for taking a moment to chat. Now, I'd only ask that you think of old Rich, in bed by 11, and see if you can find a good excuse to stay up a little later than that."

"No, thank you Rich." I raised my glass in his direction and gave a look towards the still lively dance floor up the slope. "We'll see what crops up."

"All I ask is to keep your eyes peeled. Night Cal." I watched as he ambled up back to where the guests were now singing "Shout," up to where his radiant wife was holding his sleeping son, waiting for him to drive them back to what was certainly a beautiful summer home.

"Oh, we'll see about that." I was alone now, taking comfort in the sound of my own voice in a vacuum. I turned back to the ocean, the sounds of its soft waves lapping against the storm-smoothed rocks ahead. Another 100 feet ahead of me, the lawn ended and the rocks began. I finished my drink, followed Rich's example in disposing of my remaining cigar in my glass before resting it down, and proceeded to depart the grass for the shore. It only took a few minutes of gingerly picking my spots—the light of the wedding was mostly replaced by the light of the night sky above—before I found a nice big boulder to sit on. From my perch I could really only make out tendrils of water as they trickled between the rocks, but in the distance the light of the moon would occasionally catch a crest of a wave. Whatever song was being played only existed as a vague bass line to my ears. I rested my hands on the polished surface of my seat and gazed skyward, getting lost in its vastness, feeling myself sway slightly. From the overwhelming expanse or the alcohol, I couldn't tell.

The sweet spot, Rich had called it. If you were going to call it a "sweet spot," you were automatically putting it in the context of the life you've lived and the life you expected was awaiting you. For Rich, I'm guessing he assumed the years ahead of him at 30 had played out according to plan, and that he probably had a rough idea of, not just his 30s, but the rest of his life when he graduated from college. Knowing that domesticity awaited, he was able to fully experience this time of his life with a kind of tempered indulgence.

I lacked the same framework in which to couch my existence. In fact, the more time seemed to pass, the less I felt involved in the flow of life. I think I had already begun to notice my increasing detachment before Liv, but the past couple of years with her had done an admirable job of masking the alienation. Rich looked forward to, or at least anticipated, the family and career that awaited him. I couldn't brace myself for either—the future seemed to get more opaque the further I traveled down this road. I supposed I would be at my job for another few years, then take another similar position at another agency. I could anticipate loneliness driving me towards another relationship, maybe one that would offer the same rewards Rich had received. And, the more I thought about it, having a wife like Joelle and a couple of kids who looked like a combination of me and her wasn't a bad end result. No, not at all.

I felt a vibration in my pocket. It was a text from Kim.

"where did you go?"

"chilling by the ocean"

Buzz. "get back here. dancing!"

"ok. there in a sec"

After a couple near falls, I made it back to the lawn. A minute later, my arms were around Jeremy and Jack as we sang the lyrics to Tiny Dancer along with everyone else. Again, my eyes caught Sadie's, and I felt a slight flutter in my chest. I hoped it didn't show in my face. Then, Louie Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World." Some people headed back to their seats, but most found partners to enjoy it to.

"May I have this dance, friend?" Kim held out her hand, which I graciously accepted.

I was almost glad that Kim found me before I found Sadie, who ended up accepting Jeremy's offer after he shot a look of fake outrage my way.

Kim's eyes twinkled, and as we pulled in close I could easily distinguish her floral shampoo from the other scents in the crowd. After swaying with one another for a bit, I backed up to give her room to spin towards me. Gracefully twirling under my arm, she spun in for me to dip her. I obliged and pulled her back close.

"You enjoying yourself so far?" A question with an obvious answer.

"Oh, it's so great that everyone's in town. To be honest, I hadn't seen Joelle or Emily in years." Kim's response had a surprising note of melancholy, subtle but clear. "Plus, Sadie's flying out to LA tomorrow to start a job at a non-profit, so that'll be a tough goodbye." All the Kiley sisters were close, but I knew from talking to Jeremy that, while Kim would never admit having a favorite, she had always had a special spot in her heart for her youngest sister. "She's actually staying in the guest bedroom tonight—hope you don't mind the pull-out couch."

Sadie was staying with J&K? "Fine by me. As long as there are chocolates on the pillow."

Kim laughed. "Of course there are. What are we, savages?"

"Good. So, like, how's life?"

"Oh, life's life. Just got a raise at work, which is nice. And hell, I'm almost used to the hour commute by this point. That said, I just applied for a new position that opened up at a nursing home closer to home. Might be more boring, but it would pay well and the hours would be pretty manageable."

"Plus, you can't have that big commute if you're going to have a little Garvey."

Kim's eyes briefly widened and her head pulled back slightly, considering me. Taken aback by her response, which I fully expected to be playful, I raised my eyebrows. Kim didn't have a drink in hand now and I couldn't remember if she had earlier.

I leaned in closer. "Did I miss something here?"

Kim smiled. "Well, we haven't said anything yet because I just found out last week. Don't tell Jeremy I told you yet though, ok?"

I shook my head, mouth open. "Crazy!" It wasn't really crazy, but it was. The gap between a theoretical J&K baby and an actual one, currently growing in Kim's belly, was wider than I would have expected. "Had you been trying?"

Kim glanced around, but no one was paying attention and I doubted anyone could even make out our conversation over the music. "Yeah, started last month. Didn't take very long, right?" She looked giddy and scared at the same time, and before I could stop myself, I wrapped her up in a bear hug.

"Well, that's the best news I've heard maybe ever." I pulled away and she beamed, squeezing my hand. I noticed the song had ended, and a more upbeat number was taking its place. Those singles who had ceded the dance floor to the couples now returned for the final stretch of the night. Kim called out to Jeremy and Sadie, who came over to join us for the final few triumphant tracks, one of which naturally included Journey. I couldn't resist giving Jeremy a big smile, but when he confusedly asked what was up, I just kept grinning. He shook his head and, probably assuming I was just wasted, threw an arm around me as we jumped up and down singing "Don't stop believing!"

####

"I guess he's nice enough, but I can't believe they're engaged after 6 months."

"Yeah, it's definitely soon, but Emily is head over heels. You should have heard her talking about the proposal."

"Just like she was head over heels for Erik, Marty and Jared. Sadie, you know it's the relationship she's into, not the guy."

"Wait, who's Jared?"

"College guy. Pretty sure you never met him. He actually wasn't that bad, but he had a bit of a drinking problem."

After sweaty goodbyes to the bride, groom and other old friends, a sober Kim chatted to Sadie in the front seat as she drove us home. I hadn't caught much of their conversation until now—my focus was more on limiting my creeping nausea. My drunkenness had subsided from its earlier peak, but sitting in a car for even this twenty-minute drive had my insides roiling. I glanced over at Jeremy, who had immediately fallen asleep once the ride had started. He had always been able to nap at will, so I wasn't too surprised to see his head resting on his slowly rising chest. Him being a father? That I was still trying to wrap my mind around.

From the moment we first met, I was struck by how unflappable Jeremy was. We had been next-door neighbors in Norris (our freshman dorm) but hadn't really met each other until a month into first semester. I had had a few conversations with his roommate Hank, but never the oddly elusive Jeremy, who was never around despite not playing a sport to my knowledge. The reason for this absence had been his involvement with Becca, a junior who had led his freshman orientation trip.

