The Boy looks at him, face twitching but making an effort to be
still. “Repeat after me.”
The Boy grins at him, eyes sliding left, down, up, back to
center.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
“No. Repeat— I,” he presses a fist
into his chest, “love you,” the fist finds
The Boy’s breastbone.
He looks confused for a moment, then says, slowly, “You
love me.”
“Yes. I love you and I’m not going to leave
you.”
“You love me and you’re not going to leave
me.”
“I love you and I’m not going to leave
you.”
“You love me and you’re not going to leave
me.”
“I love you. I’m not going to leave you.”
“You love me. You’re not going to leave
me.”
“I really do. I’m really not.”
“You really do. You’re really not.”
“If I get sent to prison—” he raises his
eyebrows at The Boy’s giggle.
“If you get sent to prison—”
“I still won’t leave you.”
“You still won’t leave me. Because I’ll
probably be arrested for the same—”
“If they bring back the draft and I’m sent
overseas—”
“Oh my God. If they bring back the draft and you’re
sent overseas—”
“I still won’t leave you.”
“You still won’t leave me.”
“If I die—”
“No.”
“If I die—”
“No. That’s enough.” He presses down harder
with his knees.
“If. I. Die.”
The Boy stares at him in silence, then trails fingers over the
bones of his best friend's knees.
“If you die,” it’s barely a whisper.
“I still won’t leave you.”
“You still won’t leave me. ‘Cause I’ll
die too. I will.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. Repeat. I
won’t leave you.”
“You won’t leave me.”
“I will haunt you—”
“You will haunt me—”
“All the days of your life.”
“All the days of my life.”
“Because the way you love me—”
“Because the way I love you—”
“Is perfect.”
“No.”
“Is perfect.”
“No.”
“Is perfect.”
“Is perfect.”