I smile
widely at the
frown on her face
.
“You mean they want you to think about real life?”
“That’s their idea of life. I
t isn’t mine,” she says
.
“
My dad
never asks
me about the places I go
.
He doesn’t ask to see my pictures
.
T
hat’s real life to me
.
That’s what I’m
p
roud of.”
I rest my elbow on my knee and think about this
.
I tell Dylan it’s strange because parents wait their whole lives for us to finally grow up and be independent
.
Then, as soon as we become adults
,
they panic and try to reel us back in
.
They don’t know how to let us
make our own decisions because they don’t want
to see
us
fail
.
They want to protect us
. B
ut they have to let us make mistakes
.
I suddenly feel bad for parents
.
It ca
n’t be an easy job
.
“
So
,
” Dylan continues, “W
hen I
decided to come home,
I wanted to be with you
.
Because you’ve never once tried to change me or
force me to
settle down or
ask me why I take pictures all day or why I can’t focus on one thought for more than five
seconds
.
I’m learning that’s pretty rare
.”
She rests her
boney
knee against mine
and I’m frozen
by
how
that tiny amount of contact
feels like electric
ity
.
“Remember how easy
last
summer was?” she asks
.
I keep my eyes
safe
ly
away from hers
and nod
.
“It was just you and me, everyday,”
she says
.
“No obligations, no
responsibilities.”
“Hey, Video
Hutch
was extremely important to me,” I argue.
She
stares up
at the ceiling and smiles
.
I glance at her profile, a face I’ve studied longer than any book, any lesson
.
And just like
that, I’m in love with her again
.
I let my guard down for two seconds and this is what happens
.
I wonder if she can sense it and if Dylan’s anything like I remember, she
can
.
“I wish we could go back there
.
Just you and me and the desert,” she says
.
“
Our house on Camelback,
”
I say
.
She
nod
s
.
“
Boba
.”
I
lift my hand and trace
a finger
down Dylan’s arm
.
I swallow
.
It’s so easy
.
Her lips are inches
away from mine
.
I can smell her skin
.
I close my eyes
.
I think about song lyrics
.
It
Ain’t
Me Babe
, by Bob Dylan
.
Don’t Come Around Here No More
, by Tom Petty
.
I let the words try to talk sense into me
.
“
I
should go,” I say
.
It’s
barely been a week
.
I need to be stronger than this
.
I need to be the one calling the shots
.
I can’t just give into the moment
.
I
stand up and
Dylan
’s watching me
.
Her
face is flushed and there’s a question in her eyes
I can read.
“
I’ve been thinking about all this
,” I say
.
“
About us.
”
She
waits
for me to continue
.
I
tuck my hands in my front pockets
and stare at my feet
.
“
Maybe we can try to
just
be friends.
”
I glance
down
at her and there’s this
surprised
look in her eyes
.
“
Friends?
”
She
thinks about this for a few seconds
.
“
We could try that,
”
she says
,
but her face is doubtful.
“
I’ve never tried to
be friends with any of my exes,” I add.
“
Exes.
”
S
he says
the word out loud with a blank look on her face
.
“
Yeah, but maybe it could work.
”
She narrows her eyes for a moment
,
like she’s testing me
.
“
Sure
.
Friends.
”
She
stands up,
reaches her hand out and we shake on it
.
Just shaking her hand makes me want to pull her
against me.
“
As long as
you still let me love
you,
”
s
he says.
I
let go of her hand
.
“
You love everyone, Dylan.
”
I downplay her words
.
I dilute
the meaning
because it’s my only way to beat her.
“
Okay,” she says
.
“Just so you know.
”
She
says
goodnight and
I shut the door behind me
.
DYLAN
I stare at the door and try to mentally digest what just happened
.
Friends
?
He seriously expects me to be his friend
?
I don’t want to have sex with my friends
.
I don’t look at my friends and think they are
G
od’s sexiest creation
.
I don’t want to rip th
e clothes off of my friends and
marry my friends
.
I don’t want to grow old with my friends until we’re withered like raisins.
Does
Gray think love comes with a dial
you can
use to
control how
strong the current
flows
?
Is he trying to keep it on low when I want to
crank
it to
e
xtreme
?
Who wants to live on a low voltage
?
Wh
ere’
s the fun in that
?
I sig
h
and fall back on the futon
.
I want to stand outside Gray’s window and blare
the chorus of
Strange Currencies
so
REM
can explain how I feel using lyrics and
m
elo
dramatic
guitar chords
.
I want more than his forgiveness
.
I want more than his trust
.
I want all of him
.