Years later, I had a hard time remembering what Becca's face looked like, but I still had a recollection of her naked body as it sprinted down the hall of our dorm. People are very impressionable when they're 18.

My roommate Kendrick and I had been in our room browsing through a worn-out, heavily annotated copy of the class facebook, an exhaustive guide to our fellow classmates that we all had received before we arrived to campus. There were only a few copies left remaining in our dorm, one of which was thankfully ours. Most of the females in there were already marked up in some way to indicate our level of interest, and we were arguing about a particularly attractive one Kendrick insisted he had finally seen in the cafeteria earlier in the night.

"I'm telling you man, it was her," He peered at the picture again, narrowing his eyes. "Jessica Maloney—that's her."

"And you're saying she wasn't anything special?"

"No way man, girl looked closer to 30 than 20. Worn down! Real rough looking."

I stared at him, judging the truth of his words, before looking back down at Jessica. She was one girl in particular that I had been looking forward to meeting, and if Kendrick was right I was in for a major letdown.

A shout from the outside hallway interrupted my thoughts. Kendrick and I both raised our eyebrows at each other, wondering what was up. Our floor was typically fairly quiet, and now we could also hear footsteps pounding down the corridor.

"Woooooooooo!" Another shout, this one from a female voice, got me to stand up and walk to the door. Cracking it open, I peered down the hallway each way and saw nothing. I could still make out distant footsteps though, which now sounded like they were coming from downstairs.

"No one's out there?" Kendrick asked.

"Nah, not anymore." Looking down, I spotted a pair of shorts and a Geary sweatshirt on the floor outside Hank's room. Investigating further, I picked up the shorts and, examining them, found them to also include a pair of boxers. The implications of what I was holding were beginning to dawn on me when I heard the hallway door open behind me.

Spinning around, the first thing I saw were breasts. Two breasts, to be exact. Bouncing up and down as they approached, mesmerizing in their nakedness. They were attached to the body of a girl I vaguely recognized. I thought I had seen her last week in our dorm, but she had been fully clothed then and I was having trouble reconciling the two images. She laughed in response to my expression as she sprinted past me, briefly showing me an equally exposed butt before disappearing into Hank's room. Staring blankly at the open door to Hank's room and trying to process why she would be heading in there, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Hey dude, can I have those?"

And there was a penis. Also attached to a body. The body of Jeremy, my next door neighbor. He wasn't bothering to cover himself as he reached out his hand to ask for his clothes, which I hurriedly handed over. Other than some slightly labored breathing, he looked perfectly serene, although I thought I saw a barely perceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"What's going on...?" Kendrick poked his head out of the room, took in the scene, and froze. Jeremy, casually regarding him, clothes still in his hands, didn't flinch.

"Hey man. Sorry about the commotion."

Kendrick nodded slowly in response. "Uhhh, no worries. You enjoy your night." He said this as he slowly stepped back into the bedroom, content to let me deal with our naked neighbor.

"You too." As Kendrick's head disappeared from view, Jeremy bent over to pull up his underwear and shorts.

"You coming to bed?" Looking back over my shoulder, I saw Jeremy's fellow streaker emerge from his room wearing an oversized men's T-shirt. I couldn't tell if that was all she was wearing.

"Yep. Give me one second." If Jeremy was fazed by this question, he didn't show it.

"Ok, don't take too long." Seeing I was staring, she gave an understanding smile and a wave before closing the door behind her.

Several seconds of silence passed before I turned to Jeremy. "She isn't a freshman, is she?"

"Nope. Junior." Wow.

"Wow."

That got a dry chuckle out of him. "I'm Jeremy." He extended his hand, and after a second I took it.

"Cal."

"Nice to meet you Cal. Want to grab breakfast tomorrow with Hank and I?"

"Yeah, sure. Where is Hank?" I would have to tell him what he had missed.

"Sleeping? Not sure." Well, maybe Hank had one eye open and hadn't missed anything. "Ok, see you tomorrow!" Jeremy sounded excited at the prospect, but his face was still very inscrutable. "Ok, back to bed. Night man."

Becca and Jeremy saw each for another few weeks, until which time she got back together with an old boyfriend. This didn't appear to bother Jeremy, but it was difficult to tell. Regardless, he avoided any extended romantic entanglements up until Kim arrived the following year. During that time, Jeremy, Wyatt, Xavier, Hank and myself, all living on the second floor of Norris, became a tight-knit group, and those bonds would last throughout our four years at Geary.

Now Wyatt had socially regressed to the point of being a hermit, Xavier had barely been heard from since he enrolled in medical school at the University of Chicago last year, and Hank was divorced with a kid back in his hometown of Houston. The last time all five of us were together was a year after graduation at Hank's bachelor party, a long weekend I remember being filled with laughter. About what I had no idea, but I could still clearly recall us rolling around on the floor of the log cabin we had rented, gasping for breath, tears in our eyes.

Actually, the more I thought about it, the more I could see Jeremy being a pretty great father. His laid-back demeanor would be nicely complemented by his stern countenance, and you knew he'd take the responsibility very seriously. While Jeremy might not show any outward worry, he possessed a quiet resolve that showed up when needed, such as his pursuit of Kim or his goal of being a teacher. I used to mistake his chill attitude for indifference, but eventually I realized he was just a fundamentally even-keeled person who rarely let himself get upset.

"Well, to be honest I'm not sure that Emily has ever really wanted to make her own decisions, and now that's resulted in a big one being made for her." I saw Kim's head turn towards Sadie to make her final point. "I just don't see it ending up well, especially with this guy Dom."

"Not ending well? Like divorce?" Sadie seemed skeptical. "I have a hard time seeing Emily getting divorced. If Joelle wouldn't divorce Rich after what he did, I'm pretty sure Emily will find a way to make it work."

I had no idea what Rich did and knew better than to chime in, but I found myself surprisingly saddened by this revelation.

"I don't doubt she'll try, but I just can't see her happy with a guy like that."

Sadie sighed, exasperated by her sister's surety. Kim, unlike Jeremy, wore her convictions on her sleeve, and wasn't afraid to call out those who felt short. I remembered a time when her personality was more laissez-faire, but as we'd aged her views had acquired a finely tuned edge. Most of the time she was right though, so all you could do was sigh.

"Well, just be thankful you have Jeremy then and stop worrying about it."

"Oh, I am." Kim turned her head briefly over her shoulder to regard her passed-out husband, mouth now slightly agape. "What a catch." I saw her hand reach around the back of her seat, grabbing for my knee. "Cal, you asleep too?"

"Nope, still kicking. We got any more weddings to hit up tonight?" That got a laugh out of Sadie, who turned around to check out her sleeping brother-in-law before briefly locking eyes with me. I tried my best to look nonchalant, but had no idea if that's how I appeared.

We finally pulled into Jeremy and Kim's driveway and, on cue, Jeremy's eyes opened.

"Home already? Sweet."

####

The clock read 2:48. I really should get back to the couch. I wasn't sure how upset Kim would be, but I couldn't imagine she'd be thrilled if she found me here.

