My bike shuddered over the buckled planks of the boardwalk, and I was filled with a strange anticipation and excitement, like an echo from my youth that somehow still reverberated inside me. I brought myself to a halt and chained my bike to a handrail. I needed to experience this on foot. I needed to be here.

Everything was different now, and it made me giddy and dizzy at the same time, like I could see two separate worlds at the same time, slightly out of focus. It reminded me of being at the top of the Ferris wheel, ages ago. When was the last time I’d been to the fair? It had been forever. I wondered when Jojo would be old enough to appreciate going. What would his face look like when he saw those lights?

The stands were all sun-faded. Wind and salt had etched most of the whitewash paint off of them, making them the color of driftwood. Sand crunched underfoot, and spiky grass poked up through the gaps in the planks. I was standing on someone’s tag, letters and numbers sprayed in an ornate design.

Every building was marked up. Pictures and names and words and designs, painted over and over, but all of it at the mercy of that unending wind from the ocean. There was a word for that, wasn’t there? For when you write something down, then erase it to write something new, but there are still traces left behind. Palimpsest, that was the word.

I could picture someone out here, sixteen with a bunch of spray cans, thinking he was making his mark forever. But nothing was forever out here, not even the beach itself.

I turned to face the water. The ocean is dynamic, always pushing, always changing everything it touches. When I was growing up, this beach had been a long walk of white sand; you’d run out on tiptoes so your feet wouldn’t burn, jumping over the little crabs that scuttled from one hole to another.

This stretch of beach had been forgotten. The other beaches of Oceanside had great steel and stone groins stretching out into the water, protecting the shore from erosion, but not here. Here, the water had been allowed to grow closer and closer. No more sand, just rocks, and the ever-approaching ocean.

Jojo loved the beach. He’d sit down and put his fat little fists into the sand, cooing over the warmth, giggling when the spray would wet his feet, wrinkling his nose when I’d put another layer of sunscreen on his face. But I’d never brought him here, to what I’d grown up thinking of as my beach.

I turned back to the buildings. Part of me--the grown-up, responsible me--could understand why people wanted to tear all this down. It had been allowed to go too far downhill. But did they have to demolish it? Couldn’t they just let the ocean take over, wash all the buildings away? Let it all sink beneath the waves?

The boards creaked underfoot as I walked. There was the booth where we’d come to get our fortunes told by Madame Zelda. Zelda was still around, although she was retired. Still wearing those huge silver earrings and a thousand bracelets; you knew her the instant you saw her at the store. She still had her old crystal ball, only now it was on her mantle.

I studied the graffiti on the booth. Some of the taggers liked really spiky printing--like this PB56 who was on most of the buildings. Others preferred big balloon letters with lots of room for shading.

People were always up in arms about how the boardwalk had decayed. Every once in a while the news would air another story about how it fell apart, and the graffiti was always part of that. But I found I didn’t mind it. In my soul, I believed that’s what the boardwalk was for--coming down here while nobody else was here, a secret hideout. Other people didn’t get that.

That’s what I’d miss, once they tore the place down. The idea that there was once a part of town where you could get away from everyone, all the responsibilities, all the people. Where you could just be free.

When I heard someone cough, I froze, feeling an instant sense of panic.

Maybe I’d watched too many news stories about who dwelled in the boardwalk now. Maybe I was becoming one of those responsible adults who didn’t belong here anymore.

I looked around for the source of the sound but didn’t see anyone. I began walking--not running, just a brisk walk--back to the bike, trying to listen out for the sound of footsteps beneath the sound of the ocean. If it was just someone homeless who needed money, okay, that was one thing, but what if--

Don’t be silly, I said to myself. You’re acting like a frightened old man. Nobody’s going to jump out and get you.

My step slowed. It was true. It’s not like Oceanside was rife with violent crime or something. I was worried over nothing.

Besides, this was my last chance to see this place. I turned around one more time. I had to look at it. Bake it into my memory so I’d be able to hold it forever.

A dark figure emerged from further down the boardwalk, down where the cotton candy stand had abutted the photo booth. At first, I froze again, but the figure wasn’t looking at me. It was walking backward, aiming a phone camera at the booths.

