I’m on the sand, tucked under Cole’s arm. Finally still after all the running. It’s dark and I can hardly see the page, but I’m writing anyway. Thinking about the lifetime that we’ve lived in one day, from the top of the Ferris wheel at the Las Vegas Speedway to the end of our world on the beach of the Pacific.
It was just minutes ago, but now that the decision is made, it seems like we were different people before. We were sitting on a wide, flat rock at the very edge of the cliff. The car was next to us, doors open, radio on. The breeze blew gently and ruffled our thoughts as we looked at the endless expanse of water.
“I think I can see Japan,” Cole joked.
I smiled and thought about all the space between here and there. The time it takes to travel distances. It had been days since I’d had any real sleep, and my body was humming from exhaustion, from adrenaline, fear, excitement. How much longer were we going to have to hide? How long would it take to get to Mexico? And when we get there, how will we ever get across the border?
Below us the Pacific smashed itself against the packed earth of the sheer cliff, white foam sprayed up the side, and the undertow made a hideous sucking sound as the water pulled back over sharp black boulders. Four gray pelicans flew low over the waves.
Strange Mexican accordion ballads wafted toward us from the car, then the local news; a new eco container unveiled at the San Diego County Fair, three San Dieguito youth softball all-star teams reach the state finals, Fairy Festival starts July 6. We giggled as the announcer paused but caught our breath when he said: “In breaking news: the California Highway Patrol reports that a missing Minnesota girl and her abductor were spotted traveling south on Interstate Fifteen near the town of Barstow earlier today in a white 1997 Volkswagen Jetta, California license plate number 6DZG263. If sighted, call nine-one-one immediately, as the suspect is considered dangerous.”
I sprang up as if an electric current were running through me, and I suddenly saw the world through the wrong end of a telescope. I turned off the radio and looked at Cole, still standing by the boulder at the edge of the cliff. He seemed a million miles away.
The only sound was the white noise of the surf advancing and retreating below us. “That tollbooth operator. She called it in!”
“We can’t let them catch us,” he said, his voice rising.
“There’s no way that I’m going back. Not now! Not ever.”
A chill ran up my spine, and before I could hesitate or think I was in motion. I knew what I had to do. I’d hurl myself off the end of the continent—smash my head open into shards of bone and blood and flesh. I belonged to no one, and they would never have me. The whole world went white, and I dug my heels into the ground. Ran toward the setting sun.
I didn’t see Cole. But with a jolt I felt his shoulder against my ribs, his arms wrapping around my waist. He knocked me down and landed on top of me. We skidded along the earth, kicking sandy gravel off the cliff’s edge. My foot dangled in the air high above the water.
Cole held me tight. I cried.
I felt his breath hot and moist in my ear as he held me under my arms and dragged me from the cliff’s edge. I didn’t struggle. Though I breathed, my body felt lifeless. I had no more energy. No more fight.
We collapsed on the ground and leaned against the side of the car facing the ocean.
“Not like this,” he whispered to me as I cried. “Not like this.”
Cole reached across me and pulled the pencil box full of pills from his bag. He pulled out four blister packs, and I understood.
We rolled the stolen car under a low leafy tree, just out of sight, and walked down a set of weather-beaten steps that led to the water. The last bit of sun dipped below the horizon as we stepped into the darkness below. Then the wail of a siren stopped us dead in our tracks. As the sound got closer I squeezed Cole’s hand, not daring to breathe. They’re still searching—but out here, on foot in the blurry dusk, they won’t find us.
On the beach, around a bend in the shore, it was dark and quiet. No houses, no people, no parents, no police. We were alone. Cole put his hand on my cheek, and I felt the universe expanding, slowly, over millennia. I looked him in the eye and kissed him: happy, trembling. The tide was pulling out toward where the sun had disappeared below the far edge of the waves, and in the half-light Cole’s arm circled my waist.
“There.” I pointed to the darkened sky above us. “Andromeda. Just think, inside that little blur is a whole galaxy.”
“Mm-hmm,” he hummed. “Whole worlds floating around that dusty cloud, waiting to collide.”
I could feel the warmth of his chest against my bare skin. The air still held the heat of the sun as our bodies pressed against each other on the cool, densely packed sand. Cole’s skin was smooth beneath my fingers, his body perfect next to mine. I imagined our stars burning brightly until they extinguished themselves, leaving behind a flash of light traveling slowly across the night sky.
And now, nothing has any power over us—not the police, not our parents, not even death. We’ve outrun the first two, embraced the last. Here on the beach, we’ll win this race. We’ll get away to a place where no one will follow.
Dream:
My father is looking at me, his face wide-open, his expression questioning and thoughtful. My father, his round dark eyes, his high forehead and strong nose. He is calling me ti chouchou, as always, in that Creole accent. He still has his uniform on, but he’s locked the gun in the safe. “Here, ti chouchou, let me see. I won’t be mad. We can fix it.”
I’ve broken the telescope. But I can’t tell him.
I can see through his shirt, and through his skin. His heart is beating so fast I’m afraid it will burst.
I hand him the scope and when he holds it up to the sky I can see what he sees. There among the farthest stars I am floating. Giving off heat. Absorbing the darkness around me. Emanating light.
Memory:
We were driving along the foothills of a mountain range, Utah, maybe Nevada, and the road had been empty of all signs of life for hours. Cole dozed while I drove. I was wide-awake from fear and an eagerness to get past it all. He was angelic—head tilted back, thin lips slightly parted, all the lines smoothed out of his face as he slept—a perfect being. His dirty-blond hair, cut short just days ago, was matted down against the headrest, and I stole glances at his features—the thick lines of his brow above dark eyelids shielding his light-blue eyes; his long, smooth nose between high cheekbones and square jaw; five days’ worth of downy beard on his chin gave way to a neck so smooth I wanted to press my mouth against it.
He awoke woozy and peered out into the lightless landscape as we sped along. He wanted to pull over. Turn off the headlights. See the clear, deep night sky. He was thinking about the telescope sitting in the trunk, but all I could think of was the end of Bonnie and Clyde, ambushed by the Feds from the roadside after running from every kind of law officer. One hundred sixty-seven bullet holes in the car—fifty-three in Bonnie, slumped over in the driver’s seat; fifty-one in Clyde, lying motionless in the dirt. I didn’t want to stop in the middle of nowhere, our pictures all over TV and Facebook and Twitter. Minors gone missing; Cole wanted for kidnapping, car theft, assault and battery, violating probation. Then I looked out the side window and saw the night. I took in a deep breath. Yes, let’s stop. Let’s look. It may be our last chance.
Fact:
As an object travels closer to the speed of light, it experiences time at a much slower rate.