We are lying out on the grass looking up at the stars like characters in a children’s book. It came about naturally though, without any intentions of being cute, so I do not mind.
It’s Brooke’s backyard, and the ground is level and soft with the expensive grass her father slaves over. With the hand that isn’t holding Jamie’s, I stroke the cool, lush tendrils with my fingers. The others are scattered around close by. We had been laughing at something the boys had said, but a silence has fallen over the last few minutes, the kind of silence that makes you feel closer to the people you are with. I can hear everyone’s breathing, though I can’t pick out any individual rhythms besides Jamie’s. Someone—Brooke?—sighs happily.
“So what’s the meaning of life?” Angie says. “To be happy,” Jamie says immediately.
“Really?” Noah says. “I was thinking it was to do good or something.” “And I was thinking it was to have orgasms,” Alex says. There is a
sound that I assume is Sasha hitting him.
“Isn’t that the same as being happy?” Brooke says.
“Well, that’s just one kind of happiness,” Jamie says. “I’m talking about having lots of different kinds of happiness.”
“But you don’t think we’re supposed to make the world better?” Noah says.
“Of course we are,” Jamie says. “That’s another kind of happiness.” “Huh,” Angie says.
“I can see that,” Sasha says.
“I think it’s just to truly love somebody before we die,” Brooke says.
I add up everything I deeply want out of life: writing as much as I can, reading everything, the vague impressions of motherhood I cradle in me, seeing the northern lights and the Southern Cross. And other desires that I don’t let myself think on too long because I’ve already settled that part of my life.
I try to find the sum of these things.
“I think,” I say, “I think we’re supposed to experience as much beauty as we can.”
“Isn’t that the same as happiness too?” Jaime says. I shake my head. The grass pulls at my hair.
“No, because sometimes sad things are beautiful,” I say. “Like when someone dies.”
“That isn’t beautiful. That just sucks,” Jamie says. “You don’t understand what I mean,” I say.
“Orgasms can be beautiful,” Alex says.
“Yeah, they can be,” I say. Even though I’ve never had an orgasm that can be described as beautiful, I agree with the idea. “And making the world better would be beautiful too.”
“But we aren’t here to suffer,” Jamie says. “I don’t think that,” I say.
“But you think we’re here for beautiful things and you think sadness is beautiful?”
“It can be,” I say.
“I didn’t think this discussion would be so serious,” Angie says. “I thought everybody would make jokes.”
“I tried,” Alex says.
***
“Do you really not think sad things can be beautiful?” I say as Jamie drives me home. He isn’t shallow; surely he has felt what I’m talking about.
His favorite song was on the radio when we got in and I wasn’t allowed to speak until now. I’ve been thinking of examples to make him understand. Jamie doesn’t take his eyes off the road, doesn’t look at me.
“Nope,” he says. “You’re just weird.”
“Why does that make me weird?” I say. I momentarily forget my arguments and examples. “Just because I think something different from you doesn’t make me weird.”
“I bet if we took a survey, everybody would agree with me.”
“That doesn’t make you right,” I say. “And you’re supposed to be against being just like everybody else.”
“It’s not about being like everybody else. When someone dies, it’s bad,” Jamie says. “That’s just something everybody knows.”
“You don’t understand,” I say.
“I do understand,” he says. He pulls the car into my driveway. “You just see things differently and that’s okay, because I like you weird. You’re my weird, morbid pretty girl.” I let him kiss me good night. I sigh.
“Hey,” he says. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” I say.
“What?” he asks.
“What about Romeo and Juliet?” I say. “That’s beautiful and sad.” “But that’s not real life.”
“So?”
“There’s real life and then there are books, Autumn,” Jamie says. “In real life, it would just be sad and stupid.”
“How could two people dying for love be stupid?” I say. We are sitting in the dark facing each other in the seats, our seatbelts off.
“It’s stupid to kill yourself,” Jamie says. “That’s what cowards do.”
“I think it’s brave,” I say. “And I think it’s beautiful that they loved each other so much that they couldn’t live without the other one.”
“Would you kill yourself if I died?” Jamie asks. I look at his face in the darkness. He stares back calmly. I think about him running down the steps with the other boys. I think about the sly grin on his face before he says
something to tease me. I think about him being gone and under the ground, never to be seen again.
“No, I guess not,” I say.
“See?” he says. He leans forward and kisses me again. “I wouldn’t want you to either,” he says. “I’d want you to be happy.”
“I would be very sad though,” I say. “For a long time. And I would never forget you.”
“I know. Me too.”
“But you wouldn’t kill yourself,” I say. “No,” he says.
I add up again all of the things that I want from life. There is real life and then there are books. I try to puzzle out what is real and what isn’t, what I can have and what I never will.
“But you do love me,” I say.
“Yes,” Jamie says, “the way people love each other in real life.” I lean forward and lay my head on his shoulder.
“I guess I love you in the way people love in real life too.”
He smiles and I feel his lips in my hair. I close my eyes and bury my face in him.
