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“Which way? North south west east?”
“Strawberry Fields,” I said without thinking.
“The girl knows what she wants.”
Yes, I did, apparently. Hand in hand, we took a rolling footpath that led north and westward across the park.
Why didn’t Holden-and-me work out? The thought had been percolating in my head from the moment he’d picked me up. This day was a gold coin; it was shiny and perfect and I knew I would treasure it. I wanted to ask the question right then, with the sounds of raindrops plopping off the trees, the tobacco smoke in the air, and the whole afternoon hushed and serene.
What happened to us?
Holden was giving me another Raphael the RA tale. “This dude, I don’t know what his hygiene issues are, but he’s got a huge bucket—honestly, it’s more like a bin—and it’s just crammed with all his shower supplies. Shampoo, hair conditioner, bodywash, body oil, zit cleanser, back scrubber, washcloth, loofah, you name it.” We were both laughing as Holden used his hands to try to describe it. “So one day, this other guy who lives down the hall, Jackson, so he and I decided that every night, we’re gonna take exactly one item out of it, just to see if Raphael’s gonna notice or put up a fight, if he cares or gets—”
It came at me like a handful of sharp stones thrown into my path, tripping me up—swsssp swsssp swsssp.
Let me take you down, ’cause we’re going to…Strawberry Fields.…
He was singing it in my ear. I could hear his voice as if he were as close as Holden—and nothing to get hung about—because he was always singing, because he loved music, he loved Strawberry Fields and the “Imagine” mosaic and the wistful desire in John Lennon’s lyrics and message.
In fact, that’s why I was here. That’s why I’d picked this place.
The voice was gone. I could feel that I’d locked myself up in tension—was this the whisper of another memory of Anthony Travolo? A song in my ear the way he whispered about his painting? Had he and I come here, to the park, together?
And if we had, so what? What good did it do me to think about it now? I could feel myself in a mental crouch, self-protecting and wary. So what? He was gone, and so was most of my memory of him, and today I was here with Holden, and that would have to be enough.
Holden was still talking, his voice pitched in a comic imitation of Raphael, though I’d utterly lost the thread of conversation. I blinked down at my rain boots. Grape-juice purple. I’d never buy these rain boots today.
“You still with me?” Holden reached an arm around my shoulders.
“Of course. So, hey, I heard about my breakup boots,” I said. “And Tom called me a club rat.”
“A tad harsh. Club-rat lite,” said Holden. “But where are the mysterious boots? Donated back to the Salvation Army?”
“I haven’t seen them. I’m sure Mom knows. She probably hid them.”
“What got you thinking about your boots anyhow? Are your feet cold? Are you tired?”
“Not at all. Couldn’t be better. But this coat must weigh three hundred pounds—there’s all this loose change that’s fallen into the lining. Can we sit for a second? I’ve got to dig out some of it.”
“Yeah, sure.” Holden found a bench and we sat. My free hand reached deep into my coat pocket. There must have been over three dollars in quarters, dimes, and nickels jangling around.
“Your coat is like your own personal wishing well,” Holden observed.
“No joke.”
Something else was lodged in the corner of the hem. I pulled it out.
A red and banana-yellow matchbook. In feet-shaped letters, the words EL CIELO were dancing a salsa above a Cobble Hill address.
“Oh. From last night.” As I flipped open the matchbook, I saw that a number of the matches were missing.
Because Kai had used them, striking all of those matches before tossing the matchbook to me.
This morning, almost everything about last night had seemed unreal. And when Kai hadn’t called me—again—I could feel the memory begin to tamp itself down to a disappointing near unreality. Just like our afternoon on the fire escape. But last night had happened. Kai had been lighting matches from this very book, tossing them into the air like tiny fire batons. My brain reshuffled and redealt the memory. He’d taken my hand and spoken my name. “Don’t get burned.”
He’d been shy, but also mischievous, as he’d flipped the matchbook to me—and then we’d moved out of that room, our bodies nudging and jousting to be close and closer.
Had Kai come to the club with another girl, maybe? In the haze of my head, in the shadows of the cab, I’d had and lost Kai. He’d slipped off and out of my reach as if testing me.
“Ember!” Holden was shaking me. “Focus!” When I looked up, his eyes were flooded with concern.
I must have dishragged. My Serendipity lollipop had dropped to the ground, and I was holding the matchbook clutched to my heart. Heat in my cheeks and at the top of my head and the back of my neck.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Something. You were like a million miles away.”
“I’m just light-headed.” My fingers quietly slipped the matchbook into my jeans pocket. It was a comfort, to feel it lumped there. “It happens. It’s nothing. I’m still tired from last night, I think.”
“It’s not nothing. You’ve got your doctor looped into this, right?”
“Yeah, of course.” I broke the intensity of his gaze, then took a breath and rechanneled. “Speaking of last night, I saw Lissa Mandrup. We hung out a little. Kind of lucky—it wasn’t a plan; I just ran into her. She had some warm and fuzzy New Year’s Eve memories that I couldn’t access, but I’m getting used to that feeling.”
“Yeah, but the good thing about Lissa is she’s a girl who’s always fully committed to the moment she’s in. Funny how after our breakup, you went for noise and I went for quiet. I spent most of that time in the library or holed up in my room.” Holden’s hand in mine was always so sure. I could feel myself returning to equilibrium. Safe. Holden made me feel so safe. “Guess we both went more extreme than we actually are.”
“That’s true. Anyway, it wasn’t the perfect atmosphere for a conversation. I got really winded on the dance floor. God, Holden, sometimes it feels like someone else borrowed my body for a couple of months, trashed it, and gave it back with all these dings and scars and missing mental pieces.” I was embarrassed to hear the shake in my voice.
