The Distance Is Quite Simply Far Too Much for Me to Row

“You promised, Martin,” I sighed. “You swore to me…” I stood in the blue-painted foyer, my
arms folded tightly over my chest and my shoulders hunched forward defensively. “You
promised.” I stared at him, daring him to look back at me; daring him to contest what I was
saying; daring him to redeem himself.

He tilted his head back slightly, exhaling the cold breath he’d been holding since the start of
the conversation. In the dim light I could see the stubble covering his unshaven jaw line. “I
know.” He looked down and then back up, his black guitar case slung proudly over his left
shoulder; an old duffel held in his right hand and another on the floor at his feet. Almost all
of his possessions packed tightly into two oversized bags intended for a summer away at
camp. “I know I promised.” He sighed heavily as his gaze moved from the ceiling to the
floor to the walls, barely crossing my face and the pained expression it held. He couldn't
bare to see my expression. It was just too much for him.

The old, broken, screen door with a broken screen creaked open and he backed up,
ready to step out. “You said you’d take me with you, Martin. You swore you wouldn’t leave
me here.” He looked down at his beaten up sneakers—the ones that had once had white
laces—and back up at me. The laces had been discolored and torn from all the days spent
playing tag and catch.

“I know.” He took a step back. “But things have changed, Aleks. A lot has changed—
we both know that.” I shook my head.

“No, Martin. Not a damn thing has changed and that’s the problem.” I wrapped my
arms tighter around myself trying to keep the cold Boston air from setting into my bones.
“Everything is exactly the same.” The rain spilled in through the cracks in the door. The
floor was covered in the small droplets. The rain was seeping through my skin; through
the delicate layers that encased my blood and all of my vital organs; that encased my heart.

“I’d take you with me if I could.” His blue eyes held some kind of emotion, though I’m
quite certain it wasn’t love. It wasn’t contempt or anger, it was more like pity. “I swear. If I
could, I would.” He was lying. He could take me with him. There was nothing stopping him.

“What’s stopping you?” I hissed. My eyes darted to the floor—I couldn’t let him see the
tears welling up. He couldn't see just how weak I truly was. “Why can’t you?” I already
knew the answer, I just needed him to admit it.

“You know why.” I shook my head. “Don’t make me do this. Don’t make this worse,
Aleks.” I looked back up. “You know exactly why you have to stay here.”

“Say it. Tell me why. I need to hear you say it.” He shook his head and stepped
outside, letting the rain soak through his hooded sweatshirt. “Martin.” His name fell
simply, broken and worn out, from my chapped lips. It was like the chorus of a song. Over
used, over played, and over produced. Martin. It couldn't be more generic. “Martin, you
promised.” I pressed my face to the torn screen and watched him stand there struggling to
find the right words. But there were no words. There was no way to explain that he wanted
to leave me behind. There isn't a class you can take, a lyric you can write, or a card you can
send. There is no day to tell someone that you're done with them. There was no way
to admit to leaving behind the one person whom you've always promised to take with you
wherever you went.

“What about Caleb and Morgan? What’ll they do without you?” I shook my head, the
tears becoming too heavy behind my eyes. I couldn't take it. They needed him. He was
stronger. They needed him so much more than they could ever have needed me. He was
their idol. He was what they aspired to be.

“What will I do without you?” I replied. “Martin, please. Take me with you. Take us with
you. You know that I need you.” He shook his head and I began fumbling with the door
knob, trying to push open the screen door. The rusted, squeaky hinges didn't want to budge. The door didn't want to open.

“No. I know that you think you need me, Aleks. I know you’re strong enough on your
own. I’m just an accessory. You don’t need me.” I shook my head, stepping out onto the
porch. I had just put Morgan and Caleb to bed. I couldn't explain to them in the morning
that Martin was gone; that he wasn't coming back despite what he'd promised. Everyone
swore they'd be back. No one ever really reappeared on the steps of the small brown-
shingled house two sizes too small for the size of the property; the one that proudly
wore the rusted number thirteen.

“But I do need you, Martin. I do need you.” I hated how broken I sounded. I hated how
the tears clouded my eyes and how I could no longer see the clear blue of his irises; the
clear blue eyes that caught my attention some thirty eight months ago. “You promised.”

“That was a long time ago. That was when we were young and naïve and a little less
cynical.” He took a step backward, one duffel now in each hand. We were always cynical.
We always had to be. We wore the number thirteen like some teenagers wore their hearts
on their sleeves--or at least I wore thirteen like that. “I’m sorry, Ale.” Luck always appeared
for him at the last second. Just when he seemed doomed, it always snuck up behind him
like a cold breeze, or a best friend with a snowball.

“No you aren’t. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be leaving me here. Martin!” He turned
to walk away and made it down the first two steps before turning around. “Don’t go, Martin,”
I whispered. “Please.” He couldn't go. He just couldn't break the promise he'd made. He
swore to me he'd take me with him. That's what he promised me on every sunny summer
day. He swore that one day we'd be free of Massachusetts; that one day he'd make it and
I'd be right next to him on the flight to L.A.

“You’ll be fine without me. I’ll be back in Boston before you know it.” I shook my head
and backed up into the doorway. It was useless. He didn't care. He'd leave anyway. He
had gotten everything he'd ever wanted--including me. He'd had me, the real me; the happy
me, for three years.

“No, Martin. No, don’t go. I need you. They need you. We need you.”

“Aleks,” he sighed. “Aleksandrina, I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon. Tell them, tell
yourself.”

“Please?”

“I’m gonna miss my flight, Aleks. I gotta go.” He turned and walked down the
remaining two steps, walking slowly down the cement path. It was dark and cold and I
could barely see him when he turned back. “I’m not going to L.A. this time. I’ll be back
soon.”

His shape faded into the darkness and the gate creaked open and then closed. And
just like that, he was gone.