j a c k

I'm not really sure how I ended up here.

It's funny, you know, how circumstantial life is. It makes it impossible not to believe in fate sometimes, because coincidences wouldn't be called such if they were common, yet supposedly random circumstance is what leads to our outcomes in life.

And, I can't imagine an outcome where I don't meet Lane.

It's sad, that this is the reality that this version of me lives in, but I like to think there's another reality, a happier reality, one where Lane and Jack get all the time in the world, where Jack doesn't have cancer and they aren't complete strangers. I can picture this reality perfectly; Lane decides to transfer to a school here, in the city, to focus on her art better, and that's how we meet. I'm a swimmer and she's an artist and we can go to the beach and she can paint the waves while I practice resistance training, because why would I want to spend any time without her?

When I mention this idea to Lane, she smiles softly. "I think that sounds really nice," she muses, picking at the little tufts of grass on which we lay in Central Park. This is where I've decided to take her to relax and sober up a bit more, because you really can't experience New York without Central Park. And, Lane got to go on the subway for the first time, which was an exciting experience for her. She couldn't stop bouncing and staring, and she pointed out all the people on the subway, and she told me about an artist she likes who draws people he sees on his subway rides.

"You could be like that one guy," I say, and turn my head so I can see Lane, who's now staring at the sky. "The guy who draws strangers on the subway."

She grins. "I hope Jack and Lane are happy over there, living the best reality."

She scoots closer and leans her head on my shoulder. We talk and talk about little things and big things, and I barely notice the sun rising or the park slowly filling with people, because all I'm focused on is Lane.

The sky is tinted with pink when she asks me what I think I'll miss most about the world when I'm gone, and I say, with no hesitance, the stars. And, when she asks why, I say I'll miss looking up at them and wondering what their true purpose is.

"What do you mean?" she questions, her eyes now fixed completely on the sky, roaming it for stars that have long since disappeared in the wake of day, and, I suppose, in the wake of a city that refuses to sleep, refuses to give the stars a moment to shine.

"I don't believe in Heaven and Hell," I say slowly, tilting my head so that it rests against the side of Lane's, a feeling that, as odd as it seems, brings me comfort. "But, I'm dying, so I figure I should believe in something. I like to believe I'm going somewhere, you know? And, maybe, just maybe, I'll go up, and I'll live with the stars. Maybe I won't get to gaze upon them anymore because I'll be a part of them."

Lane ponders this for a moment, staring blankly at the sky, before turning toward me and nuzzling her face into my shirt. "That's a nice thought," she says, her voice slightly muffled. "Wouldn't it be incredible if every star in the sky represented a person who died? They're never truly forgotten that way. Maybe the Greeks were onto something with their constellations."

I grin, but it slowly begins to slip off my face when Lane adds in a low, soft voice, "Not to be a downer, Jack, but you can't see the stars from the city."

I blow out a long puff of air, and I watch as it creates fog, watch until every particle is gone, until the air is clear once more, before I start speaking.

"Once, when I was really little, like seven, we had a blackout. All of New York just stopped. I don't remember what caused it, but I remember being scared, and then looking out the window and seeing just... a blanket of stars covering the sky, more stars than I'd ever seen in my whole life. It was like we didn't even need the lights, because, with all those stars, we could see the city just fine. And, I remember thinking it looked a lot prettier lit up by stars and not lights. And then I called my sisters over, and we all looked out the window and watched the stars until the power came back on and the stars disappeared again."

I can feel Lane smiling into my chest, so I pause and wait for her to make a comment. As I predict, she says, "that's so cute. I can picture little Jack, just staring at the stars in awe. I think it'd be nice to have a moment like that, when stars seemed magical."

I nod and let out a sigh. "I felt like I witnessed something private, like I had a secret, now, that no one else knew. It felt like the stars were hiding in the sky, and then they came out, just for a second, just for me. Like... like the city that never sleeps had to take a quick nap, and the stars just had to cover for it real quick, then go off on their way again."

Lane talks about how she and her sister always had to ask their dad for help finding the big dipper when they were little, and how they always went on an annual camping trip in July, and how the stars shine so much brighter in the woods. She talks about how hard it is that her parents are divorcing now and I talk about how hard it is only having a mom and four sisters, and, in this moment, I feel free and safe and more understood than I ever have in my life.

We each offer a bit of our own advice, and I marvel at Lane's capacity for understanding, and she laughs at what she calls my 'corny word choice.' We buy hot dogs from a cart even though it's only nine, and then we sit on a bench and talk more about New York, and then we feed our buns to the pigeons and lay back down on the grass.

This time, we talk about small stuff. Lane tells me about her favorite book and I tell her that I've been to at least fifteen different coffee shops in the last year, and she tells me about the pros and cons of oil paints versus acrylics, and I interrupt her with a lame joke, but she laughs all the same.

"Antarctica isn't worth it," she scoffs with a light-hearted smile when I tell her I always wanted to visit every continent, and she talks about how she really just wants to see the Louvre and the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

"What about South America? It's so colorful and full of life, I bet you'd find some awesome inspiration. And the big cities in Asia probably have street art that's way better than what I showed you in Brooklyn. You have to explore the world, Elane."

I argue with her about traveling for an eternity before she finally agrees that she'll try to go to every continent, excluding Antarctica. I laugh and she laughs and we move on and chat about the little things again, like whether jelly or honey is better with peanut butter.

It takes me too long to feel the warmth that's been spreading through me as we talked, and it takes me too long to realize that it's not the warmth that Lane brings every time she touches me, it's the bad kind, the kind that develops into a burning kind.

I realize it's over a split second before it really is.