Where Things Get Lost

THEN

You were at the damn party and the sight of you was intoxicating.
That’s probably where I should start, the day we met.
It was homecoming, about a month into my junior year and I was watching Jaclyn Crosby grind her ass against your crotch. She was drunk and you were laughing, but you politely turned her away once the song ended.
Maggie told me you were trouble.
“He graduated last year from an alternative school,” she’s leaning against the wall with her hand on my shoulder and mouth pressed to my ear. She smells like her mango scented lotion and rum. “Used to live down the street from me. He’s the weirdo I told you about ages ago, who would pick flowers from our neighbor’s garden and burn them. He works at the record store on Fourth street.”
I smile at Maggie and her seemingly all encompassing knowledge of almost every hot guy within the city’s limits. She’s studying my face now as I survey the room. It was the living area of a large cabin lodge. Bodies were everywhere, laughing, dancing, talking animatedly to friends and strangers. The party was being hosted at the resort by the lake that Jacob Hock’s family owned. He was a senior that year, and the usual go-to guy for party locations.
That’s most likely what Jacob will be known for when we look back through our high school yearbooks. I could imagine someone flipping through the glossy pages, pointing to his picture and saying “Yeah, this guy was awesome. He had the craziest parties at his family’s killer resort.” Jaclyn Crosby will be the girl who “almost fucked Jensen Miles in the janitor’s closet.” Maggie Thompson: “That one girl who played soccer.”
And me, Jane Mason, the quiet girl who somehow managed to date Carter Scott, the boy on fire.
I hadn’t been to many parties before. They weren’t ever my scene, but it was Homecoming and we had just won the game against our rival school in town. Maggie was invited by Ryan Matthews, the boy she was newly interested in. I was surprised when she asked me to go.
“Please, Jane, let’s just go to this one,” she was standing in front of my car, her arm slung around Ryan’s waist.
I fumbled with my keys in my hand. She was looking to me with hopeful blue eyes and I sighed. The party meant lying to my mom. It also meant being in a room full of people I didn’t necessarily know or like. But Maggie was excited and I figured there wasn’t any excuses I could come up with, so I gave in.
I’m looking at you again now and Maggie is rolling her eyes. As my best friend of eight years, it is her job to warn me about guys. But also as my best friend of eight years, she knows I never listen. “Don’t tell me you’re going for it.”
I look at her with a sly smile. “Oh, yes, I am going for it.”
She tilts her head back and groans. “Janeeeee,” she draws out my name. “You have to stop this. Your projects are getting a bit extensive.”
“Projects” is what Maggie calls my relationships. She says this because she believes I always choose guys who ‘need work’. “That’s your problem,” she’ll tell me. “You think you can save everybody.”
I lean my head against Maggie’s shoulder. You’re sitting in the dining room now, leaning casually over the table and talking excitedly to a girl I recognize from my class. You’re not that drunk, I notice. I mentally give you extra points for it.
“He’s tall, isn’t he?” I say. Maggie doesn’t answer and instead takes another sip of her rum and coke. She winces as it goes down.
“I don’t know why you drink that stuff. You obviously don’t like it.” I get the urge to take the drink from her hands. She looks odd, standing there in her bulky letterman’s jacket, a red cup in her hand. I would laugh at the image if I wasn’t afraid of upsetting her. Maggie is not the party type of girl, at least she wasn’t. She played soccer and read books and volunteered regularly with her brother’s special needs program. Maggie was full of life and energy, but she was also dependent upon validation from her peers. Maggie drinking was a symptom of her need to fit in. She felt grown up with that cup in her hand, and I wasn’t about to make her feel smaller for it.
The energy in the room shifts as people continue to drink themselves past their initial buzz. The air feels heavier and the music seems to throb in my head. I move myself away from the wall I was leaning against and turn to slide open the window. I put my forehead against the screen and let the cool October air wash over my face. I pull Maggie by the arm and she does the same.
She lets out a sigh and closes her eyes. “Just be careful,” she says, and I nod, making the promise to her and myself.