A sightseer off the beaten path? Another nostalgic soul? I wondered if it was anybody I knew. Probably not--now that the fear had worn off, I realized the guy was dressed much more nicely than my friends. A long coat, perfectly tailored, with big designer sunglasses and a soft-looking muffler. It looked for all the world like someone who was desperate not to be seen, someone all bundled up like a spy in a movie. Which of course had exactly the opposite effect; you couldn’t take your eyes off people who did that, wondering who they were.

But he was clearly harmless, not here to mug me or steal my bike or whatever I’d feared a moment ago. I chided myself for being so jumpy and returned to my reverie. He had the right idea, about taking pictures. I should do that too. I could show Jojo what it had been like here when I was growing up. He and I would experience two wholly different Oceansides. Funny how having a kid makes you really want to explain where you came from, how you got here, in a way you hadn’t really thought about before.

I got out my phone and lined up some good shots of the graffiti. No idea who you are, PB56, but I’m recording you for posterity.

The figure down the boardwalk had noticed me. He flipped up his collar to further hide his face and pointedly turned away. Whatever, dude, I wasn’t going to talk to you anyway. Although...I really did want a picture of the photo booth. I remembered that place so well. A thousand years ago, my first boyfriend and I had spent so much time in there, shielded from the world. Not a story I was going to tell Jojo! But what a time that had been. Maybe just one picture, for old time’s sake. If the guy down there would get out of the way.

I took another look at him. Wasn’t there something familiar about the way he was walking? The pacing back and forth? I suddenly pictured him pulling a paper bag with a bottle inside from his pocket.

No, way, I told myself. The conversation with Owen and Nat had clearly awakened some ghosts.

Of course this wasn’t Ransom. There was literally zero chance of that.

Since there’s zero chance, there would be no problem with you walking over and getting a picture of the photobooth.

My inner voice, always leading me astray. But it had a point. No sense in being all weird and nervous about things. I strode down the boardwalk, getting closer to the booth. The guy clearly saw me and was trying to be nonchalant. There was only one real exit from the boardwalk, and it was back in the direction I’d come from. He’d have to pass me to leave.

Finally, it was clear that that’s what he’d made his mind up to do. He put his hands in his coat pockets, put his head down, and began to walk my way. At least I’d have the place to myself after he left.

I got my phone back out and started framing up a wide shot of the booths as the guy began to pass me. But the second he saw me aiming the phone, his hand shot out and he grabbed my wrist.

“Hey!” I said.

He said something I couldn’t understand, in a harsh gasp.

I yanked my arm out of his hand. “What’s your problem?” I said in what I hoped was a suitably gruff, threatening tone.

Then he looked at me, really looked. He pulled his big sunglasses off his face.

“Holy shit… I thought that was you,” he said in a raspy voice, but the rushing in my ears was no longer just the ocean. I stared into those eyes, and my stomach fluttered. In that moment, I felt for all the world like I’d been thrust back in time.

I would have recognized those eyes anywhere. I couldn’t believe it, I couldn’t make my mind accept that I was existing in the present moment and not just caught in an especially vivid reverie. Maybe I’d wake up to find this entire day was a spectacularly realistic dream. Yet, I had known from the moment I’d spotted him.

“You came back,” I said.

* * *

He leaned against the handrail and stared off at the beach. With his sunglasses off and his wool cap in his pocket, he looked so much like himself that I couldn’t believe it. Bigger than he used to be, of course. I guess you have to work out a lot to be a pop star. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t stared at his bare, sweaty torso sometimes in his music videos, and thought about the past.

Which was a pretty weird thing to be thinking about a guy who you hadn’t spoken to in fifteen years, but maybe the rules are different when you’re thinking about your first love.

“I can’t believe this place,” he said. I had to stand pretty close to him to hear him. He sounded like he had strep. “It looks...different and the same, simultaneously. With a dash of postapocalyptic.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” I said. “I haven’t been down here in forever. So...how have you been? I guess that’s a dumb question.”

He whisper-laughed. “What, you mean you don’t already know how I am? Wait, I’ll load a gossip blog so you can find out. Nah, I’m kidding. I’m fine. A little under the weather, obviously, but kind of glad to be back here. I’ve missed everything.”

I laughed, “You missed Oceanside?”

