Page 136 of Road Trip to Forever
“It’s pictures,” she says. She reaches up and detaches a Polaroid from a clothespin hanging from the long piece of twine attached on either end of the room. “Oh my god. Look how little we are!”
“We’re practically infants,” I agree. I rest my chin on her shoulder and smile at the image.
We can’t be older than twelve, both of us with elbow pads on our arms and helmets on our heads. It was the summer we tried to learn how to rollerblade and failed epically. I busted a lip and Lola knocked a tooth out. Our moms werepissed.
This picture is before any injuries, our limbs scratch-free. She’s looking at the camera, a hand over her face to shield her eyes from the sun. I’m looking at her, smiling wide and laughing at something she’s saying. I’ve forgotten what it was over the years, I just remember it was funny.
“Oh! Our junior year homecoming,” Lola exclaims, pulling down another photo. I’m in a tux that’s three sizes too big and Lola has a fake tan. She’s putting up bunny ears behind my head and my chin is turned toward her, a gleam in my eyes. “You got food poisoning and had to be escorted out in a wheelchair.”
“Yeah, and the principal didn’t believe me when I said it wasn’t alcohol.”
“Is this one from the beach? Which time?” she asks, pointing to another picture.
“The summer after our freshman year of college.”
“I was so sad after not seeing you for three months,” she says.
She touches the glossy picture and outlines our silhouettes. It’s from behind, me with my arm around her waist and her leaning into my side. Waves crash in front of us but I’m looking at her with wistful expression on my face.
My heart knew long before my brain did.
We spend the next forty-five minutes looking at the photos one by one until they’re piled in a stack on the floor.
“I asked our friends and family for some help,” I admit. “What’s the same in all the pictures?”
Lola frowns and sifts through the images a second time. It takes her a minute to realize, and when she does, she inhales sharply. “You’re looking at me in all of them,” she whispers.
“Even when we were kids, well before I knew what love was, my heart and soul knew they loved you. I’ve been yours for years, Lo.”
She drops the pictures and touches my cheeks. “Can I tell you a secret, Patrick?”
“You can tell me anything.”
“I’m scared. I’m so scared,” she says. Her voice turns soft and unsteady, and I fold my fingers over hers as her hands tremble.
“Scared?” I repeat. “Of what?”
“Of being with you. I’ve never loved someone as much as I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I’ve never experienced a love like this, and it’s terrifying to realize how much you mean to me. How much is at stake and how much I have to lose.”
“We can be scared together.” I laugh and pull her into my lap. I drop my forehead against hers. “I’m so fucking petrified that something could happen to you. When you’re away, my heart hurts. It physicallyaches. I’ve learned what it means to be lovesick, to miss someone so much when they’re gone that you don’t feel like you can go on. But I want you to know something. You’re it for me, Lola. My life started the moment I met you.”
“I’ve never told you this, but my mom almost didn’t pick Boston as her base,” Lola says. “Our bags were packed for Salt Lake City until my dad woke up one night and told her something was telling him we had to go to Massachusetts. In a way, I like to think he knew I would find you. He knew we were both out there existing, waiting for each other.” She sniffs, and I wipe away a tear. “And I think he’d be very happy to know we’re together.”
“He knew I cared about you,” I say.
Lola pulls back. “What?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “You went downstairs to the hospital cafeteria for lunch one day, and I said I’d spend some time with him while you took a break. We were chatting and shooting the shit. He was complaining about the Celtics’ losing streak.”
“God, he hated when they lost.”
“‘Nobody on the team plays any defense,’” we say in unison, and Lola bursts out laughing.
“That,” she says, “was the best impression I’ve heard.”
“I asked him if he was scared about dying and the unknown of what comes next. He said he wasn’t scared, just so incredibly sad he had to leave you, your mom, and your brother behind. He told me to take care of you and to keep an eye on his little girl. I don’t know what possessed me to say it, but I told him I cared about you a lot. I said maybe one day down the road, you and I would have a life together. A house, some kids, no kids. Whatever we wanted. I was basically crying my eyes out and helaughed. He said, ‘I might be dying, but I’m not an idiot. You love her.’”
“He said that to you? He knew?”
