“To the top left of those ones shaped like a line. Do you see the two stars that are just sitting off together by themselves? They’re ours. That one is called ‘Tristan’s Star’ and the one right by its side is ‘Matilda’s.’”
“You’re amazing.”
“It was on the legacy list, remember?”
“Of course, I just didn’t think we’d do it so soon, and I thought when we did, I’d be the one to name a star after you.”
“What would be the point in that? I don’t want to live forever, in the sky or down here on earth if I’m not right by your side. This way, we can look down on the earth for light-years to come. Together.”
“You know our stars are probably dead, right? They died long before we will. They were born out of something that died.”
“That is probably the least romantic thing you could say right now.”
He laughs at this and pulls me in for a slow kiss of apology. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that it’s kind of amazing. That they live on long after they’ve burnt out. Their legacy is the light that shines on the earth. It’s kind of poetic.”
“Look at you, finding meaning in everything. Whatever happened to ‘sometimes a cloud is just a cloud’’?”
“You happened.”
I don’t know how, who moves first, or what magical forces pull us together, but between one heartbeat and the next, we’re kissing, all thoughts of stars forgotten.
This kiss is different from all the ones that have gone before. It’s just more. In all the ways I know, and ones I don’t. Hands glide under clothes and over bare skin, pulses press against each other, and our souls speak words that only our bodies can hear. Tristan’s lips caress my neck as our clothes are removed piece by piece until all that remains is the sacred stopwatch around my neck.
Time ceases to exist as we focus only on our mutual pleasure. Our eyes are closed, but even without seeing, they’re only for each other. We give and take until our bones are liquid in ecstasy.
As we lie side by side, chests heaving as they attempt to recover our escaped breath, we turn our heads towards each other and entwine our fingers. Gazing into one another’s eyes, we have a silent conversation about whether the time is right to take the next, inevitable step on our journey through life together. I give a nod to his unspoken question, as he smiles in answer to the one I’ve just asked him with my eyes. We’re both in agreement; the time is not only right, it’s now.
While Tristan retrieves protection from the tent, my ears strain to make out his movements over the furious fluttering of my heart. When he returns, his mouth traces the chain of the clock, which is hot against my slick skin, before he presses the button to halt time and breathes out before he whispers, “Pause,” against my wet, swollen lips.
The muscles on his arms strengthen his grip on the earth as he suspends himself above me. For a blink and a breath, I feel time halt without us having to pause it. The exact moment the world stops turning is the same split second that I gasp as he slowly sinks into me for the first time.
Then he’s inside me. And nothing has ever been more right or more perfect than this feeling of fullness within my body, mind, and soul. Our bodies are locked together as every part of him is pressed against every part of me.
Sweat clings to our skin like raindrops, and tingles as it cools in the crisp night air. My nails make crescent moons into Tristan’s broad back as his steady movements push me further into the same earth that made us who we are.
I’ve never been more present, more grounded, more connected, more alive than in this moment, losing and finding myself in the arms of my forever, as we become one under the star-sprinkled sky.
“DUDE, YOU LOOK like Grizzly Adams.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?” Blaise questions Jacob as he casts his fishing rod out into the lake.
“On Grizzly, it looked great. On you, not so much.”
“No? Think about all the wildlife this beard is giving a home to. I’m pretty much an eco-warrior at this point.”
“Yeah, a homeless eco-warrior,” Jacob retorts.
“Hey, don’t disrespect the homeless like that, Son of a Preacher Man. There are some damn good-looking people living on the street.”
We both laugh at Blaise being Blaise. “You’re ridiculous,” Jacob tells him.
“Ridiculously handsome.” Blaise counters.
“Seriously though, are you that broke you can’t afford a razor? Because I’ll lend you mine. ‘Love your neighbor as yourself,’ and all that.”
“You’re just jealous of my manliness and the fact puberty overlooked you. Don’t give up hope, Jake. Your first period will start any day now.”
“I am so close to throwing one of these worms at your face.”
“You’re welcome to, I don’t discriminate. All animals are welcome in my magnificent beard.”
I soak up the banter as they continue, relishing this experience. Sometimes, I look around and I can’t quite believe I’m seeing my life. I often feel like I’m watching a TV show or film, before I realize I’m not just a spectator, but one of the main characters.
Matilda has given me many incredible gifts, but a full, happy life is among the best of them. A year, even six months, ago, this scene would have looked very different. Emptier, quieter, lonelier. I’ve fished at the lake by my cabin countless times. But in recent years, I was always alone. Now I have friends doing it with me, and guy friends at that.
“Man, I’m so glad the girls aren’t here right now.” The conversation has moved on during my introspection and my eyebrows raise in surprise at how well it echoes my last thought.
“Me too,” Jacob agrees. “Don’t get me wrong, I love them all like sisters, but they can be so annoying when they get together. It’s enough to make you wish you never grew out of the ‘girls are gross and give you cooties’ stage.”
“I never grew out of it.” Blaise’s joke makes our collective laughter boom around the forest before being absorbed by the trees.