“I know, I know.” He shook his head. It was clear there was more he could say. But we were strangers to each other at this point. Just doing small-talk. “How about you? You ended up staying. Did you ever become an accountant or whatever?”

I laughed. “Nothing so glamorous, I’m afraid. I have a little marketing business, helping local stores get online, running their websites. It’s not exactly millions of dollars, but it lets me work at home, which is important with the baby.”

His eyebrow rose. “The...baby? Wow. So you’re married?”

“Oh, no. No, I’m a single dad. Legally, uncle rather than dad, but I’m working on that. Long story. He’s actually my sister’s.”

A quiet laugh, but his eyes glittered with interest. “For a minute I thought you were going to confess that you were secretly straight all this time.”

His face still lit up when he laughed. In his videos, his hair was always perfectly styled, but now that it had been mashed by his cap, and blown by the wind, it was wild, long enough that you wanted to run your fingers through it. He was so pretty. I’ll be honest, I felt a little plain next to him.

“Nope, still gay,” I said, hoping it wouldn’t come out like some offer. I didn’t ask him about his own romantic life, of course. I’d seen the long, long string of women he’d been with, plastered on every celebrity magazine in the line at the grocery store. Whatever had happened between us in our youths had clearly been just a one-time thing for him.

It’s interesting how this little door comes down when you realize a guy is straight. There’s this whole world of feelings and experiences you know he won’t have any access to, and the world being what it is, you close that part of yourself off a little.

Yet I was so curious about him. “I still can’t believe you’re standing right there,” I said.

“Fame has that effect on people. Nobody can believe it when they see me. I’m like an urban legend.” Even through the whispering voice, I could hear that old familiar sarcasm. It wasn’t bitter sarcasm though, it was inviting: come look at the world the way I see it, I promise you’ll laugh.

But he’d misunderstood me. “No, not the fame part. I meant...you know, the way you left. When I heard you’d come back, I thought they must be mistaken, because why would you--”

He looked at me sharply. “Where did you hear that? Who told you I was back?”

“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t supposed to know you were here. But it’s Oceanside. Everybody knows everything.”

He scowled and rubbed his thumb against his lower lip, a gesture I found almost unbearably attractive. It was a feeling I didn’t need to have right now. Yeah, let me throw myself at the straight pop star, great. Why did he have to look this good? Angry, but good.

“I’m here to lay low. Not letting the world know,” he said. Something had changed in the conversation, in the space of an instant. I wasn’t sure I liked the tone of superiority I was hearing, that we that excluded all the little people like myself. It was the opposite of that inviting tone from just moments ago.

But that’s how it always was with him. Everything about him was come play until he realized you weren’t coming, and then some part of him left.

Not sure what to say, I just nodded. Ransom hadn’t grown into adulthood here. He didn’t know how information worked in Oceanside. Our gossip network was faster and more powerful than the internet, because for any given event, you knew someone who was dating someone who was involved in it.

“In fact,” he continued, “I need to ask you to keep a secret.”

He didn’t say it conspiratorially...instead, it was more like an order. Ransom had really changed over the years.

“A secret?”

“You can’t tell anybody you saw me today.”

“Um...okay?”

“If I had a nondisclosure form on me, I’d get you to sign it. Seriously, we are on media blackout at the moment. The second someone recognizes me in town, the camera crews will descend like vultures.” His voice had grown more and more hoarse, and by the time he said the word vultures, he almost sounded like one himself.

Before I could answer, his phone rang. He held up a silencing finger and took the call, turning away from me. His voice was almost inaudible.

When he put his phone away, he turned back to me. “It was nice seeing you again, Cave. But seriously. Please do not tell a soul. Not a single living soul.”

I watched Ransom Pope walk out of my life one more time, but this time it didn’t hurt. I was confused. I didn’t understand what he had become. Where was the Ransom I had known? How do you process such a strange, brief encounter?

Turning back to the boardwalk, I felt an emptiness I hadn’t felt in a long time. I don’t know how to describe it. It was like all the color had drained out of the world. The interesting graffiti was just paint on ugly old boards. The whole place was falling down. Not worth the memories. Not worth how much hurt it had all caused. Let it all lapse into darkness, into silence.

Please do not tell a soul. Not a single living soul.