"Crazyhow things change, Margo."

"Yeah, crazy."

We weresitting side by side, an awkward gap between us. He was fumbling with an emptyCoke can, consumed by childish curiosity and wonder. He kicked it and watched itroll a little. I sat slurping my Big Gulp from 7-11, my lips pressed against thered and white straw.

"Margo, you think things will stay the same withus?"

"Hmm ... yeah ..." I was focused on the frayed ends ofmy worn-out jeans and paid little attention to his babbling. I tugged on a stringand watched it unravel.

"It's just like ... I guess I'm scared."He laughed, nervously, like the time he asked out Susan and got rejected. Hetouched the brim of his baseball cap, and smiled at me. I remember when we boughtthat hat at a Mets game. In the whole arena, he was the only one who rooted forthe opposing team.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrowat noon."

"Oh." I didn't really know what else to say. Sowe just sat, our legs dangling off the end of his blue Jeep pick-up truck. Hekicked the dirt with his feet, sending a pebble flying. The air was sweet; itreminded me of long August days and sticky nights. The sun felt warm on my back,but made me shiver.

The radio in his car was set to a country station andplaying a song I'd heard at my senior prom. The car was kicking up exhaust,fuming in a fury. From the corner of my eye, I saw his hand reach for mine. Itwas an awkward gesture; he was unsure if I would accept. I took it gently, andfelt him tremble. His hand was warm; where our palms touched there was everythingthat was familiar to me: comfort, sleepy days, frequent excursions to the DairyQueen, smiles, and the smell of his cotton t-shirt.

We sat like that,motionless, basking in our memories. He didn't dare move ... I didn't darewhisper, as if I wanted this moment to stay suspended forever.