Chapter 20

I don’t blink.

Truth is, I try to get used to my loneliness, even if he hasn’t passed yet.

* * * *

He sleeps on the sofa in the middle of the afternoon in his Nike running shorts: bare chest covered in tiny strands of onyx-colored chest hair; firm nipples and rounded pecs; half-moon navel with a thin treasure trail; a moist and rank sweat-smell lingers from his armpits; stubble outlines his chin and cheeks; nostrils open and close; firm chest rises and falls as he breathes; eyeballs under his lids twitch because of light dreaming.

And while he sleeps, I find the poem he is currently trying to write on his HP laptop and study a few of its words: solidified, fraudulent, molestation, incredulous, lottery, milestone, scrupulous.

* * * *

Evan says he wants to take a trip before he dies. “I’d like to see Ross Point.”

“The place where we met?”

“There.”

“Why there?”

“To remember.”