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“You're not going to believe where we went," I announced triumphantly. I wanted to tell him about the Milky Way and stardust and how the moon had large craters on it that could be filled with water and how gravity-assist worked and how wormholes near Earth could send you to different parts of the universe in less than a second and how— "Oh, my lovely darling," Dad began, smiling and ushering us into the kitchen, "once the hot chocolate is ready, you can tell me all about it—and I'll believe it all. I'll believe everything.”

“Blurred bodies moved in broad, paintbrush strokes in his peripheral vision—in and out, in and out—but in that whirlwind, she appeared vibrant, well-defined, permanently immovable, an Unmoved Mover. In her electrifying presence, God Himself became an apprentice, a secondary Being. He tried to speak, but in that rare moment, words refused to be excavated from the depths of his soul in time. So, he stood by—aloof, ignored—saying nothing at all.”

“There is no rhyme or reason for any of it. Life is just a casino—numbers, probabilities, and cigarette smoke—that is all we are. Life is like this. You walk into a casino. You walk over to the bar and the bartender gives you two shots of cheap whiskey. You walk in hungry, tired. Maybe you’re already a bit drunk. The whiskey goes straight to your head and you light a cigarette—you know, to calm the nerves. You walk over to a craps table. But with all of the smoke, with your eyes blurry from the alcohol, you can hardly tell what it is. Nonetheless, the dice are rolled. Nobody asks you any questions. They roll the dice and whatever the number is, that’s how long you have to play. That’s life. Just a numbers game.”

“There she was before him in all her Aboriginal glory. Brown eyes and skin so tan it was nearly black. Her smile—a wondrous thing. Her lips—he imagined that by the end of summer, they’d be kissing him on the way home from Gravity Park. To Iron, elevated as she was in his poetic imagination, she had become something else entirely, obscuring lines between fact and fiction, between science and religion. Nothing made sense—and yet everything did.”

“Yeah. It's a metaphor. Jess and I are partners.' I point across the bay at nearby San Francisco. 'Look at that city,' I say. 'That's society. It's Out There. I this its own illusions, its own abilities, its own tasks. We used to be a part of it. Oh, we are, in some way, but now we are something else. We are a distinct culture, a separate island. To get to Us, you have to swim across a bay in cold ocean waters. By the time you get here, you would have come to respect the ocean and the waters and the waves—and the beaches of this island would remind you of how great it is to be on land, to be in the presence of a great, married couple.' Jack laughs. 'Now you really are a megalomaniac. A true idealist.' 'I don't know, Jack,' I say. 'I think marriage is sacred.' 'I can tell.' He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He blows smoke around and then looks at me. 'You want one?' he asks. 'This one's not a metaphor.”

“There’s more than meets the eye with the human body. It keeps score all on its own. It remembers; it hurts; it hides memories, secrets, even from us. The body is a record keeper, even when the brain forgets what’s been recorded. Bodies, bodies, bodies. Vanishing bodies.”

“I spent that night lying next to her in the cool of a summer breeze. I watched her drift and dream next to me, while I harnessed the weight of a thousand feelings alongside her. Her face glowed as she slept, as if she could not be any happier. Something profound happened that night, and I did not know what it was. All I knew was that something had changed. It was in the way she gazed at me, in the way her fingers would seek out the comfort of my hands. In retrospect, maybe it was that she had fallen in love for the first time, even though she had yet to say so. But as with all things beautiful, words merely got in the way. So, I didn’t care for them. I felt it in her presence that what we shared went beyond the effable, beyond what could be written about. It was the infinite space between the unspoken I-love-yous that resounded so clearly all around us. When the gods finally lit the stars for the night, and the moon had slipped into oblivion, I watched little rays of starlight twirl in full-bodied color on her celestial face. I wanted to stretch out my hands and caress her, to take hold of her and say, “Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God.” Like Jacob wrestling that terrible angel, I, too, wanted to grasp her—if only for a temporal second—so that I could encounter the divine. But I dared not disturb what was sacred, so I let her sleep.”

