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Anew video pops up whileI’mstill watching the first one on loop.Thistime he spellsYou’recute, too.Ishoot him a skeptical look, and he smiles at me–the heart-crushing grin that makes my knees go weak, even though he’s my friend.
Lookingaway again,Ifocus past my reflection onto the sun shafting through the trees and playing along the glass.Warmfingers wrap around my hand where it’s resting on the seat between us and squeeze.Iclose my eyes and squeeze back.
Someonesays something–Idon’t catch what–and then theCivicis pulling into the bike lane and stopping next to the sidewalk.Iglance around, confused, asBeckcircles the car and opens my door, looking down at me from under his backwards blue camo hat. “Comeon.”Hemakes it look like he’s just helping me up, but in reality he practically has to lift me out of the car.Istumble a few steps and lean my forehead against the rough brick wall of some upscale steakhouse, gratefully gulping in the cool, open air.
WhenIfeel less likeI’mabout to have a panic attack,Iturn around and realize the car is gone.Beck’sleaning on the wall next to me, watching me closely. “Better?”
Closingmy eyes,Ilet out a deep breath. “Yeah.Better.”Ipoint to where theCivicwas. “Wheredid they go?”
“They’llbe back in a couple of hours.Itold them you needed to take a massive dump.”
Icough a weak laugh, propping my head against the brick again. “You’rea sack of soggy coleslaw.”
Hegrins, then tips his head toward the park across the street.Brightgreen grass dotted with fir and maple trees slopes down to a reservoir pond big enough for people to take boats on.Everyone’sout enjoying the breezy weather before midsummer, when the temperatures will climb into the low hundreds. “Canwe check it out?”
Ijust shrug wearily.Wetake the crosswalk, then wander over the grass until we find a wide concrete path that circles the entire lake.Afterfive minutes of companionable silence,Beck’srumbly voice breaks the quiet. “Helpme out, buddy.”Hedoesn’t explain what he wants, butIknow.Thisboy always needs awhy.Otherwisehe’ll wrestle with it until his brain breaks trying to work out an answer.
Itighten my jaw, squinting out at the sparkling water. “Today’sthe two year anniversary of the last dayIsaw my mom.”
“Oh.”Ican feel his eyes on the side of my face, butIdon't look at him.
“Ican’t stop thinking about how, ifIhadn’t transitioned, we’d still be together right now.”Iscrape rough fingers through my hair. “Themore time passes, the moreIrealizeImight never see her again, all becauseIcouldn’t suck it up and be satisfied.”
“But–”Beckstops walking, his forehead creased. “Butyou had to transition, right?You’reyou.You’reDallas.”There’sthe faintest hint of distress in his voice.
“Iguess.”Ikick a rock into the water, enjoying the pain in my toes, and watch it splash. “Ijust don’t understand why some people are born with the soul of one person and the body of another, and then get punished for it their whole lives.”Tryingto get control of the shakiness in my voice,Iswipe an arm across my eyes and keep walking faster.
Aftera pause,Ihear his sneakers jogging to catch up.Idon’t resist when his strong fingers slide between mine, pushing them apart.Thisis a strange line we’ve been pushing, something that started naturally a few months ago.Beckhad the flu, soIdrove him into town to pick up some cough medicine.Hecurled up in the passenger seat, shivering and feverish, as we bumped along through dirty snowbanks in the dark.Atsome point,Ireached over without thinking and took his hand–not the normal way, but lacing my fingers through his and stroking his knuckles with my thumb.Hehugged my hand to his chest and closed his eyes, finally drifting off.
Wenever acknowledged it, but every once in a while it happens again when we’re walking alone or riding in the car.It’stoo viscerally comforting to stop, even if it feels like a dirty secret.Todaywe’re doing it in front of several hundred strangers, butBeckdoesn’t seem to care.
“IthinkI’mjust gonna kill everyone,” he offers happily, when we’re a quarter of the way around the lake. “Thewhole world, except you andScoutandRomeand your mom.”
WhenIrealize that’s the extent of his thoughts,Iglance up at him. “Thanks,Iguess?That’snot a solutionI’dconsidered.”
“Ithink about it a lot,” he explains matter-of-factly. “Itwould fix all my problems.”Hislips twist into a small smile, butIcan’t tell if he’s kidding or not.Ihonestly don’t think he is.
“I’mhonored thatIget to survive the purge.”Theabsurdity of the conversation distracts me from my sick sensation of drowning.ThisisBeck’ssuperpower, to pull me back from the edge of anything.Withthe warm scratch of his voice, his wild energy, and the big, solid bodyIsleep snuggled up against at night.Ididn’t believe in soulmates–platonic or otherwise–untilImet mine.
Heswings our joined hands. “Baby, you’re the king of my new world order.Weneed someone to tell us all how to be good.”
Wepause next to an empty bench, right on the edge of the shade with a perfect view of the whole park.Theseat is covered in goose shit, soBeckclambers up to perch on the narrow wooden back and tugs me up after him.Ihave to grab his arm to keep from falling off backwards asIget myself balanced and find clean spots for my sneakers to rest.Finally,Ipry my fingers off his tattooed skin, thickly dusted with pale hair, and rest my elbows on my knees.Wewatch a guy way out in the middle of the lake who’s been waterskiing for almost five minutes without falling.
“Isshe starting to feel far away yet?”Beckasks suddenly. “Orcan you remember everything?”
Iglance over and study his profile.He’stold me how his mom died of sepsis from a lung infection when he was six.
Shrugging,Iweave my fingers together in my lap, twisting them into different shapes. “WhenIcame out to my mom,Itold her howIhad always wanted to get aHotWheelscar forChristmaslike my cousins, instead of dresses and shit.Literallythe next day, she drove me to the store and we picked out a toy car together.ForyearsIcarried that thing in my pocket everywhereIwent.Butwhen her boyfriend threw me out,Ihad to leave it behind, along with the pictures and voicemails on my phone.Ondays like today, it kills me thatIdon’t have a single reminder of her.”
Becknods slowly, watching the boat as it drives in tight, wavy circles, trying to make the guy wipe out.Thenhe digs in his pocket and pulls out his battered wallet. “Ican’t believeInever introduced you,” he murmurs, likeI’msupposed to know what that means.
Hefishes past the one bank cardScoutgot for all of us and a load of half-finished punch cards for places we never go, then finally produces a folded photograph, frayed around the edges.Theeasy way he smooths it open on his knee tells me he does this every day.Carefulnot to disturb the picture, he shifts his thigh across until it’s pressed against mine soIcan see the image clearly. “It’sMom.”
Thephoto has faded, butIcan make out a cheerful woman with waist-length blonde hair and a flowery dress that makes me think of a hippie from the sixties.ShehasBeck’ssmile–or he has hers,Iguess–wide, playful, and unrestrained.
“She’sbeautiful,”Ibreathe, glancing up at him.Hiseyes, even greener with the reflection of the sunny grass, search my face like he’s checking to make sureImean it.
Aftera moment, he picks it up and folds it delicately. “Iwore her wedding ring around my neck every day.Butthe cunt–” that’s his name for his father “–stole it and pawned it whenIwas fourteen.Ibegged him to go get it back, but…”Heshrugs instead of finishing.Sometimeswhen we’re alone,Icatch a defeated look in his eyes that he hides the rest of the time, a reminder of what an unfairly shitty life he’s endured.Elbowingme, he smiles a little weakly. “Soyou andIare like same-same.”
