#11

“Let’s lie down in the middle of the basketball court, and see what happens,” he says, a little excitedly. He takes my small hands into his large, rough ones and leads me to the multi-purpose covered court.

“Okay,”

“Unless you want to lie down in the grass. But it’s dirty.”

“There are bugs in the grass, and anyway, there are no stars out; there’s nothing to look at.” I say.

“Okay, so the court.”

“Maybe it’ll rain tomorrow.”

We lay down at half court in silence. The concrete floor was cool against my back, which was slightly damp with sweat from all the walking we’d done. Above us was the court’s metal roof, which looked like a giant gray and black blur in the darkness.

“Now what,” I whisper. I turn my head slightly to face him, and he’s staring into the ceiling, as though deep in thought.

“I don’t know.”

The cool evening air gently brushed over us.

“Let’s wish for things,” he says softly, distantly, “You start.”

“I wish for…” I begin. My voice is thunderous in the emptiness, “No, you start.”

“Okay, I’ll start.”

His fingers find mine, and he gently holds on to them. Another breeze rolls in, much stronger, but we lay still, two stones in a trickling stream.

“I wish,” his voice a little louder, as if to make sure the stars hear, “No, I hope…” he pauses for awhile, and I feel his fingers clasping mine tightly.

“What?”

“I hope we stay together. That it’s us. Always.”

I look at him, and he’s looking at me. He’s smiling. My chest hurts when he smiles at me that way. It’s almost a guilty sort of pain.

“I hope so too.”

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