Sadie stirred to my right, moving her leg over mine. Her head was resting on my chest, her body firmly wrapped up by my arm. I wondered if she was just being polite, snuggling like this. She had a flight tomorrow after all. She had been the one gesturing to me to come into her room though, so maybe she felt obliged to let me stay a while.

It had been quick for both of us, her finishing necessitating my own finale. Condoms felt unnecessary—considering my relationship with Kim and Jeremy, if Sadie had anything it would be more than the usual breach of trust. At least I had managed to pull out. After I was finished agitating beneath her, she leaned down, a gentle smile on her lips, and kissed me softly.

Our business concluded, there wasn't really much to say. She was going to leave tomorrow morning and we had had our fun—it was just a matter of when I decided to exit her bed. My hand casually cupped her breast, but even that felt like cheating. The moment was over and it wasn't meant to continue, regardless of what other ideas might cross my mind.

The alcohol had largely faded, replaced by a parched mouth and swelling bladder. I chose to ignore both, staring at the clock that now read 2:56. I felt each lost minute, another 60 seconds never to return. I wondered at what point I started feeling like time was being taken instead of given to me. It seemed way too early in my life for there to be a countdown, but if I felt vaguely aware while I was with Liv, it was much more pronounced now. Whatever cushion I had against my own mortality had worn thin, but as long as I stayed here I could take solace in the sleeping form beside me.

Looking at Sadie's face, lacking the wear and tear that had started to show up on my own, I was seized with jealousy. I was a footnote of her ascendancy. Just graduated, about to depart for a fresh new start in a glamorous city—fucking one of her older sister's friends was another memorable detour in a journey she assumed would never end. She was still writing her story. I felt like I was counting the number of pages I had left and realizing they had already been written. My proximity to her just made me feel even more distant from the 22-year-old version of myself.

The first time I had sex, with Jenna Eastman freshman year (a week before my 19th birthday, a fact that hadn't been lost on me—saying I was 18 when I lost my virginity would lead people to believe it had happened in high school) had been a transformative, if underwhelming, experience. She didn't seem to get that much enjoyment out of it—she was also a virgin—but we had been dating a month and both of us were game to toss in our V-cards. I managed to last a few minutes before distinctly yelping "oh sweet Jesus!" and putting an end to the whole clumsy affair. That said, lying in bed with Jenna that morning, similar to how Sadie and I were now, everything felt electric. I savored each molecule of early May air as it streamed in through the open windows and into my nostrils. Meanwhile, the tinny notes of some Dispatch song—Jenna loved Dispatch—drifted up to my top bunk from her laptop. Even to this day I still had a soft spot for Dispatch, because at that moment their sound became hardwired into my persona.

We both went to breakfast that morning, and I think anyone who regarded me for longer than a second could have guessed what I was smiling so big about. I wasn't a fool—I didn't ascribe any cosmic significance to my losing my virginity—but in terms of my own growth as a person, checking "sex" off the list felt like a huge step forward. I was hurtling forward, exploring the great unknown of what I was capable of, and, while it might have seemed obvious in hindsight, a small part of teenage Cal doubted he had it in him to put his penis inside a vagina.

Now, lying here looking at the sharp red letters of the clock—3:05 now—I wondered if that great exploratory journey had concluded. Not that I felt sure there wasn't more to experience, new events and people to enjoy. I just didn't have the slightest idea where to begin. All I knew was the territory I had already trod over, and I desperately wanted the familiar people, the familiar settings, the familiar routines, to provide me solace. But if I couldn't find comfort here, next to one of the larger-than-life summer girls in Brooksport, in the house of the two people who knew me best, then where?

Sadie stirred a little and I regarded her again, this time with a less critical eye. I leaned my head down a little, briefly caught a whiff of her hair and allowed myself a smile. If I struggled to discover new pleasures, I could at least appreciate some known ones. I slowly turned her over to her back and put my lips softly on her neck. I felt her stir underneath me, so I placed a few more kisses alongside the first. Pulling back, I saw her eyes were half open. She lazily regarded me.

"Again?" I continued my trail of kisses down her neck. She laughed. "I'm going to be so exhausted for my flight."

"Not my problem," I answered.

Sadie sighed and looked down between us. "No, it looks like you have your own issues."

I responded with another kiss, this time on her lips.

# Chapter Eleven

### A Blueprint of Sorts

The next morning, I woke up alone on the couch, hungover. Not a bad hangover, all things considered—I had had the presence of mind to chug a glass of water on the way to the couch from the guest bedroom. I slowly pulled myself upright, blinking a little as I faced the sliding glass door that opened to the porch and the sprawling yard beyond. I could hear muffled voices outside, and I wondered if one was Sadie. Craning my neck towards the kitchen, I saw a clock showing the time to be just past 10. Doubtful that she was still around.

Swinging my legs out of bed, I padded over to the door and gave a big tug on the handle, expecting it to give a little resistance. It gave none, and I stumbled a little as it slid open in one smooth movement. The voices stopped as I stepped out, shielding my eyes against the mid-morning light. The wood underneath my bare feet felt surprisingly cold, especially in relation to the warm air gently caressing my face.

"Thoughts on the new deck?" I turned to see Kim and Jeremy sitting next to each other, both in rocking chairs. "Compliments of Jeremy's dad."

I surveyed it, refreshing my memory from when I had last been here almost a year ago. In the distance, down a twisting dirt driveway, I could almost make out where the main road was—if you listened closely, you could make out the sounds of the occasional passing car. This two-story house, which had its back to where a pine-filled forest began, wasn't small by any means, but it still felt modest in relation to the wide expanse of field it faced. Mostly overgrown until about the 25 yards up to the house, the "yard" was dotted with wild flowers and the occasional blueberry bush. A deck like this, twenty feet of prime sitting space to take in the sights and sounds of late summer, felt like the missing piece to their property.

"Pretty sweet." I walked over to a third rocking chair and took a seat. "How are Rick and Shirley?" On the other side of the road was another driveway, this one leading to Jeremy's parents' house (built by Jeremy's grandfather 50 years ago). Then, not more than five miles down the road, Jeremy's older brother Todd lived with his wife and two kids, while his older sister Beth and her family were about a 20-minute drive in nearby Greenburg. The whole family would gather every Saturday night for a big dinner at Rick and Shirley's house.

Jeremy's face took on a slightly sour expression, and I saw Kim give him a concerned look as she rested her hand on his knee. "Dad's good—his three-beer-a-night fitness regimen has him well-primed for his 70s." He paused and glanced down. "Mom... Mom's been better. She hadn't been feeling well all summer, and when she finally went to a doctor it turns out she had pretty advanced breast cancer. It's metastasized to her lungs too, and the prognosis isn't great. She's going to start chemo next week, so, fingers crossed, right?"

My heart sunk. "Jesus dude, I'm so sorry." I reached over and squeezed his shoulder, not sure what else I could say. Shirley was the kind of stout country woman you had a hard time imagining getting sick. I'd always imagined her outliving Rick by a decade at least.

"Well, cancer runs in the family. She's tough though, so I haven't given up hope." We sat in silence for a bit, the wind rustling through the trees overhead.

"Oh Cal, you want some coffee?" Kim had just finished hers, and Jeremy looked relieved for a change of subject. While not out-of-touch with his feelings, he didn't like to dwell, a trait I envied.

