"Life's about the journey, not the destination."
"Hey, did you just think of that?" Abel said, mock-wonder in his voice.
"Shut up."
"Aren't you supposed to be a writer? Isn't it plagiarism to recycle someone else's work?" Abel asked playfully.
"I only use my literary talent on writing advice books for fourteen-year-old girls in love. They're very discerning, you know. A real tough audience." Nate had to quicken his pace to keep up with Abel's long, seemingly leisurely strides. Abel really was tall and his jeans hugged the muscles of his thighs when he moved, which was distracting. He hadn't really thought about anyone but Joshua in that way for years, a fact that came sharply into focus when Nate felt butterflies wing at the base of his stomach. He shook himself discreetly, feeling stupid and childish, like a lust-struck teenager.
"Don't sell yourself short; I'm sure fifteen-year-old girls read your books too. If they don't want anything too heavy." Abel laughed heartily and Nate's whole body grew warm from the joy of it. He was relaxed and happy because of a person who had been vile ten years before. Nate couldn't help but think about how strange the world was, how it offered forks in the road that led you far away from where you started only to take you back again as a new person. Nate looked up briefly and wondered what teenaged Nate would think of this scene.
"Do you know what I don't remember about you?" Nate asked.
"What's that?"
"Do you have any siblings? I think I can vaguely remember you having a sister, but I'm not certain."
"Oh, yeah, I do have a sister. Younger. Her name is Emma, she's doing well. She runs the café in town now. She was in your sister's class at preschool," Abel said. Nate saw his expression change; his eyes began to look worried and he seemed suddenly uncomfortable in his skin. "Oh, I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me. I didn't..."
"It's okay." Nate interrupted. "What's the other option—never talking about her at all? In fact it's been a long time since I have spoken about my sister… I can remember Emma, I think. Smart, kind of…" Nate stopped for a second to find the right word.
"Eccentric?" Abel offered.
"I suppose that fits. Is she the one who used to shout about veganism in the hallways and put leaflets everywhere about the fur industry?" Nate asked, calling up his memory of the girl that he had admired but been afraid of in high school. He'd been nervous that talking to her would make him even more visible than he already was to the school bullies.
"I think that the day she handcuffed herself to the cafeteria serving station because of baloney day was the most embarrassing of my entire life. She just kept shouting and shouting until the principal threatened to call the police," Abel replied.
"Embarrassing? I think it's cool to be that impassioned at that age. I think people should fight for things that are important to them. It means that they're invested in their own lives. Maybe that's the big mistake that we all make—we're told that wanting something too badly ends in disappointment, so we don't fight hard enough for it." Nate wanted to shake off the sadness he felt over Joshua, but he couldn't. Every part of the conversation reminded him of what he had lost. He was having fun and talking to someone about a past that they shared was liberating and empowering, but Nate couldn't help but feel that he was always on the edge of breaking down.
"Yeah, she's kind of amazing. When she took over the café, she changed everything. Turned it into a—What does she call it? That's right, a 'vegan eatery'. Everything is local and organic and she sells all these teas that smell like my gran's attic. People said that she wouldn't be able to make it work here, but she did. It's become quite the spot for kids who are into that sort of stuff. Every time you go in, they're organizing some rally or another." Nate saw him slowing down so that they were at the same pace and felt a little spike of embarrassment that he couldn't keep up with Abel's long strides.
"Huh. Civil unrest in Main Street? Things really do change, then. I can see you out there, wearing your hemp hoodie and yelling at the man." Nate smiled. "What even is there to protest around here, anyway? Are the trees just too pretty?"
"Oh, you know the school is just too safe!" Abel added in mock-outrage.
"And the prices are too damn reasonable!"
"And sometimes the champagne has too many bubbles."
"It's strange the way that coming to an old place as a new person completely changes the way you see it," Nate said, staring at the moon, which hung in the sky magnificently.
"What do you mean?" Abel asked.
