The Kid

~

Hungry? I ask him. It's early, I'm up and showered, in a neatly pressed shirt. He has just woken up. Yeah, he says, hands rummaging through his curls. Join me for breakfast? Hesitation, but then, yeah, sure. Wary. Probably wise to be wary. I mean, I could be anybody, some psycho. No, not the hotel restaurant with its ostentatious buffet. We find a cramped diner around the block. He holds the door for me, my goodness, a gentleman. When the coffee comes, he perks up. You always hated that joke.

He's in school, for film, of all things. He loves the city. Of course he does. Over the rim of the menu, he gives me a look. I sense what he's about to ask, preempt him. Go nuts, I say, with a wink, it's on me. And he does, bless him, a veritable mountain of food arrives in short order. I stick to tea. You know how I am in the mornings.

I'm impressed with his table manners. He's a tidy eater, despite the enormity of the task before him. He's been here for a year. He lives with a roommate, another film student, way, way uptown. His family is from... oh dear, I forget. He smiles, laughs easily. He is at the beginning of things. In the morning light, there is an ache like a fuzzy halo surrounding everything. Around the rim of my mug, around the curly hair atop Jaxton's head. Around the sounds of his silverware against the plate. Around my body. Yes, I am hungover and dreadfully sore from last night's exertions. This ache is deeper.

When we stand to leave, he stretches his arms above his head, flashing me the soft fuzz at his navel. He sees me glance and sheepishly tugs his shirt down. Outside, we stand awkwardly in the bright sun. Unexpectedly, he hugs me. Good evening, Mr. Chamberlain, he says. I reach into my pocket for my wallet. He grabs my wrist, stopping me. No, please, he says. For a cab, I say, take it. He relaxes his hand, takes the cash. He grins, turns, and walks off.

I have nothing else to do this day, Sunday. I walk, blocks and blocks, to the sea. It is a beautiful day. Offensively beautiful. Everyone is out. Ice cream, dogs, children, the works. Green tendrils everywhere, snaking out of bricks and up through cracks in the pavement, unfolding flowers into the warm summer sun.

You are my summer. No, please, let me say this. I didn't say this in the blue room and it's been sitting on my heart ever since. You are my summer, my summer's day. Our lease was cut short. And I am left severed. I don't know what to do without you. The sea, the sea before me is immense. I want it to swallow me, I want to sink down into its inky darkness. But your stolen summer is more powerful than the sea. Drowning it won't work. The ocean would burn up, it would explode into steam.