"Yeah, sure. I could use a little boost after last night."

As Kim stood up and left us, Jeremy chuckled. "I was feeling it too this morning. We've lost a step or two." He looked over my shoulder at Kim's disappearing frame, before giving me a conspiratorial look. "Someone wasn't in their couch last night when I went to go to the bathroom."

"Um, yeah, that happened." Part of me wanted to self-consciously look over my shoulder to make sure Kim wasn't behind me, but another part of me maintained that I shouldn't feel guilty. The age difference fell into the "Half your age plus seven" rule, after all, and Sadie had initiated it.

"You dog." Jeremy whispered it with a faux scolding tone. He obviously didn't care—the juvenile joy of discussing last night's hookup easily trumped any protective feelings he might have regarding his younger sister-in-law. "Kim had told me that Sadie had asked about you a couple of times—I was surprised she even remembered you."

"You and me both. I must have made quite an impression."

Jeremy looked skeptical. "Yes, clearly. That, or she took pity on a heartbroken old man."

"Heartbroken? Please, do I look heartbroken?" I had talked to both Jeremy and Kim about the breakup in a limited fashion at Alli and Vic's wedding, just a couple weeks after it had happened, and I think I handled myself well. Any tears had already been shed in private.

"Who's heartbroken?" Kim had returned, coffee in hand.

"Apparently me." The coffee had cream in it and, if Kim knew me like I thought she did, it also had two sugars.

"Oh, you? Yeah, you're totally heartbroken." Kim nodded her head as I stared up at her, outraged.

"Wait, am I giving off a sad puppy vibe?" Now I was distinctly self-conscious, imagining myself as an object of pity for those around me.

Kim looked thoughtful as she took her seat across from me. "No, not sad puppy. More like a lost puppy."

"Yeah, lost puppy!" Jeremy's eyes lit up as he chimed in. I gave him a withering look, and he shrugged in response. "It's true."

Sometimes, in recent months, I would be in the middle of a conversation when an odd sensation would overcome me—a sense that my actual perception wasn't real, that I was actually some sort of robot who could see but not really interact with the environment around hm. I would blink, see the person in front of me disappear and reappear, and find it all very disconcerting.

"I'm not lost at all. Just because I don't have a girlfriend anymore doesn't mean you guys need to feel sorry for me." I sipped at my coffee and winced when it burned the tip of my tongue.

Kim gave a sympathetic look. "To be fair, Liv was more than just a girlfriend. The way you talked about the two of you together, how you saw the future."

"Yeah dude, you would go on about weddings and what your kids would look like." Jeremy said. "And, to be honest, I never got the vibe from Liv that she was ever on board to anything close to the extent that you were."

I knew he was right, but it still stung knowing that I mistakenly believed I was a member of a mutually supportive relationship. At some point, a month or so after the ball dropped, I began to reexamine my time with Liv (mostly through online interactions and old texts), and I wasn't pleased with what I found. Browsing through old Gchats and texts, it was clear the exchanges were overwhelmingly one-sided, with me being the initiator. I still wasn't sure if it said more about us as a couple or me as a person that I was capable of maintaining a conversation with essentially just myself and thinking it was healthy. But something else Jeremy had said stopped me from dwelling any further on my failings.

"Oh, I almost forgot—speaking of babies, congrats!" After feeling the heat of J&K's attention firmly directed on me, it was a relief to turn the tables and watch shock claim Jeremy's face.

Kim, finding her husband's surprise as entertaining as I did, put a hand on his head and offered a half-hearted apology. "Oh, babe, I forgot to tell you that I spilled the beans to Cal last night." Jeremy raised his eyebrows. "Don't worry, I told him we hadn't told anyone else. Plus, if things go wrong between now and when we decide to announce it, Cal can help absorb our sadness."

Jeremy immediately leaned down to knock his knuckles on the deck and shot her a stern look. "I told you Kim, no more talk like that."

Kim, who had always had a surprising morbid streak, shrugged. "Hey, we all deal with the stress differently." She rolled her eyes at his concerned appearance and patted his hand. "Don't worry, we Kileys are a very fertile bunch. I bet there are three of them in there, and they'll all come out 10 pounds apiece."

Slightly mollified, he turned back to me and smiled. "Yes, we got ourselves a family in the works. Due date is actually right before your birthday I think. May 2nd, right Kim?"

I was the 4th. It was funny—despite being many months away, the 4th of May was looming large as the day I would leave my 20s behind. J&K though, they would be bringing a life into the world just two days before, kind of overshadowing an arbitrary date I only elevated because of my own vanity. Well, I also highlighted it because there wasn't much else competing with my 30th birthday in terms of life events. Jeremy, on the other hand, I could easily see overlooking the cosmic significance of his 30th in March. Then, he could very well be bracing for fatherhood while simultaneously mourning his mother's passing.

"Oh man, that would be great if we were birthday twins. I could show him a great time on his 21st birthday."

Kim feigned indignation. "Him? How about her? We Kileys have a hot streak when it comes to girls."

"Girls like strip clubs too, am I right?" I raised my hand, and Jeremy reluctantly slapped it. Kim rolled her eyes. I took another sip of my coffee, which had cooled just enough for me to enjoy, and soaked in the scenery. "You picked the right place to raise him or her, though."

Gazing out over the surrounding terrain, you left with the impression that it was teeming with life just below its tranquil surface. A few stray butterflies fluttered above the field, and I spotted a couple of turkey vultures lazily drifting overhead. I knew that this past winter a black bear had moved into the neighborhood, and Jeremy had told me that their mailbox had been knocked over a couple of months ago. I was the one living in a sea of humanity, but here I felt much less isolated.

Kim gave an appreciative glance around the property before letting her gaze settle on Jeremy. "Yeah, I can't complain. I feel like by marrying Jeremy I got citizenship to another country with its own perks. No regrets in leaving the city."

"None at all?" As much as I loved it out here, someone had to defend my adopted home turf. "I saw a couple Applebees on my way up here, but last time I checked good restaurants were few and far between." I knew Kim was a sucker for top-notch dining experiences.

She didn't hide her wistful look. "I won't deny that there are some luxuries you might have ready access to that we lack." She shot me a pointed stare. "But here's the thing—I saw firsthand how the 'perks' could trap you. You think my dad likes working at HSBC? He _hates_ it, and he always has, but he never tried to pursue any other career. All because he and my mom not only wanted a bunch of kids, but all the trappings of upper-class life. To live in one of the most expensive areas in the country, to have access to elite private schools. To make sure all of us got nice cars when we graduated from high school."

"Speaking of which, where is the Volvo?"

Kim sighed. "In the shop."

"Well, you're saying this as someone who got to reap the benefits of growing up in Goldtown." Kim was from Greenwich, but I always called it Goldtown. By this point, I think she heard "Goldtown" as "Greenwich." "Like being able to come up here in the summer."

She nodded her head. "Oh, I don't deny it, but the more I think about it, the most enduring benefit I got from my privilege was having the opportunity to meet you guys, fall in love with Jeremy and move up here. It was my out."

"Your out?" Kim always treated her family's wealth with a kind of muted acceptance, but I had never heard her talk so explicitly about it.