"Just that when I was growing up here, I could not even imagine what would possess someone to live here. It felt like an alien planet full of adults who didn't understand the way I felt and scenery I thought was too picturesque and kids who were too comfortable with the status quo. I couldn't get the hang of it. Even when my sister died and everyone was so kind and comforting—I still thought it was some kind of irredeemable hellscape."
"And now?" Abel asked.
"I get that it's just full of people doing the best they can. It's full of parents who are frightened to death that anything sad will happen to their children. And children who are scared that they won't fit in because they're somehow different. And friends who will stay friends for a lifetime and new people who will become friends out of nowhere. I think I get now that most people have the same concerns everywhere you go and you don't really understand them until you have them yourself," Nate said. He inhaled deeply, trying to soak in the fresh, clean air.
"So what you're saying is that you don't think it's all that bad anymore?" Abel asked. Nate looked up and saw the way that the moonlight reflected off Abel's sharp cheekbones, making him look like he was on the cover of some kind of fashion magazine. Nate felt something fizz in his stomach, but he suppressed it quickly.
"Well, I'm not exactly saying that. It's still the town where diversity went to die. But I get it now. I understand the value of security and comfort." Nate took his eyes off Abel and fixed his vision onto the road in front of him.
"Hey, it's not all that comfortable. We had a pretty serious theft a couple of months back," Abel said.
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, we did!" Abel said defiantly.
"Okay. I'll bite, what happened?" Nate asked, his interest piqued.
"A horde of raccoons raided McChimne's store. Got away with a bunch of bags of apples and some crates of tomatoes. It was quite the scandal. It was on the front of the paper and everything!"
"You're kidding me. How did the town have the courage to keep going? Why didn't the incident become national news? Why didn't my mom ring me to tell me what had happened?"
"Yeah, yeah. You make fun now, but at the time it was a big deal. People were talking about it for weeks," Abel replied, chuckling.
"I am absolutely certain that they were," Nate said.
"So are you planning on staying for a while? Are you looking at places, or are you going to stay with your parents?" Abel asked.
"I don't think I have that much choice. I just sort of dropped everything and drove here. I think I just wanted to run away—from my life, from Joshua, from myself. I was staying with my friend Cecily, and everything was okay there, but everything was just too familiar. Believe me, this town is the last place I imagined ending up. I just wanted to run somewhere."
"Do you still feel like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you want to run?" Abel enquired.
"Sure. I guess I do. I want to run away from how I'm feeling. I want to run away from feeling guilty about what has happened to Bay and the feeling that I failed at the thing I most wanted to succeed at," Nate said sadly, imagining what it would be like to sneak out in the middle of the night and drive until he drove himself into a whole new life.
"Then let's do it," Abel said, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Do what?" Nate asked.
"Run. Let's race each other. I'll even give you a head start," Abel added.
"First of all, there is absolutely no way that I would need a head start against you. I do a somewhat respectable impression of a jogger at least twice a month," Nate said jokingly. "And secondly, we can't do that. It's ridiculous," he added, smiling.
"That
is
very impressive, and why is it ridiculous? I think it makes sense: we run till you get home, and clearly all of your problems and concerns will be over. A short race will make everything good and provide a happily ever after, don't you agree?"
Before Nate could think about it, he started running. He started slowly, getting his body used to the rhythm of the movement and shaking away some of the tension that lingered in his muscles. He could hear Abel close behind him and thought about slowing down for a brief second before pumping his arms and his legs harder. He moved faster and faster so that his heart strummed in his eardrums and he felt like he was creating a breeze behind him. It was cartoon running, outlandish and animated. He looked back and saw that Abel was right behind him, his face a little flushed and his breathing visibly belabored. Nate crossed Main Street and slipped down the alley next to the bank. As he picked up his pace, again he imagined the things that he was finding difficult to burden rolling off him. He imagined that the sadness and anger he was feeling had become real things that he could outrun. He wanted to check on Abel, to make sure that he was following, but he couldn't break his unrelenting forward momentum. He had the desperate urge to move forward, to keep his face in front and up to the silver moonlight. The sound of his heavy footsteps on the ground was almost hypnotic.
