[blueerica]

The day before he moved was warm and the beginnings of summer humidity were creeping into every moment of the day. Jon suggested we head down to the warehouses just to talk about things. I know that warehouses don’t seem very romantic, but they always seemed that way to me, and I think Jon felt the same way. The rippling waves of a sunset walk on the beach are always pretty, but the stark lines and features of the warehouse district were beautiful, and in them we were rebellious, dangerous. We were grey.

We knew Jon’s family was planning on moving when we first met. They move all the time – going from state to state, city to city, neighborhood to neighborhood. His family buys new homes, fixes them over the course of a school year, flips them and moves on to the next place. I’d never met anyone like him before, so cool, so detached. He was 17 and spoke of philosophers like Nietzsche and Heidegger. Oh, and he smoked. With brown hair hanging in his eyes he was a little on the greasy side and the hoodie under his denim jacket proved it. Mom and Dad never met him, and that’s fine by me. They probably just figured I was at a friend’s house – oh the blessings of trusting parents, at 16 I could go just about wherever I wanted, which probably makes it as much a surprise that I hadn’t tried to sneak out before I met Jon.

School is out and we had all the time in the world to spend with one another – but, he was leaving. I would fixate on that, sending myself headlong into a depressive landslide. I hadn’t ever wanted anyone so badly. What if he was the true love of my life? And he was leaving?

Once we got down to the warehouses we climbed up to the top of #374. From there we could see the river and the green of the empty lands just beyond it. It was getting late and we could see commuters hopping onto the freeway. He never said a word and I didn’t dare – I didn’t know if tears would come or just verbal vomit. I wanted to be strong, so that I wouldn’t be remembered as the blithering crybaby I knew lived inside me.

He reached into his front pocket and grabbed some smokes. With the flick of a thumb came the flame from his lighter and with one puff the dimming skies only illuminated the cherry embers at the tip of the cig. People were walking below us, but no one seemed to mind. He offered his pack to me. Now, normally I’d just turn them down since I usually end up choking on the first puff, but this time I went for it. He lit it and with my first breath came the coughing and hacking that was to be expected. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes and I just wiped them away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

More silence.

I couldn’t believe over two hours have gone by – it went by like mere minutes. I still didn’t know what to say.

The sun went down and the lights came on. Jon was the first to say anything.

“I’m really gonna miss you.”

“Me too.”

Then the floodgates opened. He held me tight and I said I had to go home. I didn’t, but I couldn’t stand to be there any longer. The warehouses, with him, the sunset – it was all overwhelming. My insides felt as though they were melting from the intensity of my emotions.

As we climbed down the metal steps, he began to reminisce. I began to feel sick. We saw wet paint spilled just outside one of the warehouse doors and he turned to me.


“Let’s make this moment last forever. Give me your left hand.”

He dipped my hand into the white paint and placed it on the wall. He dipped his in and placed it next to mine. I took my hand down and so did he, and he grabbed both of my hands, smearing paint on both of them as well as his own hands.

“I’ll keep this moment with me forever.”

I bet he says that to all the girls.