"Yeah, my out. Like, a big reason I decided to be a physical therapist is that I would always have job security and I wouldn't have to rely on my parents. But, if we were living in Boston or New York, I know we could get sucked in, and it would be harder to tell the difference between what we needed and what we felt we should have to keep up with everyone else. Up here, away from all that, I feel like we can focus on what really matters. I'm less distracted by what everyone else is doing."

It didn't look like Jeremy had been paying attention, staring off into the distance, but now he joined in. "And to think, I was worried I would have to do a lot of convincing to get her to live up here."

"Well, the winters suck."

He waved his hand dismissively at his wife. "Please, give it twenty years and they'll be plenty warm."

"Good point. But yeah, just look at my sisters Cal." I felt Jeremy grinning at me, but I refused to make eye contact with him. "Gretchen's husband is a professor at Columbia, but I know she always gives him a hard time about their finances, even though she gets paid well. But they live in Manhattan and it seems like she's always complaining about money. Anna is the same way—the kid she's dating is absolutely loaded and is madly in love with her, but he's a tool. I'm worried she'll settle just because she'll know she'll never have to worry about money. Even Sadie—"

"Great girl, Sadie." Jeremy interrupted. "You have a chance to talk to her Cal?

Kim shot Jeremy a curious look. I felt a flush stealing up my neck and hoped she didn't notice. "No, not really. Crazy how much she's grown up though. I hadn't seen her in so long."

"Yeah, she remembered you though, Cal."

I recovered enough to make what I imagined to be a suave face. "Well, she's not alone. I cut quite the figure."

Kim smiled patronizingly. "Yes, of course. At any rate, I was hoping Sadie would be less reliant on Mom and Dad, but I saw pictures of the place she's living in LA, and I can tell you that her entry-level PR job isn't paying for half of that. I brought it up to her, but it's pointless. Our parents have convinced her that she's innately deserving of a place like that. Meanwhile, the only concession I made was for our wedding."

"It was a beautiful wedding. And those gift baskets, with that cheese? Pretty awesome."

Jeremy, confused, turned to Kim. "Wait, we had gift baskets? I don't remember any gift baskets."

"Well, you weren't a guest. Yes, that was all my mom, but I'm out now thanks to the Garveys. And, more importantly, this little guy won't grow up as spoiled as I did." She held her hands on her stomach to emphasize her point.

Ninety-nine percent of the world's population would consider Kim Kiley to have had a blessed life. I don't think she would disagree on the surface, but there was always an undeniable hint of sadness when she described her family and her upbringing. While she had never been as explicit to me, Jeremy had told me before she felt that her wealth felt like more of a curse than a blessing. We don't choose our family. Knowing that, Kim had clearly transitioned to the Garvey clan with the next generation in mind.

Jeremy stretched out his legs and arms simultaneously, groaning contentedly. "So Cal, what's it going to take to get you up here? You know you want a piece of this."

"I don't know—jobs? More than three single ladies in a 40 mile radius?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "If you wanted it, you could find something up here that fulfilled you. I mean, how much do you love what you do now?"

Silence on my end. Question answered

Jeremy nodded in acknowledgement before continuing. "As far as girls, I hear online dating is a great way to meet ladies in rural areas."

"Yeah, a girl I work with just got married to a sweet guy she met on Match." Kim gave me an encouraging look that, despite its good intentions, I found myself frowning at. "A guy like you could make a killing!"

I chose at that moment not to confess that I had seriously been considering joining an online dating site. It was mainstream enough that I wasn't embarrassed, at least in front of most people. In front of these two though, it felt silly.

I tried my best to look receptive. "Sure, I'll consider it." J&K both shrugged, content to let it go. I felt a trickle of sweat run down my back—the sun was making itself known as midday approached. It wasn't humid, but suddenly the air felt stifling.

"Hey, do you two remember that rope swing down in Long Isle?"

# Chapter Twelve

### Holding On Is the Hardest Part

The fear in revisiting the past isn't that you won't find everything as you left it, but that you'll discover what has been disturbed is within you. You're lucky if the iconic people or places of your youth have changed or disappeared, because then it lets you take the focus off yourself. When all remained as it was, that's when your gaze turns inward.

Considering how threadbare it had been almost a decade ago, I was more than a little surprised that the swing remained. Glancing up and over my shoulder to the outcrop above, I watched as it swayed lightly in the breeze coming off the bay. And, while erosion had now revealed a fair amount of the tree's roots, it looked sturdy enough, its biggest branch still proudly supporting the bodies of its patrons. One of those non-paying customers, a high-schooler by the looks of it, let out a holler as he catapulted into space. His friends cheered him on as he careened awkwardly into the water below, probably hoping they would look a little more graceful on their way down.

From where the kid had just splashed down, I scanned the water further out, my narrowed eyes eventually discerning the shapes of Jeremy, Kim and Jack. Upon my suggestion that we go for a swing and a swim, Jeremy had texted Jack, staying in town at his parent's place, to see if he wanted to join. Twenty minutes later, the four of us had piled into my car, bringing enough beer and food for the afternoon. Jack complained that the leather seats were burning his back. I told him to put on a shirt and it wouldn't be so bad. He refused.

The beads of moisture from my time in the water had been effectively evaporated by the midday sun currently floating above. I hadn't spent much time swimming—unlike Jack, Jeremy and Kim, I wasn't a very strong swimmer, and I tired quickly treading water. Plus, I'd rather soak it all in from the beach with a cold beer in my hand. I took a substantial gulp, enjoying the feeling of it trickling down my throat. I had already had two, and knew I had to pace myself or I'd be too sleepy to make the trek back south later on in the afternoon.

It was unseasonably warm, in the 80s even though it was the beginning of September, but I still found myself shivering every time a slight gust of air traced my bare skin. A few seagulls drifted overhead, adjusting their wings as they peered below at the current residents of the small beach. Even at low tide, the pebble-filled sand couldn't have been more than 10 yards deep, though it extended maybe 50 yards to my left. I didn't remember the beach being so narrow, but Kim had reminded me that the seas had risen a bit since we came here last. I suspected in another several decades that the water would end where the forest stopped, and future generations would have no reason to return to this stretch of coastline. The foot-beaten path we took from the main road would quickly disappear, and eventually the locals would forget this place even existed. I liked to imagine though that I, as an old man, would still remember how to reach the shore. I would lead my grandkids through the thick forest to the shore and there the tree would be, jutting out of the water, a fading remnant of a long-lost civilization. Maybe even the swing would still be there, gently tracing the surface of the water.

A child's laugh echoed across the sand, and I turned my head towards the sound. At the other end of the beach, a toddler was splashing in the shallows, moving both arms like twin windmills as he cackled. His parents stood behind him, very much enjoying what I assumed was their little one's first time at the beach. I imagined the couple, who looked fit and young, were a little older than me, but I knew they could very well both be my juniors. The dad reached down and picked up his son, arms and legs still spinning, hoisting him high into the air before taking several steps further in and dipping him into the deeper water. Held up by his arms, he kicked gleefully at the water he was suspended above as his mother got to one knee and took pictures with her phone.