“Where are they all anyway?”
“I know Maia is in L.A. at the finals of that fine art competition she entered, and I think Erin’s at work. Where’s Woodstock? Ha, ‘where’s Woodstock?’ It’s like the hippy edition of ‘Where’s Waldo?’” He laughs at his own joke as Jacob and I shake our heads in exasperation. He looks around at our stony faces. “Oh, come on, that was hilarious! God, it’s like fishing with the Amish.”
That forces a reluctant smile onto both our faces. I answer his initial question.
“She’s spending the day with Oscar.”
“Love that little man.” We nod our heads in agreement with Jacob’s comment. Oscar’s another person Matilda has brought into my life and we have a special bond that means a lot to me. He’s one of the guys, too.
“How’s that all going?”
“How’s what going?”
“You and Til? You good?”
The smile that lights up my face is as instinctive as the sharp breath I take every time I remember she’s mine. It’s a warm feeling, different to the crimson heat that burns my blood whenever I think about last night, or any of our nights together over the past two weeks. And the occasional daytime.
My body’s Pavlovian response to hearing Matilda’s name does not go unnoticed by either of the guys, and as expected, their teasing is merciless. I’d never tell them, but I don’t mind. In fact, I enjoy it. I never thought I’d have good guy friends, let alone ones who liked me enough to tease me. Their banter is a sign of their acceptance, and I’ll never take it for granted.
“Look at his face, did you see that goofy grin?”
“Pretty sure people on Mars saw it.”
“There aren’t any people on Mars, Blaise.”
“One, how do you know? Two, why can’t you just play along? You’re always trying to ruin my jokes with logic. Don’t be that guy, Jake. We’re supposed to be a team of bachelors, united against this lovesick fool. It’s our job to cure
him, make him see the error of his ways.”
“What if I don’t want to be cured? If this is what being ill feels like, I’m never going to take medicine.” Both sets of eyes widen at my declaration, before rolling.
“It’s just as I feared.” Blaise sighs, his expression bleak. “It’s too late to save him. Another brother lost to the sickness. Quick, Jake, say a prayer over him or something.”
Jacob puts down his rod and moves as if he’s going to get up. I hold out my hands in protest. “I’m good,” I tell him.
“If you’re sure?” He smirks before sitting back down. “May God bless your soul, Tristan.”
“Thanks, but I’ll take my chances.”
“Hey, that’s supposed to be my answer to that statement! You can’t go around stealing my lines. Besides, I need it more than you,” Blaise says, chastising me. “Bro Code, man, Bro Code.”
I’m still learning the rules of the Bro Code, but I’ve picked up the basics over the last few months. I know enough to apologize. “Sorry, man, it won’t happen again.”
“Cool.”
And just like that, it’s forgotten.
See? Bro Code.
“So I take it that dazed expression means you guys are doing well?” Blaise asks.
“We’re doing amazing. I’m a lucky man.”
“That you are.”
We’re dangerously close to breaking another Bro Code rule, the one about discussing feelings. As if we all sense this, Blaise rushes to change the subject as our eyes all break contact, scattering in different directions like kids at the end of a school day. I clear my throat, Jacob grunts, and Blaise thumps his chest with his free hand. Crisis averted.
“Are you sure there’s any fish in this lake? We’ve been doing this for hours and haven’t caught anything.”
“Maybe your big mouth scared them all off,” Jacob retorts. “Or maybe it’s the beard they’re frightened of. Yeah, it’s beard.”
“Isn’t jealousy a sin?”
“Dude, I’m not jealous, I’m concerned. That thing needs to go. It looks something a cat would cough up.”
“Oh, I see what this is. Do you want to practice shaving? Don’t worry, Jake, your day will come and I’ll give you lessons then. Don’t get ahead of yourself. There are lots of stages of puberty you have to go through before the facial hair makes an appearance. Let’s revisit this conversation after your voice breaks.”
“Screw you, man.”
“You’re not my type.”
“Whatever. Lots of gay guys love me, I think it’s the tattoos.”
“How did you know that was in the ‘How to be Gay’ manual? It’s supposed to be a secret. Have you been going through my stuff?” We both chuckle at Blaise’s sarcasm as an excited Leo runs between us, wanting to know what’s going on.
I lean back in my canvas chair and watch them continue trading jokes and insults back and forth. It’s addictive viewing, which makes me realize, I was wrong before. My life isn’t like a TV show, it’s better. Because it’s real. And it’s mine.
I owe it all to the girl who gave it to me. Thanks to her, my life is alive.
“SO I GUESS what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I just told you.”
“That’s what you’re apologizing for? I appreciate it, but it’s completely unnecessary.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. To be honest, I’d completely forgotten about it.”
“Well, even so, it would mean a lot to me if you’d accept my apology.”
“Of course I will; you never had to apologize in the first place.”
“Yes, I did.”
She smiles in return. “If you say so, dear.”
