Not ever if I have anything to say about it.
Nine years ago: Munich, Germany
Greyson
She asked if we should swap numbers.
We stood a short distance from Neptune’s fountain. I held her in my arms, staring down into her chestnut-brown eyes, memorizing everything about her.
My answer was, “Maybe.”
But we both knew we weren’t exchanging numbers.
And we never did.
Maybe that was for the best. At the time I told myself it was. Our paths crossed for one magical night—a night I’d never forget, a night that I fed from for years in the desert and through the loss of Zach. I’d picture Hallie and the edges of my harsh realities would soften.
After our dance and that kiss we shared, we walked around the area and found her hostel. The air between us had shifted from carefree and timeless to an acute awareness of the grains of sand running low in our hourglass.
We stood outside her hostel, staring up at it. This was our goodbye. Not farewell, not see you later. We were leaving one another, setting a bottle in the ocean knowing it was onlygoing to drift away in a direction and path we could never chart or follow.
She finally spoke into the silence we had held ever since we left the garden. “When do you leave?”
I looked at my watch. “In two hours.”
“Let me walk you to the train station,” she offered. “I can find my way back here afterward.”
I almost told her not to. What good would it do to prolong our time if we inevitably had to say goodbye? But I was greedy for her. Even one more minute would be worth anything I had to give. If she had asked me to stay in Europe, I might have considered it, crazy as that sounded.
I pulled my cell out and texted Zach.
Ace: Bring my bag to the station. I met a girl. She’s with me.
Zach answered immediately.
Zach: You met a girl? Go you. I’ve got your six. I’ll bring your bag.
Ace: Thanks, man.
The sun threatened to rise over Munich, robbing us of our night. We walked the long way around, strolling slowly, holding hands. When we got to the station it was only filled with a few other passengers. The dawn was just beginning to shine a murky light on everything. We sat on a bench, quietly staring into the distance together, my arm around her shoulder, her head on my chest, sponging up the bittersweetness between us.
How cruel was life to bring someone like her my way just before I left to deploy? I thought that. But then, I realized it was a kindness more than a cruelty. And over the years I saw that kindness even more. What would I have held on to in those dark times if not the memory of my girl in Munich?
Zach showed up with both our duffels and a wide smile.
“So, you’re the girl?” he asked in his usual blunt style.
“I’m the girl,” Hallie said, standing to shake Zach’s hand. “And you must be the best friend.”
“At your service,” Zach said. Then he turned to me, “I like her.”
“You can’t have her.”
He laughed hard. Hallie smiled.
Then Zach launched into his usual charm and ease, questioning Hallie about her travels around Europe and her gap year. He learned more in ten minutes than I had all night. But I knew her. That was the difference.
When our train pulled up, Zach pulled Hallie into a hug. “Take care of yourself,” he said with a wide smile.