Another exclamation, this from a teenage child, drew my attention to another high-schooler hitting the water. Her friends cheered her on from above as, sputtering, she emerged and wiped her hair out of her face. She let loose a shaky laugh, rattled by both the cold water and the leap she had just taken. As scared as she might have been flying through the air, she was safe now, treading water in the calm waters of the bay.

Content and feeling secure myself, I lowered my sunglasses and lay back down onto the cushy towel J&K had let me borrow. Eyes closed, I absorbed the sounds around me as the sun soaked into my pores. More peals of laughter from the toddler, a gull's cry, a distant dog bark, the whistling pines behind me, the water gently lapping near my feet. Eventually though, my thoughts began to wander.

Both the new parents and the teenagers were experiencing fresh wonders—the latter as humans with rapidly maturing psyches, the former as witnesses to the new life they had created. While I naturally gravitated more to the parents, my peers, than the kids, it wasn't because I felt closer to their reality. I had at least experienced what the kids were enjoying—the shadow of their adolescent joy was still felt through my own faded memories. I was drawn to the parents because I knew the best way at this point to experience the world with fresh eyes was by living vicariously through a genetic proxy. Right when your perspective on life began to feel rote, you could invigorate it using the eyes of another. Unfortunately, at this juncture in my life, I had a hard time fathoming the partner I would start that new life with.

Maybe being exposed to Jeremy and Kim had forever tainted my perception of what relationships could be. They fit together so seamlessly, complemented each other so readily, that it almost seemed blasphemous to wish for something comparable. I had wanted it so bad though that I had shoehorned Liv into the role of Kim, brushing aside anything that contradicted my vision for the two of us. Beyond that mistaken foray, I had little evidence to support the idea that I would find a person I could expect to build a life with. Moreover, I didn't trust I had the ability to accurately identify the right prospects in the future, a doubt that had thus far prevented me from joining the online dating scene.

A shadow fell over my face. Slowly opening my eyes, I saw Jack standing above me, grinning down. His ample body hair, which had spread from his chest to his shoulders, was matted down over his torso, making it look like he was wearing some animal pelt.

"S'up man?" I asked after a few seconds of us regarding each other. "You enjoy swimming out there?"

He shook his head, still mostly covered with mahogany-colored curls despite always seeming to be flirting with male-pattern baldness. "Nah, water was harder to swim in than usual."

"Than usual?" I lowered my sunglasses to my nose and regarding him with curiosity.

"Yeah." He looked back out to the water he had come from, then turned his gaze to the beer I was currently drinking. "Thought I'd come in and have a beer with you."

Still unsure what could make the water hard to swim in, I reached over, pulled a beer from the cooler and handed it to a still standing Jack. "Where are Jeremy and Kim?"

He shrugged as he opened it and took a gulp. "They said they wanted to swim out to the island and back."

"The island? Shielding my eyes, I peered out to where I had last seen J&K, then slowly let my gaze travel further out to where, at least a couple hundred yards in the distance, a rocky atoll rose up. I thought I could make them out, but wasn't sure. "Christ, that's a ways out there."

"Shouldn't take them that long." Jack seemed unconcerned per usual, but in this case his lack of worry was justified. They were both exceptional swimmers. "How's Boston?" He continued to stand a foot away from my towel as he addressed me. Sighing, I rose to my feet and stood alongside him.

"Good, good. It's a great city. Lots to do. You should come down and visit." It was well known that Jack wasn't a fan of big cities, but I still would bother him about visiting just to hear why he wouldn't. They ranged from "dirty" to "traffic" to "people there are full of themselves."

Today, he just gave me a half-smile and shook his head. "Nah."

"What's new with you other than being an accountant? Any ladies?"

Jack nodded. "Yep. Apple Amy."

"Apple Amy?"

"She works at her family's orchard. Met last year when some of us went apple picking."

"So, Amy isn't her last name?"

He gave me an incredulous look that showed how preposterous that would be.

I smiled. "Of course not. My bad. So, it's been like a year though. Are things pretty serious?"

Another big gulp and a shrug. "I suppose. We moved in this year."

I laughed. "Seems serious to me."

If he heard me, he didn't acknowledge. Clearly, this relationship with Apple Amy was not something Jack was spending a lot of time dwelling on. You had to wonder about Apple Amy's take on it all.

"Man, it was weird seeing everyone last night again." Jack gave a raised eyebrow in response, so I continued. "I mean, last time I saw Joelle, we were making out at one of Pennie's parties."

Jack choked a little on his beer, but recovered quickly. "You made out with Joelle?"

I laughed. "Yeah, like 7 years ago."

"She's so hot. That's awesome that you did that."

"I mean, she's pretty pregnant now, but yeah she's not shabby at all."

Jack shook his head vigorously. "She's just as hot now. Even pregnant." Again, he looked at me and shook his head in admiration. "Pretty sweet that you did that. Can I have another beer?" He held out his empty, which I took and replaced with a fresh one. Clearly content just to stare ahead, Jack gave me one last amused glance before shifting mental gears to God knows what.

I shot him a sideways stare as I drank my own beer. This was a guy who I was certain was the same now as when he was 16. He didn't have to strain to recall how he had evolved. Everything that previous versions of Jack had held to be true were still beliefs he currently maintained. His singular worldview was an enduring one, and wouldn't be shaken by whatever curveballs life would throw his way. While I knew his consistent serenity was beyond me, I did take heart in knowing that he would continue to abide. Without thinking, I reached out and tossed an arm around his broad, bushy shoulders.

He gave a start, but didn't shake me off, choosing instead to give me a confused look.

I smiled. "You're alright, you know that?"

Unable to discern what my motives were, Jack gave me a smile as if to say "whatever you say, weirdo" before returning his gaze to the ocean.

After a few more seconds of our casual embrace, I lifted my arm and pointed out to an enlarging pair of dots coming our way. "Here come the ironmen."

####

Another 15 minutes and J&K were back on shore, no worse for the wear. After their journey, they were content to just lay on the beach and work on what could be the last tan of the year. Sprawled out on the sand, the conversation drifted lazily back and forth, with bursts of laughter occasionally interrupting the flow. Jack brought up the summer of 2003, one he apparently remembered in vivid detail, before Jeremy told a story about he and Kim's honeymoon in Turkey that ended with them naked in separate Turkish bath houses. As the afternoon drifted away from us and the sun continued to beat down, the exchanges became less frequent, focused more on what food was left and who needed to reapply sunscreen. Finally, Jack began to loudly snore and we decided it was time to pack it in.

As we padded away off the now empty shore, I turned around and took it all in. It was strangely quiet, like I was quarterbacking the home team and the crowd was going silent on my behalf. Goosebumps prickled along my skin as I blinked into the rays of the sun, its light bleaching out the picture in front of me. I felt a stirring in my chest as my senses devoured the scenery, committing to memory the colors, the smells, the sounds. The last time I had been here, I had left without truly appreciating. I wasn't going to make that mistake again. Turning my head up towards the sky, I closed my eyes and issued a silent goodbye.

"Cal?! You got the keys, right!?" I heard Jeremy's voice, but when I turned around I saw he, Kim and Jack had already disappeared into the woods ahead.

