Immortality

You know, in Classical times, the best thing a person could wish for was a legacy. Honor, pride, remembrance. Achilles went off to battle because he wanted to be remembered, because he wanted his name to be whispered across the pages of history, because a man never truly dies if his name remains immortal.

I think, in a much less epic way, that that's what we all really want. We don't want to think it's possible to replace us, to get over us, to live on without us. We want to think that we make the place, we make the people, not the other way around. I feel my own imminent replacement acutely. What do I want to be remembered for? What do you want to be remembered for?

Speaking of memory, isn't it frustrating how your mind always seems to capture the strangest moments in perfect detail? Sometimes, in a moment, you say to yourself, "I must remember exactly how this feels,". But you don't. The moments you try to hold on to slip away the fastest. Maybe that's because you can't plan the things that matter most. The memories that you do hold on to always seem to be unexpected, sometimes superficially insignificant. But in reality, they are usually the most telling moments.

It's extremely hot out. We're sitting with all the windows open, the sounds of the city blowing in with the wind. We sit on the black couch and chainsmoke, barely hitting the ashtray. It's too hot to get dressed, we sit around in our underwear the whole time. I'm drinking boxed white wine. It's cold and tastes wonderful, but that is because I'm too distracted, laughing at your jokes, to actually taste the wine.

I wait until 1:00 a.m. because it's the first time all day that we're alone. I make chocolate brownies and cover them with bathtowels and make you hike all the way up to our spot with me. We don't even have a flashlight. I light a candle on your brownie and sing Happy Birthday. We talk for far too long about how old we are, about how much we've grown up.

I'm running after you. You won't stop. It's cold and the ground is wet. It's late and dark and I'm scared and I don't know what to do. I grab you and we're standing straight underneath a light, highlighted against all the surrounding blackness. You're crying. My heart hurts. I want to sit and watch you cry forever, I want to hold you and feel you sinking into me. It is so real. It feels like you have broken through some wall, even if only for a few minutes, and I'm allowed to see the flood, the pain, the emotion behind everything. You keep turning away from me but it doesn't matter. Now I know that you care.

We're sitting on the steps, listening to jazz music. The weather is perfect, city lights mix together with the stars. We have coffee and crepes. I sit with my arm around you and I want to cry because I'm so proud of the woman you've become and I don't even know why. All we are doing is eating butter and sugar crepes and laughing at the boys sitting behind us trying to hit on us in French. But I am so proud of you that night that I feel like I will burst.

We are laying off the dock, our heads hanging over the side. The world is upside down. The water and air are both so clear that we can't tell which way is up and which way is down anymore. You say something philosophical, probably borderline pretentious. Half of me feels stupid, the other half wants to laugh at you and your self-aware intelligence. So I do laugh. And half of you thinks I'm an idiot, but the other half thinks I'm cute. I can tell. I smile for the rest of the day.

I come back to the room, I've brought you dinner. You are already asleep in your bed. You fell asleep on top of your sheets, in all of your clothes. I've only known you for a week but my heart hurts with how much I love you already, how much I just want to take care of you. I write you a Post-It note in bad Spanish and hope you realize that you are already my sister.

It is autumn but it's sunny. There are a lot of us, all outside enjoying the weather. You jump in the freezing water and swim around for ages. Everyone thinks you are a crazy person. I know you are a crazy person. When you finally come out, you are the palest thing I've ever seen. I wrap you in two towels and try to carry you back. We put you in the shower to warm you up and I realize that you need to be taken care of, that you need someone to look out for you and wrap you up and keep you warm every once in awhile. And I realize that I don't mind being that person one bit, that I actually love taking care of you.

It's summer. I'm wearing men's pants and a white tank top. I leave the party. I'm so upset that tears won't even come out anymore, I am simply shocked. I wander around on the dock and end up at my favorite spot. It is the first time I've really been there alone with nothing to do. I can still hear the music from the party. I finally start to cry. Then I hear you coming up the path behind me. I ask you how you knew where I was. You tell me that you care about me and that you know me, that you just knew I'd come here. I lean into you and cry, you wrap a jacket around me. I know everything's going to be okay.

Like I said, I always remember the strangest moments. But you are all, at least for me, immortal.