No matter how much Roberto protested and pouted and complained and lobbied, there wasn’t anything he could do to change the simple fact:
His family was moving back to Miami.
It was heartbreaking for his mom. She knew how much Gideon meant to Roberto. But she was also so happy to be returning to their family, to the city she felt they never should have left.
“You can call him,” she assured Roberto. “You can write letters. We’ll even get AOL so you can get one of those email addresses and write to him that way.”
Roberto had told Gideon as soon as he’d found out the news, so for the rest of the school year, they’d existed with the cloud of Roberto’s departure over their heads. Joelle and Tucker could see the cloud, and they tried to break through it sometimes, asking Roberto and Gideon to go on double dates even though nobody called them double dates. Joelle and Tucker also understood when Gideon spent all his time with Roberto, and knew that once Roberto was gone, they’d have to step into the space Roberto would leave behind before it became large enough for Gideon to lose himself in.
On the last night, Gideon slept over at Roberto’s house. Most of Roberto’s room was packed up, but the bed was still made, and the blankets were still welcoming. They talked and kissed for as long as they could stay awake, then Gideon fell asleep with his head on Roberto’s chest.
Roberto stayed awake most of the rest of the night, just so he could stare at the ceiling and feel the closeness of Gideon’s breathing and the gentle sounds of his breath.
The movers came early in the morning, and Gideon knew it was time for him to leave. He couldn’t believe it was happening, but he also knew he couldn’t deny it was happening. They’d sworn to keep in touch, and he knew they would. But first there would be this big, temporary goodbye.
Roberto’s mom came to the door of Roberto’s room and told them they had about ten more minutes.
“Okay,” Roberto said. Then he opened an otherwise empty desk drawer and took out a box.
“I got you something,” he said.
Gideon smiled. “I got you something too.”
Their boxes were the exact same size.
Roberto’s box for Gideon contained what at first looked like a crystal turtle with a multicolored shell. But when Gideon looked closer, he saw what it really was: The shell acted as a kaleidoscope, refracting an image into bright fragments of color. When Gideon lifted the shell, he saw that underneath was a photo of Roberto leaning his head on Gideon’s shoulder as they watched a movie together. Roberto’s mother must have taken it when neither of them had been looking. It was such a sweet photo, and when Gideon closed the shell again, he saw how the turtle captured some of the music of the moment, taking the image and breaking it into something like feeling. The brightness of their togetherness, reflected in a shell.
“I love it,” Gideon said. “Now open yours.”
Inside Roberto’s box was a silver turtle, so much like Samson that Roberto could believe that Samson had posed for it. The only difference was the silver, and the fact that when he turned it over, there was an inscription.
Roberto H. Garcia
Great
Rare
Bright
“I love it,” Roberto said. “I’ll keep it with me always.”
And he would.
Roberto’s lips touched Gideon’s lips.
Gideon’s tears touched Roberto’s tears.
Roberto’s arms wrapped around Gideon’s body.
Gideon’s arms wrapped around Roberto’s body.
Time stopped long enough to deepen into a memory, and then time moved quickly again.
“Write something about me someday,” Gideon said.
Roberto smiled and said, “I just might.” (*He did.)
For an adult, six months is nothing. You can go six months without seeing your best friend. You can stay in the same spot and do the same thing for six months and not even notice. It’s just a short stretch in a long life, and unless you’re in love or in the midst of a big change, you barely even notice it until one day six months are gone.
But when you’re a kid, six months can mean everything. A boy can walk into your class that first day and he can change your life entirely by the time he leaves six months later. And if you’re the boy walking into that class, the same thing can happen. You can’t imagine who you were before he showed you who you were meant to be.
Neither Roberto nor Gideon will actually use the word goodbye. To use it, they feel, would be to call it into being.
And in that farewell moment, it won’t occur to either of them to say thank you, even though what they feel as much as love is gratitude. The thank you will come later, as the memory rises again. They will see what they were to each other, and they will be grateful, time after time after time.
“Good luck on your adventure,” Gideon whispers to Roberto.
“You too,” Roberto whispers back.
One more kiss.
One more hug.
They will never leave one another’s lives.