"Yeah, sorry, just fixing my sandal!" I yelled back, glancing around uncertainly. There on the beach, with Jeremy, Kim and Jack out of sight, the utopian illusion seemed less certain. On cue, a random cloud interspersed itself between the sun and the beach, casting a shadow over the scene. My formerly sun-dappled surroundings quickly took on a vaguely menacing air, with spiky pines looming on one side and the murky depths of the bay on the other. Desperate to maintain my previously positive impression, I gave one last look up at the rope swing before I scurried away from the clearing and onto the beaten down path back to civilization. Silhouetted against the sky, clearly visible thanks to the dimmed light, it still beckoned. A part of me hoped it always would.

A minute later, my steady jog had me caught up with my friends. As we weaved our way single file through the forest to the dirt road ahead, Kim turned around to me.

"I'm confused—did you develop a sudden fear of heights?" I gave her a questioning look and she returned an exasperated one in response. "You didn't use the rope swing at all."

"Oh. Yeah, I never got around to it." I shrugged. "Next time."

She gave me a long look but, seeing my lack of expression, sighed and resumed walking. I smiled at the way her body awkwardly compensated for the two folded chairs under her right arm.

That smile slowly faded as we continued onward, but I took solace in the sight of my friends' backs. Content to follow in their steps, to feel safe in their company, I pushed aside the anxiety that had threatened to emerge earlier. I savored the moment, just as I had many others before, letting my thoughts drift away from anything definitive. There was a gentle easing in my chest as I walked, a relief from an invisible weight I only now noticed had been there. I knew it couldn't last, but I was ok with that.

I grabbed a leaf from a nearby oak and rubbed it between my fingers until it split and crumbled. Tossing it aside as I strode forward, I finally caught sight of my car through the trees ahead. Reaching down into my bag, I felt for my key fob. Feeling its cool plastic contours, I identified the button and depressed it. I assumed a piercing electronic beep would emanate in response, but I heard nothing. All I could make out was the sound of the wind whistling through the trees, continuing on like it had throughout time.

# Chapter Thirteen

### Return to the Grind

Whatever dream I had had, it wasn't a good one. I remembered a road and a falling sensation, and I felt like I had experienced it before, but the rest of the details were lost on me. Cutting through the residue of the unsettling dreamscape was a persistent blaring noise that began to take shape as I slowly returned to consciousness. My heart was still racing from the forgotten nightmare I had left behind, so I lay in bed for several seconds as my alarm continued to bleat at the foot of my bed. Finally, I sat up and leaned over, smacking hard enough to shut it up. It was 8:45 and, listening closely, I could make out the soft splattering sounds of the raindrops outside. My first day back at work and I was going to be late. I sighed, quickly texted Jeff to let him know to expect a delayed arrival, and swung my legs out of bed.

My goodbyes with J&K had been more heartfelt than I expected. Maybe it was because I knew the next time I saw them, they could very well be parents, but I got a little lump in my throat as we hugged. I could see they felt it too—we had spent less than a day together, but there was no denying it seemed longer. We had successfully reaffirmed our bond yet again. Not that we needed to convince each other that we still had it, but it was always nice to be reminded how our connection still ran deep.

As I slowly pulled away from their house, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw them saluting me. I couldn't quite make out if they were smiling, but I could pretend that they were. Unbidden, my eyes welled up, releasing a few salty drops down my cheeks. I almost never cried, and I couldn't be sure if the reason for the tears was because of how much I missed Jeremy and Kim in my life, or if it was due to the fact that I desperately wished to be slotted into their blessed domestic existence. Probably a bit of both, but that melancholy slowly faded the further I drove south. I had a decent life too, and I promised myself I would set about making it better once I returned home.

Hurriedly throwing a wrinkled dress shirt and khakis on, I did my best to put last week in context. If nothing else, I had a decent tan. I did feel relaxed—even knowing the chaos that most likely awaited me back in the office didn't rattle me. I had to have a job, but I didn't need to have this job. I glanced around my spartan apartment with new eyes. I had this apartment, but I didn't need to feel tethered to it either. I had had Liv, but I felt confident I could find someone else to replace the hole she left in my life.

Grabbing my messenger bag and heading for the door, the last of sleep's cobwebs left my eyes, and I emerged onto the street invigorated. I didn't own an umbrella, but I welcomed the cool drops of rain as they hit my face. A quick jog brought me to where my car was shoddily parallel-parked—I had been too tired when I arrived last night to be bothered—and when I started it the first song to come streaming out of the radio was Arcade Fire's "Wake Up." I gave myself a minute to soak it in before I put my car into drive.

Justified or not, I felt a vague sense of momentum. I was still young—there was plenty of time left to fashion a more compelling life for myself. The mental clutter I had experienced before had departed, leaving behind endless possibilities.

Maybe, I told myself, I should finally consider moving to a new city. Liv had been my excuse before, but that was gone.

Maybe, I internally advised, I should revisit my grad school applications. It wasn't too late for me to pursue the academic career I had long dreamed of.

Maybe, I chided, I shouldn't fixate so much on my isolation when easy solutions awaited me. I could join one of those co-ed softball leagues, for example.

Maybe I had it in me to be something better.

My cell rang. It was Jeff. Stopped at a red light, I stared down at it and debated whether or not I wanted to answer this. He was definitely going to be stressed, and he might even ream me out. It wouldn't faze me—whenever Jeff did get upset it was just a matter of letting it pass—but having to engage with him a half hour before I actually reached the office would mean my brain would be forced to shift gears. I tossed it over to the passenger seat, letting the remaining rings echo out inside the car before a chime noise let me know a voicemail had been left. I resisted the urge to listen. All in good time.

The rain had really started to come down now, forcing me to put my wipers on their fastest setting. Even then, the half-second space between wipes was enough to inundate my windshield. It was actually sort of exciting, the sky emptying out like this. Well, at least from the safety of my car, where it was like being inside a car wash. I could make out a few people scurrying frantically outside without umbrellas. Apparently, they had thought they could stomach the light drizzle when they ventured outside, a decision that was proving disastrous. One older gentleman dressed in a suit was really booking it on the sidewalk to my left, but he was forced to stop at the intersection as traffic passed in front of him. I saw what he didn't—a huge puddle right below the curb. The first car managed to avoid it. The second did not, and I watched as the water rose up and drenched him from the waist down. Shocked, he stared down at his soaked lower half, not believing that he was the victim of such a clichéd fate. Part of me sympathized, but I still laughed. Like people slipping on the ice, it was impossible not to.

A flash of orange popped in at the bottom of my field of vision. Glancing down, I saw the little pump was highlighted. Looks like I would be another few minutes late. Thankfully, there was a gas station right around the corner. Even better, it was full-serve. While the attendant, a gruff looking bald guy, took the brunt of the wind-swept precipitation, I sat back and stared ahead. Droplets of water ran down the glass in front of me, and I fixed my gaze on one tiny area in particular, waiting for the cluster of precipitation to be swept away by one of the little streams that emerged when enough beads of water merged together.

