135. Crystal Clear

Maybe I’ll take Jocelyn’s cue and not say good-bye to Kelsey.

We’re going to see each other sooner than we think. Her parents are bringing her up to Illinois in August. And they might visit even earlier than that.

We have texting and email and Facebook and Skype and all those other ways to keep in touch. Plus, Kelsey’s family is moving too. They’re going to Columbia, where her father got a new job.

So no good-byes are necessary. Right?

Yet I can feel that melancholy, romantic, don’t-leave-me-now Chris Buckley starting to emerge.

It starts when I’m packing and trying to make sure I have everything. Mom has said to take whatever I need, and movers will take the rest. All of Uncle Robert’s things now belong to us, so I pack away some of the T-shirts, making sure that the one I wore that first day of school is on top: the cover of The Smiths’ last album, Strangeways, Here We Come.

Yep, and now here we go.

Of all the things I’ve stuck in my backpack and suitcase, the one thing missing is that picture. The one that magically appeared and proceeded to fade in and out ever since.

I haven’t been able to find it since Memorial Day. Not that I remember when I last looked at it, but it’s gone.

There are other things that I’m tossing. We have a garbage can outside on the driveway, full of stuff we don’t want and won’t need the movers to take. Some items from the kitchen and the fridge, some of Mom’s toiletries. I tossed some notebooks and books from school that I know I’ll never look at again.

I bring the last of the luggage down the narrow steps that I frankly hope I’ll never have to climb again. Kelsey is waiting by my car.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” she says.

“Reminds me of a prom I once went to.”

“What are we going to do without another prom?”

“A lot,” I say with a laugh.

After getting the last suitcase and bag to fit in the trunk, I close it and wait for Mom.

Kelsey and I have talked a lot about this moment. We’re both trying to downplay it. It won’t be long. It really won’t be long.

“So how does the epic love story end?”

I lean against the car. The sun is shining bright, and it’s a beautiful and warm day.

“Riding off into the sunset,” I say. “Naturally.”

“Don’t you usually ride a horse?”

“A car will have to do.”

“And doesn’t the hero usually ride off into the sunset with the girl?”

“Are you saying you want to ride off into the sunset with the hero?”

“Of course I do,” Kelsey says with those beaming blue eyes looking up at me.

“Well, first I’ll have to find a hero.”

“You were mine even before you saved me.”

I want to say something witty or clever, but I can’t. Her words make me want to hug her and not let her go.

“Well, if I can’t go with the hero, at least I can have something to remember him by.”

“And what’s that?”

Kelsey goes over to the garbage and picks up the Polaroid camera that Mounds gave me.

I can’t help laughing. “That thing is broken. It can’t be fixed. I hope you won’t keep that as a reminder of me.”

“It sounds just like you,” Kelsey says.

I break out into a laugh, and then I hear her snap a picture.

You gotta be kidding me.

The square photo slides out, and Kelsey just laughs.

“I tried fixing that sucker three times,” I tell her. “Is that really the one I tossed?”

She holds the picture like a kid holding a stolen cookie. She waves it and waits to see the picture.

She looks at it and grins.

“Let me see.”

As I take the photo in my hand, I stare at the picture that I’ve seen many times before. The one that was sorta blurry and then started to fade out again and then slowly began to fill back in.

My heart beats and my head spins and I don’t say anything.

The picture is crystal clear.

“It actually takes decent photos,” I say.

“It’s perfect.” Kelsey takes the photo. “I’ll take this for safekeeping. Until I can return it safely back to its owner.”

“Make sure you do it as soon as possible.”

“I will,” Kelsey says. “I promise.”