fall
They run through the orange leaves in the park that fall. They have a cartwheel race because it may be their final chance. He wins. She pushes him into a bush in retaliation. He spins around and around in circles, scuffs his feet along the ground, does a roundoff. All the time laughing. He’s childish, she thinks. Childish, but not immature. When she catches his eye he winks and she blows him a kiss. He pretends to catch it. She grins. She loves him. Maybe they’ll stay fake dating forever, she thinks. Get fake married. Make their parents happy. Would she mind that much? After all, she does love him. She looks back at him. He’s chasing the leaves as they fall from the trees, whooping when he catches them. She figures she could spend the rest of her life with him. Have the wedding. The kids. She’d rather do it with him than any other man. Yeah, she figures she could spend her life with him. She flicks her hair out of her eyes and runs over to him, leaves crunching under her feet. He picks her up and swings her around in circles.
They laugh and laugh, take Polaroids. Climb trees. Act like they’re still kids for one last time because school is finally over. At least that’s the reason gave her. In reality, he’s planning to tell his dad tomorrow. Planning to look in his orthodox-raised father’s eyes and tell him that he likes boys. Wants boys. Loves boys. Loses his head around boys. Only needs boys. What’ll happen? He has a pretty good idea, but doesn’t wanna vocalise it, can’t vocalise it right now. It’ll ruin the moment. He needs this moment. He hugs her goodbye extra tight. Savours the moment, because it might be the last.
He shows up at her house at eleven that night with haunted eyes a battered leather suitcase and unusually long sleeves. His eyes are red. His hands are shaky. The bike his father gave him for his bar mitzvah is in her drive. She holds him close and doesn’t speak, because she understands the virtue of silence at times like this, and because she’s hurting for him. He falls asleep in her bed after hours of sobbing. She stays up and prays for him, but once it’s four am she can’t keep her eyes open any longer and drifts off. When she wakes up it's seven am and he’s gone. Placed neatly on her pillow is a Polaroid. Three by three inches of film. It’s them in the middle of summer with flowers in their hair. He looks golden. She weeps in earnest for all she’s lost.