“I care.I care aboutyou.When you’ve done something you regret toward a person you care about, you should apologize, even if they’re not hurt.But I think youarehurt.”
She winced.“I’m not hurt.But as is customary, I accept your apology.Feel better?”
“No.”
“That’s not my fault,” she said in a huff.“All I want is to get through this year, so I can leave this place and never look back.”
“Wait, I thought you loved this place,” I said, faltering at this new vision of Venus no longer here.An ache arose in my chest, tightening my lungs.I slipped my hand into my pocket to have my inhaler at the ready.“Doesn’t it matter to you that this is where we found each other and became friends?All the stories we share?”
“Of course.I’m not a robot.I have a fondness for us and our stories.”
“A fondness, huh?Don’t gush about it.”
She softened, catching my sarcasm.“I like us.But this place has been slow torture for me.You’ll leave, too, Henry.It’s the natural progression of transitioning into adulthood.”
“Maybe.But I won’t leaveyou.Why have you been avoiding me?”
“That’s the natural progression, too, and a rightful one.It’s just likeThe Breakfast Club—you’re a popular jock with friends and parties, while I’m the basket case.Everything is looking up for you with me out of the way.”
“I NEVER wanted you out of the way,” I said sternly.
“Well, I am.”
“That’s what you want?”I said after using my inhaler.
She supported her stoicism by folding her arms over her chest, but she didn’t answer.
I stumbled over my words and latched onto the first excuse I could think of.“Okay.If this is goodbye, we should hug.It’s, um, customary.”
She groaned over my obvious manipulation, but opened her arms to me.It was a weak, obligatory embrace.
At first.
The pressure of a tight hold calms her.The first time she said so, we were eight, huddling in our handmade lean-to during a sudden storm.That’s why she liked to sleep with me sometimes.
But then, I tightened my grip on her, burying my face in her neck, hoping that if I held on tight enough, maybe she’d relax into me.That, maybe she wouldn’t leave.It felt like years passed before her arms finally flexed around my shoulders, holding me there.Her fingernails dug into my shoulder blades, almost hurting me while offering an assurance—Venus didn’t want to say goodbye.
“I miss you.”Her confession came out in the softest whisper.But that’s all I needed to hear.
My locked arms edged lower until I lifted her.She laughed as I stared up at her, her hair drifting around her face like a curtain.Amber light from the stained glass windows flickered across her face as I spun us, sunlight and honey.“Don’t miss me.Be with me.Let’s pretend it’s always summer for us.”
“Okay, Henry.”
But I disappointed her again.Disappointed myself.The ridicule followed her for weeks after, and twice, when my teammates teased me in the hallways over her, I acted like our encounter meant nothing.Once, I even denied we were friends to spare myself from their teasing.She never knew, and I never bothered apologizing.
I still hate myself for it.
By Christmas, my crushing shame forced me to stop caring what everyone else thought.To be more like Venus.To only care about her.Venus never “claimed” me or acted like a “normal” girlfriend, but I decided she was.She kept her distance at school, but I didn’t.I sat with her at lunch again and sought her out in hallways and the library.She warmed up to the idea of us, slowly.For fear that she’d run, I didn’t push for sex.But we held hands and kissed and spent every spare minute together.
And she started coming to my window again.
That was our best time… untilthatnight when everything changed.
Now, lying in bed, my lungs still aching, I remember the last time I saw her before today, in the greenhouse, and her breathy confession that she loved me between kisses.She loved me.Those were words I never thought she’d say to me or anyone.And there they were, like music.Beautiful.Fleeting.
How could it have been true?
Seeing Venus has kicked up the dust of my subconscious.Memories long forgotten hang in the air, and another lands, making me ache—Uncle Jay and I examining arrowheads for his display case when I was fourteen.
