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When I got off the train and began the short walk back to the studio apartment I was living in, I pulled my phone from my pocket. Like my own personal hero, which was what I’d started thinking of him as, Lawson’s message was waiting on me. My chest ached as I found myself wishing I were walking back to his house instead of the tiny space I hadn’t even had the chance to decorate.
Lawson: Remember when we went camping? You were ten. You found that baby bunny that had been attacked by some animal and you tried so hard to save it.
My heart squeezed at the memory. I’d held the poor little thing for an hour, petting its head and offering it promises that it would be okay, even though I’d known it wouldn’t be. When the bunny had taken its last breath, I’d cried for what seemed like hours.
Me: We buried it by that big tree we all carved our initials in.
Lawson: You made us have a memorial service for it, and we all talked about what a cute and sweet little rabbit it was.
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. I walked to the door of my apartment and skidded to a stop. Sitting in front of my door was the biggest display of wildflowers I’d ever seen. Instantly, tears filled my eyes and I looked around, desperate to see his warm brown eyes waiting for me.
Me: Did you send these?
I didn’t need to ask. I knew he did. I don’t know how he remembered all the random details about me, all the childhood memories that seemed so insignificant. After we’d buried the bunny, everyone had gone on about their day, fishing and swimming and roasting marshmallows. But I hadn’t been able to shake the sadness of having the little creature die in my hands.
Everyone except for Lawson. He’d had to pry it out of me, but finally I confided that I couldn’t stop thinking about the poor thing.
I smiled to myself again as I remembered the way his lips had twisted as he pondered my predicament. Hampton would have just given me a nudge on the shoulder and told me it was okay. But Lawson had taken my feelings seriously and had finally suggested putting flowers on the creature’s “grave.” He’d said it would make me feel better. I don’t know how or when he’d become so wise, but somehow, he’d been right. The simple act had given me the sense of peace that my ten-year-old mind had needed.
And now, here he was again, offering support and comfort, even from hundreds of miles away.
Lawson: I wish I were on the other side of your door, waiting for you.
God, I wished that too.
Me: How many more days until I’m back?
His reply was almost instant.
Lawson: 334.
I sighed. It may as well have been a million.
Me: Remember when I was obsessed with that Ouch! Bubble gum?
Lawson: How could I forget? You never let me have any.
Me: I was a real brat.
Lawson: You said it, not me…
Me: Go check your front porch.
I held the phone in anticipation, giddy with excitement. I’d been exploring the area on a rare day off and had gone into an old-fashioned drug store and found the gum of my youth. They’d had a case of it, and I’d bought every last tin of the Hubba Bubba.
A few minutes later the bubbles that indicated Lawson was typing popped up and I suppressed an excited squeal.
Lawson: Turns out that this gum is terrible. Now I’m not so sad you never shared.
I giggled. He was right. I’d shoved three pieces in my mouth before I even left the store and had been so disgusted, I’d spat it out in the trash can by the door.
Me: Is that any way to thank me for my thoughtful generosity?
Lawson: I’ll thank you properly when you get home.
Me: Is that a promise?
Lawson: 302 more days.