“I light another cigarette. I'm starting to get nervous as fuck. I normally don't do pillow talk with girls I make love to. God, but I need this. Nobody really knows my story. They all think they do. I've buried the truth in a hurricane of words. That's really what I did. A novel every six months or so. Damn, I hide a lot. "I don't know. I've tried replacing her with somebody else. Believe me, I tried. But I can't. I spent ten years of my life chasing her ghost. I try to find her in other women. It's unfair to them. That's why I just them home. I fuck them, love them, then I kick them out. I don't want them knowing.”

“There’s something beautiful about going through pictures from decades ago and saying, ‘Remember?’ You can’t do that with somebody new. There’s nothing to remember. There’s no shared history—only the brand new. I wanted to remember with someone. I wanted to remember all of it—the first kiss, the first time, the first child, the first graduation. But I never found someone to remember with.”

“I was thinking over this story, just lying in my bed, smoking a stupid cigarette—still pretending to, at least—when it happened. I swear it did. Jessica moved in my bed and I glanced at her and noticed for the first time how pretty her eyelashes were, and how her jet-black eyebrows seemed to sleep on her face. And I swear to God I heard what the hell Moeller talked about. I swear. It happened just like he said it did. One second, I was smoking cigarettes, thinking about something stupid—and thee next, I knew I was going to stop all of the stupid-think and marry this girl.”

“I think you should go," I say. She's silent for a minute. Then she turns around and says, "He used to say that to me, too." She wipes a tear from her eye. "Thanks," she mutters and begins to leave. "Hey," I tell her. She's not listening. I hear her crying and she's packing her clothes. I run upstairs to my room. "Hey," I say. She's really upset and she's not even looking at me. God, I'm such a piece of work. God, I'm such a piece of shit. "I'll marry you," I whisper. God, I swear I mean it. She stops what she's doing and looks at me. She shakes her head.”

“I was thinking over this story, just lying in my bed, smoking a stupid cigarette—still pretending to, at least—when it happened. I swear it did. Jessica moved in my bed and I glanced at her and noticed for the first time how pretty her eyelashes were, and how her jet-black eyebrows seemed to sleep on her face. And I swear to God I heard what the hell Moeller talked about. I swear. It happened just like he said it did. One second, I was smoking cigarettes, thinking about something stupid—and the next, I knew I was going to stop all of the stupid-think and marry this girl.”

“You don’t understand this when you’re younger but at some point, you cease doing things, cease creating new memories,” he thought aloud. “You are stuck in a rocking chair. And all you have are your memories. Those beautiful droplets of color you’ve managed to steal from the rainbow. And you go back to them over and over and over, like a Catholic praying the rosary. You dig in deep, sifting through decades, years, seasons, weeks, hours, and seconds of your life, trying to figure out what it all meant. I wanted to come back to you. I wanted to see you in color, to grasp my own little rainbow.”

“She looked up at him—and, for a moment, everything changed, as if in a twinkling of an eye. Now, here—wherever here was, whatever this moment meant, whichever timeline it appeared in no longer mattered—a church bell had gone off in some distant tower, having ushered in a new age. “You,” he whispered, his eyes wide with excitement. “I’ve been thinking about you.” “Me too,” she said, her voice weighed by the romantic.”

“She had matured over the years, growing into a gorgeous blonde with long legs, big blue eyes, and coal-black lashes that stood out against the backdrop of her Irish skin, having a darling face full of freckles. Her cheery disposition made her approachable—for not every girl had mastered the art of emotional disarmament. Lauren had. Miraculously, she was both popular—singled out, destined for success—and down-to-earth, a girl less concerned with her looks and more with the head she carried on her slender shoulders.”

“So, when the gods finally lit the stars for the night, and the moon had slipped into a pond of darkness, I watched little rays of starlight twirl in full-bodied color on her celestial face. I wanted to stretch out my hands and caress her, to take hold of her and say, “Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people, and your God my God.” Like Jacob wrestling that terrible angel, I, too, wanted to grasp her—if only for a temporal second—so that I could encounter the divine. But I dared not disturb what was sacred, so I let her sleep. “Goddamn it,” I said under my breath. “I am going to immortalize you.”