The American

Chapter Twelve

As Teo lays his towel by the shore, I observe his body, golden against the rising sun. His damp curls slightly disheveled, he pulls out his water bottle to drink from. He is so innocent, his eyes meandering the shoreline every now and again in search of my gaze. I roll over on the waves, the idea of inevitability haunting me. Is fleeting all that we are destined to be?

I think about it a lot, though I cannot explain why. Maybe this is my way of processing loss, by fearing more loss. Adrift and afloat, I worry that this summer is our only point of intersection, that we will diverge into separate lines from this point onward. I worry that this summer will end only to never be reborn, that we will return to our lives afterwards, so obviously banal and mind numbing but inevitable.

I sigh, trying to maneuver another tide, but it violently washes me to the shore. I lift my body from the coarse gravel and walk towards our towel, brushing off the fragments of sand clinging to my skin, slowly slipping up to my thighs. Teo is sitting down with his elbows on each of his knees. I stop when our toes are inches apart and he is looking up at me with those mahogany eyes, so full of wonder and curiosity. I extend my hands for him to take. "Dance with me?" I ask him shyly.

He doesn't just take my hand. He intertwines our fingers until they blend into one. "Is that a question?" he asks, using my arms to pull himself up. 

The sun is like a sedative, drawing us into our dreams. We sway to the tender melody of the waves, rippling every now and again in the early morning stillness. He twirls me around, oblivious to the maddening effect of his skin against mine as my body gently grazes his, no longer abiding by the law of gravity but by an inexplicable corporeal magnetism that draws us closer with each moment, as if in a process of coalescence.

"I wish these moments could last forever," I say—because I do. It's all I've ever wanted, the power to preserve time. 

A sad smile overcomes his face. "If only."

"I am going home soon, you know. After Papa's burial."

He is quiet for the longest time, his body no longer invested in our dance, but he continues anyway, slowly, wistfully, thoughtfully. "Maybe we will meet again some day, Margarita."

"Do you think we will?"

He presses his lips together. "I don't know."

He doesn't know? Really? Does that mean he doesn't care? I feel very uneasy all at once. I don't know why. I mean, I got what I wanted: a meaningfully unmeaningful summer with a boy who is far more invested in making memories than in our expiration date. But I also can't control it that with every memory, I am getting more attached, attached to the point of no return, to the point that I worry I won't be able to let go. But Teo—he doesn't seem to mind at all. This is just an adventure for him, much like how I thought it would be for me.

He sighs, conjuring a smile that is only partially convincing, one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. It leads me to wonder if this isn't just anything to him, if he is struggling with this just as much as I am. "It depends on us, Mar," he says eventually. "The future isn't set in stone."

I nod, because it is all I seem to be able to do. We lapse into a silence that is more ambiguous than it is comforting. He massages my palms with his fingers, forcing me to look at him. "You okay?"

I nod again. "I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"A million things," I say with a laugh. I let go of his hands and take a seat where our towel is, facing the sea. "I'm thinking about us. About this summer. And about Mario and Papa and the woman Mario and I ran into a few nights ago."