The truth is, Carter, you were never good with words. I would find that out the moment we first talk. You never said the right thing or you never said enough. Maybe that’s why you didn’t leave any words behind when you left. Maybe you lost them.
Maggie and I sit down on the couch when it becomes free. Ryan finds us and hands Maggie another drink. She takes tiny sips as she and Ryan talk about soccer season memories. It’s almost midnight and people are still talking excitedly and buzzing around. There’s a girl to my left who is crying loudly about a guy named Jim and her equally drunk friend strokes her hair. My eyes are getting heavy and I think maybe I could fall asleep right there but a hand rests on my shoulder.
I tilt my head back and my eyes fall upon a boy with short hair and an almost exhaustingly happy grin. “Jane,” he says.
“Ah, Grayson,” I reply after a moment’s hesitation.
He’s still beaming like the sun at me when he comes around to sit on the couch’s armrest. “How have you been, J?”
I groan internally. Grayson and I dated for a short few months a year and a half ago. He is a year older and plays bass for his youth group’s Christian rock band. I have no idea why he’s here but I sit up and give him my best smile. “Great, and you?”
He runs his hands through his short blond hair. Grayson is a skinny boy with pretty blue eyes and youthful face. He’s polite and intelligent but painfully boring. “I’ve been just fine, thanks. Working on getting through this year and heading off to NNU.”
That was the thing about parties. Being forced to make small talk and pretending to care about things like Grayson’s acceptance to Northwest Nazarene. He tells me about the new songs his band is working on and I try not to make it obvious that I’m only barely listening. I’m looking for you again and I find you coming in through the sliding door. You’re high-fiving a guy wearing a watermelon rind on his head like a helmet. I smile at the ridiculousness of the scene.
It could have been someone else at that party, Carter, but it was you. You caught my eye, and most days now, I’m sorry you did. I wonder if I would have met you somewhere else if I hadn’t gone. Maybe I would be searching for a gift for Maggie and visited the record store. Maybe you would have run into me while I was riding my bike downtown. Would you have noticed me then? Part of me thinks we wouldn’t have met if I hadn’t gone with Maggie that night. I think we would have gotten lost along the way.
You were a lost boy. I knew it from the moment we locked eyes in that crowded room. Maybe Maggie was right, maybe I was attracted to sparks of unhappiness I thought I could distinguish.
I think that’s the only reason I love at all, to save.

God, Carter you were beautiful. I think you knew it too.
I was standing outside on the lawn, taking a moment to myself, the cool night air creeping beneath the collar of my jacket. You came out a few minutes later and sat on the grass. I watched you light match after match, letting the stick burn until it hit your fingertips. The glow of the fire reflected in your eyes and I couldn’t get enough of it.
Finally, you looked at me and smiled. It was devastating, really. You were magnetic, a force of energy I could not resist. I was the match and you were the strike. From that moment on, we’d always be heading toward the edge. I wish we would have learned how to stop playing with fire.
“Come here,” you said. That sly smile was playing at the edge of your lips.
My feet seem to move without my consent. I sit on the ground next to you, just close enough for our shoulders to almost touch. You’re not looking at me, but you’re still smiling. Another match is tossed to the side.
“What’s with the fire?” I ask. I remember what Maggie said about the flowers.
You shrug, and your gaze falls on me for a small second.
“Just like it, I guess.”
I reach out and pull a match from the small box you were carrying. You smirk at me as I strike it against the side. It was kind of satisfying, watching the flame dance and burn out.
I lit three more before you spoke again. “What’s your name?”
“Jane.”
You look at me again and your gaze lingers. Your expression is relaxed, contented. “You’re pretty, Jane.”
I grin and my pulse quickens. “And you’re Carter,” I say it matter-of-factly but instantly regret not just asking for you’re name.
You let out a single small laugh and shake your head side to side. “Guess so,” is all you say before leaning back on the grass. You pat the ground next to you. “Lay back.”
I do and let my dark hair fan out on the grass. You smile at me again and I can’t breathe. “I like your hair, Jane.”
“Thanks, I grew it myself.”
Your laughter fills the night hair and I’m grinning like an idiot. “I suppose you did,” you say and turn your gaze to the sky.
The night is clear and the stars are sprinkled across the vast black. You start pointing up toward them but I’m looking at your hands.
“That’s the big dipper,” you say and point out a few other constellations that you know.
That’s the night it all began, our story. I think we gave our promises to the sky. They are written there in constellation language and I cannot look up anymore without thinking about how the moonlight would have tasted on the corner of your mouth.
We stay like that for a few minutes longer before Maggie and Ryan find me and ask to get going. I say goodbye to you and the smile you give me tells me it’s only the beginning.