Far Away

# A Boy From G. Should Not Feel This Far Away

I thought December would make distance easier because vacation is close now. Instead it somehow made everything worse. M. called tonight while I was wrapping gifts badly on my bedroom floor surrounded by ribbon, homework, and emotional instability. His voice immediately changed the atmosphere in the room. I could hear noise behind him, people laughing somewhere distant, glasses, maybe a television playing football commentary. G. always sounds alive differently from M. Less controlled. More accidental. He spent the afternoon near the marina again because apparently winter does not stop boys from discussing sailing for six consecutive hours. I asked if it was cold and he laughed like the question itself was decorative. Sometimes I think sea people belong physically to weather in ways the rest of us don’t.

He talked about Sampdoria for a while with alarming emotional investment and then suddenly became quiet. Those moments always affect me more than conversations. I asked what he was thinking. He said: “Nothing.” Which is obviously a lie boys learn collectively at birth.

Outside my windows M. looked silver and freezing. Inside my room everything smelled faintly like Allure because I borrowed Mam’s perfume again before dinner and now my sweaters are beginning to absorb her identity permanently.

I miss him in strange moments now.
Not dramatically.
Just suddenly.

Like hearing harbor sounds in movies.
Or seeing dark blue scarves.
Or cigarette smoke near train stations at night.

FAR AWAY.
Remember me,
Eclipse