The Boy From Hot Ice

I purposely tried sleeping in. I had woken up around 7, but I tried going back to sleep. My mom, who never came into my room, of course did just that today.
"Hey, get up and pack. Now."
I pulled the covers over my head.
"Elizabeth, I'm serious."
"Go away!"
"Elizabeth Suzanne Pachiatorri, you get out of that bed this second!"
I hated when she called me by my full name. And she knew I hated it. I jumped out of bed and pushed her towards the door. "I'm up! I'm up!"
I didn't really pay attention to what I packed. I knew the first thing my dad would do would be to tell me my clothes were too skimpy, and he'd buy me a whole new wardrobe. I threw in some of my favorite pieces, and of course my makeup and hair products, curling iron, all the essentials. I knew my mom would be packing everything else for storage while she rented out the house, so I didn't really have a need for any of my trophies or souvenirs. I grabbed my precious shoes, changed into a suitable outfit, and made up my face as well as I could under the circumstance. I now stood with packed luggage, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, waiting in my room until I had to leave.
I looked at the clock. It was now almost 10:30, and I had to leave for the station in about an hour. How had he still not come to visit?
"You ready?" I heard my mom calling. Was I ready? No! I would never be ready to leave Modesto. I would never be ready to say good bye to Jeremy.
But I had to.
I rushed downstairs, grabbing my keys on the way out.
"Where are you going?"
"Don't worry mom, I'll meet you at the station. My luggage is packed and ready, so you'll need to bring it." I knew she didn't want to be the one to bring the luggage, but too bad.
I drove past Jeremy's house, but his car wasn't there. I had a feeling it wouldn't be. There was one place he went when he was upset, and he'd be there for sure.
When I spotted the burgundy sedan parked by the forest preserve, my hunch was confirmed. I rushed into the woods, tripping a little over stray branches. There he stood, hands in his pockets, jeans rolled up to his knees.
I didn't want to startle him, but standing so many yards behind him with so little time to spare gave me no choice. Without bothering to remove my shoes or roll up my jeans or call out to him, I ran. I just ran into that water until he heard me. He must have known it was me before he turned to see, but of course he did. Who else would it be?
He already held his arms out, reaching to me before I could do the same. He wrapped them around me, surprisingly tight, and he buried his face in my neck as he gripped onto my shirt. Why did he have to display his affection in this way? Didn't he understand how difficult he was making all this?
Oh, hell. It was going to be difficult anyway. I might as well enjoy this few seconds with him.
"I don't want to go," I told him through tear-soaked eyes.
"You can't," he whispered, his breath hotter on my neck than the humid air surrounding us had ever been.
"I have to."
"I'm not letting you go," he whispered once more. This was not the type of moment he would usually gush out his feelings, but he said so much in that hold he had on me.
I pulled myself away from him so that I could look into his eyes. "I love you," I told him so plainly, so simply.
His hands, as big as my head they seemed, drew lines along my cheekbones as his eyes traced my every feature and flaw. "I don't want this to be over."
"I'll call you every day," I promised. "And I'll visit as soon as I can."
"You won't visit," he shook his head as he spoke. "When will you get the chance? And you have no reason to be down here anymore with your mom gone."
"I have you. You're my reason."
"And I promise you I won't be enough. Tacoma will be your whole life. You'll have new friends, a new boyfriend, a new everything and you'll forget about me just like you did last time."
"Last time, you were just a kid who annoyed me. This time, you're... you. You're my boyfriend. I won't ever forget you!"
"I promise you, you will," he told me. How could he think that?
"Oh, stop, okay? You're not going to win this argument. I love you, okay? I love you. Let's just keep in touch until I can come back here for good."
He shook his head in frustration and ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, I know how this is really gonna work. You'll leave and I'll call every day and everything will be really great... and then we'll slow down. We'll call each other maybe once a week, then a couple times a month, then it'll stop. And if I ever do see you again, you know, if you ever do move back out here or whatever, it'll be over. I know how it works. I've seen it happen before."
"But this is US," I told him. "We're different from everyone else."
"Are we?"
I didn't want this any more. The fighting about whether or not I would still love him after I left was killing me.
"You have to trust me," I said. "I can't do any better than that."
He slipped his hands back inside his pockets, silently staring into my eyes, obviously holding back tears.
"Do you trust me?" I asked.
"Do you?"
"I know how I feel," I said. "I'm not sure you do, and that's what worries me."
"I - I guess I trust you," he mumbled.
"You either do or you don't. Which is it? Do you trust me? Do you believe me when I say I love you now and I'll love you always?"