I remembered how I used to do this as a kid on rainy days if I was stuck in a car while my parents were at the post office or the bank. While it was probably no more than 10 minutes in real time, as a child it felt like an eternity. Not in a bad way though—there was a sort of tranquility there in the largely silent car, especially in a small town. From the safety of that backseat, you would take in the outside world, content to observe and absorb the occasional car passing by, the strangers going about their daily business. All of it was something you felt detached from—their concerns were still foreign to you, these people outside your haven. Unlike these adults, you had a life that hadn't yet begun in earnest, a fact that freed you up to sit back and take it all in from a position of privilege.

One of the few memories I had of my father was waiting for him in the backseat when I was little more than a toddler. It was a gas station like this, and it was raining then too. I vaguely recall him tapping on the window and waving to me as he pumped, a distant figure distorted either by my fading recollection or the car window. I liked to imagine he was smiling though, delighting in his son's expressions and motions, in the way I looked at him. Mom always told me some of her happiest memories were watching my dad get me giggling when I was a baby. His method of choice was the "detaching thumb" trick, but he was also really good at farm animal noises. She said I took my first steps in response to him leaving the room, and when I walked with some authority, I was perfectly happy to stumble along after him as he moved about the house. I looked a fair amount like my mom, but people who knew my father told me that, when I smiled, the resemblance between the two of us was unmistakable.

They said it had been quick for him. A head-on collision with a drunk driver who swerved into his lane. My mother let it slip once after one too many glasses of wine that they had just started trying to have another kid that week. The other driver had survived, but suffered some pretty bad brain damage. After he got out of jail, I remembered seeing him once—he had lived one town over—at the local mall, sitting on a bench in the food court by himself. A scar was clearly visible over his right ear and, as I stared at him, my burrito untouched in front of me, he seemed to slump even further into that bench.

I had just turned 17. I did some quick math in my head—he had been 35 when he stole my father's life—and decided he didn't look anything like a 47-year-old man. His face was baby-like and the buzzed dark hair on his head had no traces of gray. Oblivious to my eyes boring into him, he gazed dully ahead into the ether, betraying no emotion or motive. Apparently he had been like that at the trial as well.

The fact that his life, a life which hadn't included much up to that point—he had been an unemployed high school dropout and had already served time for possession and another DUI—essentially ended that day didn't give me any solace. I wanted him to be gone from this earth as well. Not because of any sort of malice—I couldn't muster any hatred for this shell of a human passing his remaining years in the dimly lit food court of a half-empty mall—but because his continued existence was a reminder I could do without. Thankfully, I never saw him again, and he died from a blood clot several years later.

A tap on the window. The attendant gave me a lackluster thumbs up to indicate he had finished. I nodded and mouthed my thanks before starting up my engine and continuing on my journey. Another beep came from my phone to remind me of my voicemail from Jeff, but I barely heard it over the pounding of the rain on the roof of my car. Rivers of water were now starting to run along either side of the street—if this level of rain continued for another hour, there would likely be flooding. I debated stopping at a Starbucks, getting a coffee and waiting for the downpour to subside, but I was going to be over an hour late as it was.

It was slow going through the city, but eventually I saw the sign for the interstate. Even with the rain, I should be able to make much better time when I got on the highway. However, the straight/left turn lane at this set of lights had an eighteen-wheeler in it, meaning it was unlikely I would make the next green light. These lights were especially annoying. I was sure drivers from every direction had to wait what felt like a half hour, but I had a suspicion that the lane I was in was the least fortunate. The big rig in front of me obscured my view of the light, but after a minute I saw traffic passing me heading the other way, indicating we had an elusive green. A few seconds later, the back of the truck, obscured every other second by the curtains of rain that my wipers had yet to reach, jolted forward haltingly.

From what I knew about this light, I had maybe 10 seconds total before it turned yellow. Thankfully, the eighteen-wheeler hadn't yet put on its turn signal, and after another couple of seconds it was clear it was headed straight. I began to feel a blossoming of hope in my chest. I couldn't see the light, but I had a hunch it would at least be yellow when I finally saw it. The yellow light turning red was when 90 percent of the left turns were made at this intersection due to the heavy traffic coming the other way. As the truck crossed the intersection, my eyes alternated from where I imagined the light would emerge to the intersecting traffic. If the other bisecting lanes got moving before I got into the intersection, my chance would be over. Finally, the truck made it through most of the intersection, revealing a light in the process of turning red. With maybe a second before the other light turned green, I stopped my advance just short of the other lane. So what if I'd be another 5 minutes late? I wasn't going to risk gunning it into the empty intersection.

The final few feet of the tractor trailer had been obscuring something important from my field of vision: an SUV, driven by someone who had also decided to run the red. I hope it was for something important, like an interview for a dream job that they were late for. I watched through my rain-splattered side window as they sped by, catching a glimpse of a phone up to the driver's ear, and for a brief second my reality split.

A version of me in another timeline experienced the crash. Through that Cal's eyes I saw that final second before impact, my thoughts jumping everywhere at once, unable to concentrate on one instant, on one person's face, on one insight or regret. My hands gripping the wheel, my mind filled with fragmented memories that were soon overwhelmed by a world of crunching metal, shattering glass and brief, piercing pain. Then, there would be silence and a darkness that had patiently been awaiting my arrival.

I felt thin, having lost that Cal. The myth of my own mortality, the security blanket I confidently clung to, had been briefly exposed for the rag it was, which only made me want to hold on tighter. It couldn't protect me, but I continued to pretend otherwise.

The long, aggressive bleat of a horn behind me jerked my head up. I shook my head and raggedly exhaled before slowly taking the left turn—the incoming traffic after that one deadly SUV was eerily nonexistent—actively resisting the urge to pull a U-turn and head right back home, where I could curl up into a fetal position for the remainder of the day.

No, I thought as I went through the motions on the remainder of the commute, barely registering my soggy surroundings. No, I would continue. I would start building my castle in the sand and pray that the tide stayed out for some time. It certainly beat the alternative.

Only when I finally put the car in park outside our building did I realize my hands were trembling. I gave myself a moment to settle my nerves before heading in. Making a beeline for my cubicle, I barely noticed how quiet the office was.

A head popped up over my cubicle wall. It was that new coworker whose name I kept forgetting.

"Hey Cal, did you hear about Reed?"

I asked her to elaborate, but her tone had already told me everything I needed to know. Sometimes the tide swept in, and there was nothing you could do about it.

As the new girl's mouth kept opening and closing, relaying the facts of Reed's tragedy—apparently he had suffered some severe head trauma last weekend after a car had plowed into his bike at an intersection—my gaze drifted past her. It traveled over cubicles to the windows facing the world beyond. Through them, I could see distant trees, and I imagined their leaves being smacked by droplet after droplet. Green, veined hands on sturdy brown limbs, outstretched into the cascade falling from above.

Staring at my unnamed coworker, I could see her lips moving, but I didn't hear a voice. Instead, I heard the sounds of a distant, familiar stretch of woods. I briefly closed my eyes and I was back there, walking barefoot down a well-worn path, making my way to a clearing where the land met the sea. My friends weren't visible, but I could sense they had gone before me, the contours of their feet leaving distinctive impressions on the soft earth below.

As the forest peeled back, only a single old oak would remain, a prominent spire on the shore. On one of its gnarled branches, I would find a tattered rope swing, floating above the bay. There, it would remain, as long as I needed it to.