Nate felt like he was free for the first time in a while, his mind uncluttered by the wreckage of his relationship and the life that it had contained. He knew that it was only temporary, but it felt good to be swept up in the pounding of his heart and the raging of his breath and the cooling sensation of the sweat on his hairline. It felt like disappearing into some kind of comforting abyss. Nate passed through the clearing that led to his parents' house and came to a stop. He bent over and began to breathe heavily, sucking up the air as fast as he could to ease his burning lungs. Every part of his body felt overwhelmed and alive.
"What was that? Were you under the impression that we taking part in the Olympics?" Abel's voice was ragged as he gulped for air. Nate looked up and saw that Abel was doubled over and desperate for oxygen.
"Hey. It's not my fault that you run like a toddler," Nate replied, sitting on the ground to ease the aching of his legs muscles.
"But like a really fast superhero toddler,
right?
" Abel asked, following suit and sitting opposite Nate.
"No. Not really. Just your average kindergarten-variety toddler." Nate smiled, picked up a handful of dry leaves and dirt, and threw it in Abel's general direction. "Definitely not up to par with Bailey."
"You're not going to give me any extra points for the fact that I had no idea you were going to Wile E. Coyote it out of town?" Abel asked, stretching his body out. Nate couldn't help but see a sliver of muscle emerge from under Abel's shirt.
"No. Not at all—you were the one who brought up the idea of racing." Nate's eyes widened as he saw Abel gather a bundle of leaves and launch them at him. The leaves fell down over Nate like rainfall, their edges illuminated by the moonlight.
"You just wait until next time. You won't know what will have hit you," Abel replied, standing up. Nate felt small as he was completely blocked out by Abel's shadow.
"You know, I haven't seen the stars properly for years. It's funny that ordinary, everyday things become so precious once you lose them. They're sort of breathtaking," Nate whispered, looking up at the inky sky. He stayed quiet for some irrational fear that his voice might disrupt the stars and make them scatter.
"Why haven't you seen them in so long?" Abel asked, following Nate's gaze.
"There's too much light pollution in the city; it covers them up," Nate sighed.
"That sucks," Abel said.
"It does," Nate laughed.
"I wish that I'd been your friend all of those years ago. And then maybe I would have been able to help you when you're parents asked you to leave. Maybe you would have felt like you could talk to me. I might have stopped you feeling so alone." Abel's voice sounded sad, but his words felt truly, achingly honest; a declaration to the stars, a plea that time could magically reverse itself and everything would be open to change.
"Well, I probably wasn't that easy to befriend. I'm still kind of a wiseass," Nate said.
"I really, really am sorry that I was a jerk back in school. Talking about it tonight just made me realize how angry I was and how sad it was that my first reaction was to lash out at other people. Especially people who understood how I felt. I wish that I could change things..." Abel looked at the ground and Nate followed his gaze. The air seemed to be buzzing with things that were being left unsaid.
"It's okay. Well, that's not true. For the teenage Nate, it's not okay—he could have really done with someone else in his corner. It sounds weird, but I don't really think I can speak for him. I can't accept the apology on his behalf; it feels like I don't have the right to. But I can tell you that I don't walk around thinking about it, and I don't think it really altered the course of my life that much. I was going to leave Grandview at some point. You just sort of gave me a push. But there were other things shoving me out of here,
believe me
." Nate put his hand out and rested it on Abel's shoulder. Abel still looked at the ground, his body hunched.
"I'm still sorry. To the young you and to the now you." Abel finally looked up and Nate locked into his crystal blue eyes. Nate felt his whole body shiver, and he couldn't remove his hand from Abel's shoulder. He felt a tremble run up and down his forearm. Abel's face was framed by the luster of the moonlight.
"I should get going. You should go inside, it's late and you've got stuff to deal with tomorrow." Nate noticed Abel's expression change. He had become suddenly reserved, his body stiff. The energy between them had lost its looseness.