in the aeroplane over the sea
His last moments flash by. He remembers touching the kid’s shoulder, whispering that he loves him. He remembers the look in the kid’s eyes as he registers the poignancy of the moment. He remembers smiling to the kid and using his last tiny morsels of energy to walk into the next room. He can hear the kid’s reading as he leans on the wall, pulling himself over to the window. He grips as hard as he can to the windowsill and looks out of Mount Sinai Beth Israel Hospital. Looks over the river. To Brooklyn. He can almost see Brighton Beach. His eyes snap shut.
A summer’s day. A young girl in a pink dress running towards the sea. A younger boy in a green shirt behind her, stumbling over his own feet, giggling. Hot sand on small feet. Salt spray on soft faces. Laughing to the point of tears. A breathless yelp of a name.
“Micah!”
And the world goes black.
///////
She was the one who found him on the ground. She was the one held him as he slipped in and out. Cupped his face as it burnt with fever, pressed her lips to his red-hot forehead, pushed his hair out of his face when the sweat made it stick. Begged him not to leave. Begged G-d not to take him. Watched his eyes glaze over. Heard him whisper his last words, something in Hebrew, something soft. Moved away and let Marvin hold him as he left for good. Backed off. Out the door.
Now, she walks in a trance. Slowly. Tentative, but heavy steps. She has no concept of how slow or fast she’s walking, can’t recall her route, can’t remember her movements, but she gets where she wanted to go. The park. She’s laying on the frozen grass once more, staring up at the stars. She’s partially frozen. Ice on her eyelashes. Tears freeze as they run down her cheeks.
She wonders how many years it’s been. Fifteen? Less? More? Lord only knows. She tries to remember the last time she was here. Remembers the kiss. The crying. No. Don’t focus on that. What came before? Laughter. A boy, a kind, sweet, funny boy in a letterman jacket with his nose pushed up. She remembers that stupid face so clearly. It still makes her laugh, even through the tears. She laughs and laughs and laughs. Opens her eyes. Looks up. Calls out. A shrill, half-pained half-joyful whoop. She doesn’t need to use proper words. She knows he’ll understand.
///////
Exactly five years later she roams the same park in the fading light. It’s mostly deserted. The cruisers are just beginning to appear, making small talk, fiddling with hankies which they can’t decide weather to put in their pockets or not yet. Some of them recognise her. Nod to her. Ask about the memorial. Tell her the latest to go. Take her hand and tell her how lucky she was, that they modelled for him, that he was wonderful. She smiles. Thanks them. Tells them to come over tonight and to be safe this evening. They smile back. She walks away. Turns, and sees him.
A small, awkward-looking kid in a too-big letterman jacket. Curly hair. Biting his lip. Clearly freezing. Seated on the park bench with a hanky knotted around his knuckles. She feels a tug on her heart. It compels her to walk over to him. Sit down. Tell him good evening. He stammers it back. Asks him his name.
“M-Matt. Mattityahu.”
“Nice to meet you, Mattiush. I’m Delia.” She adds the -ush so he knows. So he feels safe. It works. He smiles cautiously.
“You’re Jewish?”
“You could say that.” She smiles. “What’re you up to, Mattiush?”
“Uh- just- waiting.”
“For a hustler?” That was too sudden. He suddenly looks terrified. She curses herself and tries to reassure him: “no, it’s okay! I get it! I- wanna help.”
“Help?”
“Do you have somewhere to stay? Somewhere to sleep? To eat? If no guy comes, will you have a place to go?” He looks overwhelmed. Stammers a bit. Takes a deep breath.
“No. I won’t.”
“I thought not.” They look at each other for a moment. He’s nervous. She’s confident.
“Okay. That’s okay. I can help. I can get you food. I can get you somewhere safe to stay. Somewhere to get you back on your feet. Does that sound okay to you?”
“That sounds… Great. Thank you, ma’am.” He’s sweet. She puts her hand on his shoulder and promises him that everything will be fine. As they walk away the hanky lies on the bench. Forgotten.
///////
She walks home from the queer youth shelter in the dark.
Somewhere in Brooklyn, two teenagers are laughing together.
Somewhere on the upper east side, a father and his son are grieving.
Somewhere downtown, a woman is lighting a yahrzeit candle and holding back tears.
Somewhere in an office in a hospital near the shore, an ex-psychiatrist is signing the paperwork which will make him legally licensed to practice child psychology.
Somewhere else in a hospital near the shore, a doctor is telling a teenage boy he’s clean, he’s okay.
Somewhere in the future there is hope.
///////
‘When we meet on a cloud I’ll be laughing out loud- I’ll be laughing with everyone I can see. I can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all.’
///////
The End.