I can’t even pretend I’m tired because of jetlag like any other guy crossing time zones for the first time. It’s only day one of the Theo Tour, but it’s exhausting me in ways I didn’t predict. Jackson is the same, obviously. He’s been quiet since we got on the highway. He completely ignored my backseat-driver request to turn on the music to try and cheer him up.
The spy pen on his rearview mirror catches my attention again, so I ask him where he got it, even though I suspect it’s from you.
“Seventeenth birthday present from my dad,” Jackson answers, taking a second to look at it before returning his focus to the road. “He knows I got over birthday presents somewhere around thirteen or fourteen, but he still picked this up for me at an airport in Chicago anyway because I was really into spies as a kid. I lied to Theo last year and told him his collector’s edition Daredevil action figure was my favorite gift ever, but it’s actually this spy pen.”
I’m sure the action figure was a close second, Theo.
“That’s actually really awesome,” I say. “No offense to him, but that’s not what I would expect based on everything I know about him. I know he’s generous with free flights and stuff, but this is different.”
“Exactly,” Jackson says. “That’s why I got over birthdays, I think. I kept getting all these presents from my mom and dad, and every time it felt like they were buying me. I got the master bedroom and my car from my mom. I got a really nice laptop from my dad. Then my dad picks up this spy pen, which is basically just a flashlight that can also write in invisible ink, but it reminds me of when I was a kid and my parents worked together to create missions for me with fun codes to crack.”
I let this all sink in. “You’re happy they split though, right?”
“Yeah, they hate each other. But something as small as creating spy games for my entertainment reminds me of the teammates they could’ve been.”
“If you’re going to tell me you keep it on your rearview mirror so you can always look back on those times, I will punch you in the dick.”
Jackson laughs. “Don’t punch my dick. I’m not that philosophical. I keep it on my rearview mirror because it will get lost anywhere else. Besides, with all the back and forth, the car is really my only constant thing.”
“You’re dangerously close to the edge of philosophical bullshit.”
“Okay, fine, fine. I keep it in my car at all times because I sometimes have a thought so private I need to whip out the pen and get it off my chest, but with invisible ink so no one will ever read it.”
I raise my fist, like I’m about to smash it down on his dick. “I know how invisible ink works. Try again.”
“I never know when I might need a flashlight?”
I lower my fist. “Better.”
He smiles and I catch myself smiling too in the mirror.
Without warning, Jackson pulls over on the highway, an intersection running alongside a cliff, and switches off the ignition. I don’t know why my mind jumps to the worst thing possible without any substantial evidence to support it, but I turn around expecting to find a cop car behind us even though Jackson’s driving is perfectly fine, if you ignore all the times he closes his eyes to sing or takes his hands off the wheel. The severity on Jackson’s face would suggest as much, but he snaps off his seatbelt, turns to me, and says, “This is roughly the spot where I met Theo.”
I have no words. I’m numb.
I get out of the car, and Jackson does the same. I feel really out of it until I step on something metallic, the crunch knocking me out of my daze, and I see it’s just a Pepsi can someone likely threw out a car window. The ground is beautiful; it’s this mixture of dirt and sand, and if I had to describe it for someone back home, I’d say it’s like the baseball field in Central Park. But when you met Jackson, it would’ve been dark and wet, maybe even muddy. It’s weird, but I somehow wish your footsteps survived untouched, like in cement, so I could step where you stepped. But I don’t need it. I no longer need to study every inch of your path that led you to climbing into his car on that rainy day—I finally see what you saw in him.
“Did you guys ever come back here?” Maybe that’s too intimate to ask, but it’s safe to assume. You and I loved riding the L train together, always wondering if whatever car we were in was the exact car where our own history began, the prologue to what should’ve been an epic love story.
“Once a month,” Jackson says.
“Why only once?”
“We’d save it for anniversaries,” Jackson says. “I know celebrating every month is stupid, but it really meant a lot to me. Theo was my first serious relationship, and I wanted everything to have meaning, especially after how worthless I felt with my ex. I definitely had to be the one to remind him of the date, but he was always happy to entertain me.”
You and I celebrated anniversaries too. They were also my idea, but that faded after seven months—at least until our first year, and even then we didn’t really do anything special. We would acknowledge it, take a moment to jokingly appreciate surviving each other, and move on. I thought everything we did was special, even something as simple as an afternoon with an adult coloring book.