“A little.”
“C’mere.” He tilts his head, inviting me to move closer.
I do exactly that. I scoot over into his space and his arm comes around me, tucking me in close to him. I rest my head in the spot between his shoulder and his chest. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, and in no time at all I’m actually warm. I tuck an arm between us and rest the other on his chest. He pulls the blanket up so it’s almost at my chin and takes my hand in his. Mac touches his lips against my forehead in a light kiss.
Between Mac and the music, I lose myself completely to the moment. Every new note, every lyric, feels like a surprise; a present opened on Christmas morning. Before now I didn’t believe in magic, but it’s all around me here. I can taste it. It’s a tangible, living thing, and the way it moves through me makes it so hard to resist the urge to stand up and dance.
I am awestruck by this moment, by the way happiness fills and flows out of me. If I’ve ever experienced joy like it, it hasn’t branded me the way this moment will. When I die they’ll cut me open and find bits of stardust from tonight’s sky scattered through my lungs. Today’s date will be stamped on my bones, Mac’s initials etched into my heart. When my soul separates from my body, this album will play, as if by listening now I’m trapping it inside me, only to be released upon my parting from this world.
Between songs, Mac and I give our honest reactions, and he seems to love the album as much as I do, which only makes me love it more. Each time, I pick up my head, propping myself up enough to easily converse. But before each new song, I nestle my head back into the warm spot on Mac’s chest, relaxing into the moment and letting the magic of it all sweep me away.
* * *
Mac
If there’s anything better than listening to my favorite band and cuddling with Jessie under the stars, I don’t think I want to know what it is. I feel like I’ve peaked. The way her warmth and the heat of the blanket mingle, creating a cocoon I never want to leave. Her head fits so perfectly against my chest, her body molding against mine.
And I still cannot fully relax. I’ve been feeling off since this morning. Between talking with my parents about the scholarship, Jessie’s breakfast comments, and the things she’s said in the past about work and school, I’ve got an itch in my brain. We’ve made it through the first two songs of the album, and I’d hoped it would disappear by now, because it feels like the wrong time to ask. But if I don’t do it now…
“Hey, Jessie?”
“Hmm?”
“I know this is random, but I’m going to ask anyway. Why are you going for the Walden Senior Scholarship?”
She doesn’t say anything immediately, but she does shift a bit in my arms. She’s quiet, and I’m tempted to tell her.
“Actually, I—um…I’m at school on a full scholarship, but it will only be a partial next year. They’re canceling the full scholarship program, so it’s not just me. Everyone on a full ride is going to half tuition, but I…” She pauses, clearing her throat as if the words were stuck there. “I need the money. I can’t finish—” Her voice wavers.
I wait for her to finish her sentence, but the rest of the thought never comes. I know how it ends anyway. For a second I stop hearing the music, the wind in the trees. There’s just a faint buzzing and my blood rushing through my ears.
She tenses as she waits for me to respond, and I know every second that ticks by is probably making her feel more awkward, but I can’t seem to find the right words to say. Do I thank her for telling me? Do I tell her how much the school sucks? That I don’t want to go to school next year if she’s not there? That just thinking about it now is making me feel a little sick?
“Fuck, Jessie.”
It’s the only thing that even closely captures everything I’m thinking. And it doesn’t suffice. She’s trusted me a lot by telling me this, and my words are way too lame to reflect my gratitude for that trust. I hold her a little tighter and press my lips to her forehead. What I wouldn’t give to kiss her right now; to honor her vulnerability with affection.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” I start, but I’m not sure where I’m going with that sentence.
“Why are you apologizing?” she asks. She shifts back, looking up at me. Her brow is furrowed, her mouth pinched in confusion.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’m sorry the school sucks. I’m sorry you’re in the situation you’re in.”
I want to apologize for applying to the scholarship, but it feels like privilege guilt, not a thing I’m actually sorry for. I don’t think she’d like that.
“If you’re feeling guilty because of the difference in our financial situations, don’t,” she says, reading my mind.
I swallow hard, again not sure what to say. I lack the grace to talk about finances with my peers. Jessie is being braver than I know how to be, and I’m trying to follow her lead.
“It isn’t anyone’s fault that we grew up the way we did. It’s the hand we were dealt, and there’s no use feeling guilty or lucky,” she says.
“Were you always this wise?”
“No.” She chuckles. “And I didn’t always feel this way.”
She pauses for long enough that I wonder if maybe we’ve reached the end of the conversation. Should I change the subject?
Jessie clears her throat. “Can I confess something to you?” she asks, but her voice is small.
