The Sun Is Also a Star(62)

I lift my head from his shoulder. “How was the rest of the interview?”

He touches my cheek and then tilts my head back down. “He said he’d recommend me.”

“That’s great,” I say, with absolutely no enthusiasm.



“Yeah,” he says, enthusiasm level matching mine.

I am cold but I don’t want to move. Moving from this spot will start the chain reaction that ends with me on a plane.

Another five minutes go by.

“I really should go home,” I say. “Flight’s at ten.”

He pulls out his phone to check the time. “Three hours to go. Are you all packed up already?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll go with you,” he says.

My heart makes a leap. For a crazy second I think he means he’ll go with me to Jamaica.

He sees the thought in my eyes. “I mean to your house.”

“I know what you meant,” I snap. I am resentful. I am ridiculous. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. My parents are there and I have too much to do. You’ll just get in the way.”

He raises himself up and holds out his hand for mine. “Here’s what we’re not going to do. We are not going to argue. We are not going to pretend that this isn’t the worst thing on earth, because it is. We’re not going to go our separate ways before we absolutely have to. I’m going with you to your parents’ house. I’m going to meet them, and they’re going to like me, and I’m not going to punch your dad. Instead, I’m going to see whether you look more like him or your mom. Your little brother will act like a little brother. Maybe I’ll finally get to hear that Jamaican accent you’ve been hiding from me all day. I’m going to look at the place where you sleep and eat and live and wish I’d known just a little sooner that you were right here.”

I start to interrupt, but he continues talking. “I’m going with you to your house, and then we’re going to take a cab to the airport, just the two of us. Then I’m going to watch you get on a plane and feel my heart get ripped out of my fucking chest, and then I’m going to wonder for the rest of my life what could’ve happened if this day hadn’t gone just exactly the way it’s gone.”



He stops to take a breath. “Is that okay with you?” he asks.





SHE SAYS YES. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I’ll never be ready to say it. I take her hand and we start walking toward the subway in silence.

She’s wearing her backpack on one shoulder and I can see the DEUS EX MACHINA print again. Was it really just this morning that we met? This morning that I wanted to blow wherever the wind took me? What I wouldn’t give for God to really be in the machine.

Headline: Area Teen Defeats Immigration and Customs Enforcement Division of the Department of Homeland Security, Lives Happily Ever After with His One True Love Thanks to This One Weird Legal Loophole No One Considered Until the Last Minute and Now We Will Have a Chase Scene to Stop Her from Getting on the Plane.

But that’s not what’s going to happen.

All day I’ve been thinking that we were meant to be. That all the people and places, all the coincidences were pushing us to be together forever. But maybe that’s not true. What if this thing between us was only meant to last the day? What if we are each other’s in-between people, a way station on the road to someplace else?



What if we are just a digression in someone else’s history?





“DID YOU KNOW THAT JAMAICA has the sixth highest murder rate in the world?” I ask him.

We’re on the Q train headed to Brooklyn. It’s packed with evening commuters and we’re standing, holding on to a pole. Daniel has one hand on my back. He hasn’t stopped touching me since we left the office building. Maybe if he keeps holding on to me, I won’t fly away.

“What are the other five?” he asks.

“Honduras, Venezuela, Belize, El Salvador, and Guatemala.”

“Huh,” he says.

“Did you also know that Jamaica is still a ceremonial member of the British Commonwealth?”

I don’t wait for an answer. “I am a subject of the Queen.” If I had room to do a curtsy, I would.

The train screeches to a stop. More people get on than off. “What else can I tell you? The population is two point nine million. Between one and ten percent of people identify as Rastafarians. Twenty percent of Jamaicans live below the poverty line.”



He moves a little closer so I’m almost completely surrounded by him. “Tell me one good thing you remember,” he says. “Not the facts.”

I don’t want to be optimistic. I don’t want to adjust to this new future. “I left when I was eight. I don’t remember that much.”

He presses. “Not your family? Cousins? Friends?”

“I remember having them, but I don’t know them. My mom forces us to get on the phone with them every year at Christmas. They make fun of my American accent.”

“One good thing,” he says. His eyes are deep brown now, almost black. “What did you miss the most after you first moved here?”

I don’t have to think about the answer for very long. “The beach. The ocean here is weird. It’s the wrong kind of blue. It’s cold. It’s too rough. Jamaica is in the Caribbean Sea. The water is this blue-green color and very calm. You can walk out for a long time and you’d still only be waist-deep.”