IN THE END, THEY —
SCENARIO: when you are very young, you meet a boy. he is two years older than you, an equidistant age between him and the older brother (the one you spend tender years wishing for). he will be: tall, dark-haired, fast and silent enough to run from the dark and press your sides to make you scream, and get his first black eye fighting on the lawn of a party you are at. your mother despises him and his father will never like you. this is to be your best friend. you will love him.
knowing what you do, chose what is most likely to occur in the length of this story. you have thirty seconds to make your choice.
( A ) — a wedding. EG. “if we do it,” one of you says, and it doesn’t matter which. that’s not the important part of this story. when you recount it back years later, both will have a different idea of who started it. “they can’t make us marry one of those rich people when we grow up. we can be friends forever.” you make rings out of twine and waxy yellow buttercups, not knowing they are technically weeds, and slide them on each other’s fingers at the same time in silence next to a mossy stump because that’s what children imagine solemn ceremony is. they are broken when you go home hand in hand to proclaim this immature rebellion to your parents, and its slapped out of you.
( B ) — revolt & uprising. EG. he is below you making a basket of his body, and when you drop from the window in practiced fashion he catches you in it, shushing your giggle as he sets you on your feet. you fly down the gravel path and into dark, unafraid. he crows from atop a log like an outgrown peter pan and you laugh, dancing in the starlight. it’s never spoken aloud why the pair of you are drawn to forests, but it’s understood nonetheless: nature has no kings.
( C ) — fighting. EG. you stand with her hair tied back and feet bare, white dress blowing out towards him in the wind like the hands clenched at your side won’t. “dot, please -” the moon is out above and you look ready to haunt these woods. the look of rage and loss is already there. he has his hands outstretched palm-up, the way one approaches an animal that is wild or has run away from home. “you promised. you promised you wouldn’t leave.”
( D ) — kissing. EG. he’s at the airport, and you’re driven out in the rickety car of a farmer who doesn’t mind doing favours. he’s about to leave for longer than he’ll ever tell you and you throw yourself on him after running a great distance, the same way you will when he comes back. he catches you and — We’re sorry. There’s been an error in our system. Selection D is meant to read PARTING. Please omit.
( D ) — aching. EG. you are alone in the bed of a man too old for you with no clothes on, laying on your stomach. there is a bruise on the back of your shoulder that you don’t understand, and as you press into it a tear runs down your cheek. you don’t realize it’s for him at first, but eventually you will.
( E ) — all of the above.