“I do. These are for you,” I tell her, handing out the handwritten card with Tristan’s illustration on the front and the bunch of forget-me-nots I picked from the meadow this morning.
Her blinding smile changes her whole disposition and makes it all worth it.
“Well, aren’t these beautiful? Thank you so much. This has made my day.”
“You’re welcome, I hope you enjoy them. Sorry again.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”
“I’m sure, Mrs. James. Thanks for the offer though.”
“You too, sweetheart. Thanks again!”
I smile as the door shuts behind me. I’ve just apologized to my next-door neighbor for an incident that happened fifteen years ago, but seeing her reaction was worth revisiting everything. When I was eight, I’d snuck through one of the gates, which connect her land with ours, to ride her horse, Samson.
I’d had a great time, but once I was finished, I went back home through a different gate, leaving the one I’d entered through ajar, and letting Samson make his bid for freedom. They managed to find him and bring him back after two days, but I still remember the devastated look on Mrs. James’ face while the search party was out for him. The horse was all she had left after her beloved husband, Franklin, had died three years before. I apologized at the time with all the fickle sincerity a reprimanded child can manage, but it was important to me to apologize again as an adult, who understood the potential consequences of my actions that day.
Doing this as part of the legacy list has shown me that it’s never too late to apologize. It’s surprising how many people go through their lives still waiting for an apology that may never come. People carry around their wounded pride from being wronged like suffocating Albatrosses around their necks. It’s incredible to see the weight of the burden lifted when they hear the three words their ears were longing for. You’d think the person who needs to apologize would bear the heaviest burden of words unspoken, but in my experience, it’s not.
I’m so glad we decided to add apologizing to the people we’d wronged as part of our legacy list. I’m glad we created the list in the first place. Almost a year has passed since we sat in the treehouse and thought about the world without us. So much has happened in that time and I can’t believe that summer has already descended upon us once again. I’m another summer further away from life with my dad and another summer closer to a life without Tristan.
Late June has brought with it climbing temperatures and sun-soaked skin. My twenty-third birthday was last week. It was so great to meet with everyone for the first time since our unofficial college graduation in May.
The formal education part of our courses at Bilde is just two years. The other year is spent working for a professional artist in our chosen fields as an apprentice and learning ‘real world’ experience from them. I start my job with world-famous Californian landscape photographer Trudy de Laurentis in October.
I’m nervous but excited. The warm summer air is full of the scent and promise of change. Transformations are on the horizon and written in the wind. They’re coming for us, whether we’re ready for them or not.
I am not the same Matilda I was at the start of last summer. Nor will I be the person I am right now this time next year, if I’m still alive. And that’s okay. In fact, it’s beautiful.
We live and learn, change and grow. Older, but not always wiser. Stronger, but not necessarily smarter. Life is a dance of steps taken forward and backwards, time spent standing still, and twirling in circles as we follow our own shadows. I only hope that my friends, Tristan, and I will continue to move in the same direction, rather than away from each other until the music stops.
The unstoppable passage of time has also meant that Tristan and I have been together for almost a year. What a year it’s been. If I thought I knew Tristan before I even met him, I knew nothing compared to what I know now. We are as close as two people can physically be without residing in a shared body.
I’ve visited the darkest depths of his soul and pulled back the drapes over time to let in the light, just as he’s done for me. We’ve reached that stage all soulmates do of speaking in broken phrases and incomplete sentences, our connected and all-knowing minds filling
in the blanks left by redundant words.
He’s changed me. Before, I was a free spirit, cartwheeling through this world alone and dancing through the sands of time like no one was watching. Now, I have someone to join me on the journey.
And life is different when you have company. Now, I’ve slowed my movements. I walk, instead of run, no longer keen or uncaring about reaching my destination but dreading it. Because of Tristan, I now spend as much time on the ground as I do in the air. He is my tether, my anchor, my roots.
Under my instruction and over time, he’s adopted many of my life philosophies as his own, tailoring them whenever necessary to fit who he is. Because he’s learned not to worry about things you can’t control or become stressed about minor issues, we rarely fight. The few times we’ve argued have been down to either our differences in opinion, or what he refers to with affection as my ‘flightiness.’ We always make up within minutes though, unable to spend too long without the other.
Plus, neither of us wants to waste time. And fighting with the people you love over petty things is a colossal and pitiful waste of time. No, we’re all too aware of the importance of time, so we hold each other close and keep each other safe, choosing our words and actions with care, and treating each kiss and embrace as if they may be the last. Because they may.
As if reading my mind through our almost telepathic connection, my phone rings with Tristan’s special ringtone.
“Hi.”
“Hey.”
For everything that’s changed, some things have stayed the same.
“How was the meeting?”
“Good. Actually, amazing. I can’t quite believe what happened.”
“Why? What happened?”
“They… um… they offered me a six month art residency.”
“You’re kidding! Oh, my God, that is incredible, baby! Well done! You can’t see me, but I’m doing my happy dance in the middle of the street.”
The Counting-Downers Page 19