"I trust you," he said, no smile, no obvious emotion at all in that phrase.
I approached him, pressing my now shivering body, soaked in the shaded waters of our lake, against him, letting my hands roam up the front of him until they settled on his chest. "I will love you always," I whispered as I kissed him.
He tasted of tears, and with every tear he'd shed, I'd shed a thousand. My hands circled behind him as his stayed at his sides, and he leaned into me, almost collapsing under the weight of the situation.
"I hate this," he said. "I fucking hate this."
"Me too," I whispered back, my hands falling to his and clasping them, pulling them onto my hips. "But it's not forever."
His eyes, now blue like our jeans, blue like the waters below us, blue like the emotions spilling in my heart, became closer with every second as he leaned slowly toward me and pressed his forehead to mine. "You're freezing," he said.
"It feels nice to feel something right now," I told him truthfully.
"Come on," he said, leading me by the hand from the waters. As we stepped out, I looked back at them, knowing full well it was possible I would never see this magical place again. He pulled his beloved jacket from the car and threw it around my shoulders as he held me, preparing his goodbye speech. The way his eyes searched every object, his hands fidgeted with the door handle or a stone that happened to be appealing for a second, the way he licked his lips, accidentally seductively - these were clues he had so much to say, and that he was trying to condense it so he wouldn't have to keep me any longer than I could reasonably stay.
"If we never see each other again," he started, the words piercing my heart like a sword. "Just, I - I want to say thank you."
I nodded, wanting to reply, but a lump in my throat preventing me.
"You're my first love. Maybe you'll be my last, who knows? But anyway, you're everything to me, and thanks for being that."
These weren't the most eloquent words. Still, I could listen to them over and over again for hours.
"And call me when you get there," he told me, noticing I was looking at my watch, antsy, needing to go even though it was the last thing in the world I wanted. "Don't forget about me," he smiled as he kissed my cheek.
I wanted to throw him down in that front seat of his car and give him a proper goodbye, but at this point, I knew I was already cutting it close.
"I'll never forget you," I told him as I removed the jacket and hand it to him. "Come with me. Say goodbye when I get on the train so you're the last thing I see in this place."
He accepted the jacket for a moment, then paced it back around my shoulders. "I can't see you leave," he said. "And just keep this."
"But you love this jacket!" I insisted.
"No, I love you," he said, again somehow keeping his face so still. "And it looks better on you, anyway."
Looking at my watch, I saw that I had exactly 33 minutes before my train left, and I needed to leave. Shit.
"I - I have to - "
He pulled me forward and kissed me deeply, his tongue tasting the roof of my mouth, his lips grasping mine, holding me captive to him.
When he let go, I somehow managed to hold the tears back long enough to make him promise to take care of my car until it was delivered to me. He nodded, and I almost ran to my car, ripping out of the grass faster than ever, trying to get to the train where I could cry to my heart's content. Though if my heart were content I suppose I would have little reason to cry. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was waving, but I didn't wave back. I guess maybe I didn't want to acknowledge that it was a goodbye. I just wanted to drive away from the woods again, like I'd done a dozen times before, and I wanted to imagine myself coming to that lake again in a few days, meeting for just another rendezvous.
The train, luckily, was fifteen minutes behind schedule, and I made it just in time. The last half hour or so had been such a blur that I didn't even remember how I got there. I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes. And then it got worse. I could smell him on that jacket, his aftershave, his leather, his natural, masculine scent, the smell of dirt and motorcycles. I was sweating now, the Modesto heat smoldering, but I wore it anyway, feeling the leather against my skin, imagining his arms holding me, comforting me, loving me, feeling me, cherishing me in a way I'd never been cherished. I could still taste him. It felt like his ghost was haunting me, and I loved it and hated it at the same time. He was still with me, but the Tacoma rain would wash that away soon no doubt. But for these minutes and hours on the train to Washington, I still had my Jeremy, that boy with the motorcycle and the mullet and the unflinching courage when it came to defending the honor of someone he loved, the boy from Hot Ice, the boy who loved me like I'd never been loved, the boy who gave me meaning, the boy who made me feel beautiful and small and delicate and fragile and feminine and funny and sexy. I had him for the next few hours still.
But in my heart I knew it was possible he was right. I knew I might never see him again. I knew he might very well be right. We might stray and break up gradually and abandon the feelings we had. But he was wrong about me forgetting him. I would never forget him.
When he asked me if I trusted myself, truthfully I didn't. But what was I supposed to say?