September 28

I'm trying to cry, but I can't force the tears to come out. We tried making the day the best it could be, and it was one of the best of my life. But I can't help feeling empty. I'm going to miss Charles.

Early in the morning, I snuck out, slipping my bright pink sticky note onto my bed, making sure that Mom and Dad would see it and not panic. Grandma and Grandpa were awake, but they didn't know what I was doing, and even so, they wouldn't be able to stop me. I tip-toed around beds strewn with everyone's sleeping bodies, and grabbed two cans, gently putting them in a backpack. I also made sure to grab the amber bee from the market. After double-checking to make sure that no one else was awake, I slipped on a mask and snuck out of the door.

I had woken up a bit after six, so the skies were still dark. The air, however, was faintly blue, cloaking me in a dark turquoise, as if I was walking underwater, and the stars in the sky were fading away while the giant moon remained strong. I took my time walking to the railroad tracks, listening to the rush of the creek and for a moment, I even thought that I heard the chirping of birds and droning of cicadas. The sky was lightening, and by the time I reached the railroad tracks and saw Charles, it was a pale turquoise and the flecks of starlight had vanished.

"Hey," I said and waved.

He waved back. "I feel like we should have a more iconic greeting since it might be our last in a while."

"I think it might be too late for do-overs," I replied. "How are we going to greet each other again?"

"Wait," he said and disappeared behind the tree line.

"Where are you going?" I called out jokingly, as I walked towards him because I knew that he was going to pull some weird prank on me.

He walked out from behind the trees. "Welcome to the kingdom of Charles. My subject, please state your name, your purpose of visit, and, most importantly, the passphrase for entry."

"You are being super weird," I said, kinda confused by his performance. "And you already know what I'm here for."

"Sir 'You are being super weird,' the passphrase, please," he said. "Or you must kiss the king's foot."

"I'm not doing either," I said.

"You were supposed to play along," he said with a sigh, breaking out of his regal character. "You just made this greeting an iconic fail."

"I feel like you're stalling for something," I said.

"No, I'm not," he said, and I rolled my eyes at him. "Okay, fine, I am. Follow me."

He ran down the rusting rail tracks, and I followed him. After a minute or so over dried weeds and gravel crunching under our boots, we reached a place where the dense tangle of tree branches cleared out, as we stared at the mountains on the east. The sun was peeking out from behind the hills, as roses and lavenders swirled around the shadowed ridges.

"It took me a while to find, but this is the best place around here to see the sunrise," he said. "See the little gap in the mountains where the sun pops out from."

"I thought that you didn't care about stuff like this," I replied. "Remember when you said that you were going to miss the 'most important astronomical event of our lifetime' for SATs."

"Well, I've disowned the old me. He didn't have his priorities straight," he said and sighed. "This is the last time that I'm ever going to see the sunrise here."

"Obviously," I replied. "You'll probably never stand in the same spot again, just a slightly different one next time."

He gave me a sad look that said, "You know what I mean," and then, he turned back to face the sunrise. The tangerines and goldens had blended with the roses, as amber light filtered through the woods around the railways and shadows flickered on the ground around us. It was a majestic dance of light, and when the sun ascended high enough that the colors disappeared and the pale blue returned, I broke my gaze to turn to Charles.

"What do you want to do?"

"We're completing the rest of our bucket list," he said. "Starting with your book. Do you have any ideas or are we going with mine?"

"I kinda do," I said. I was going to tell him about the idea of making a story of our friendship, but I thought it might've come off a bit weird. So much for my vow for honesty.

I, instead, said, "Never mind. It's a bit weird. You go first."

"Okay," he said. "You wanted to create stories to help remember, so what I was thinking is that we should take a jog down our memory lane—"

"Like a montage or collage of us," I said, slightly cutting him off. "That's what I was thinking too."

"Geniuses do think alike," he said with a smile. "We each pick five of our greatest moments of our friendship and go around and visit the places they took place, maybe even leaving something behind. It's not really a written story, more like an oral one."

"I'll need time to think about my first one," I said.

"Think all you want," he said. "Because the walk to the first place is going to take a while."

He started walking but turned back. "Since this might take a while, do you want to say what your last bucket list item is?"

"I thought we were going to do yours next," I replied. "Wasn't that part of the rules?"

"We will," he said. "Just later. Let's just say that it's a time-sensitive activity."

"Totally," I said sarcastically (and misguidedly) before taking a deep breath to calm my nerves. "My final wish is weird, but I just want for us to be totally honest today, like holding nothing back."

"So I can ask about anything?" he asked. "And you'll give me an honest response."

"Well, I guess," I said. "Though it's meant to not be abused to interrogate each other. So no super invasive questions."

"So no love or deepest secrets questions?" he said. "You're no fun."

"Let's go," I said with a small laugh. "Wait, where are we going?"

"To the place it all started," he said and began walking down the railroad. "Fourth grade in elementary school."

We began walking towards the creek behind our elementary school, the soft trickling of water becoming a more distinct rush of water. That little stream held many memories of afternoons spent searching futilely for crawfish, chasing little water gliders in the muddy eddies, and trying to catch tadpoles in glass jars.

After I left elementary school, I had never actually returned back there, but when I came with Charles, everything looked practically the same, only a bit smaller than I expected. Everything used to feel so big, the tree branches seemingly as high as the sky, but now, I could touch the lowest branches without tiptoeing. Charles and I used the stepping stones in the middle of the brook to cross, though I nearly slipped into the water, a fact that Charles used to tease me all the way until we reached school.

"Did we meet here?" I asked as we stood in the middle of a field. The nets on the soccer posts were torn and the grass was all brown and partly covered in ash.

"Do you not remember?" he asked.

"I honestly don't," I said. "I felt like we didn't know each other, and then suddenly we were friends. It just happened."

"You're going to need a check-up on your memory," he said. "Because I remember this day clearly."

"Well then tell me about it."

"I had heard from another person that you had a shiny Pokémon card," he said. "So I had to see it for myself."

"That's how we met?" I said. "I remember the card you're talking about. I thought that shinies were just shiny cards, not actually different colors for Pokémon."

"And then after that, we started talking about the Pokémon game that we were both playing," he said. "And I said that Infernape would easily beat Empoleon, and we started arguing a bit about that since it was your favorite starter—"

"It's my favorite Pokémon period," I said. "Even now."

"To be fair, it's not a bad choice," Charles said. "And after that you know what happened."

We had spent hours talking with each other about Pokémon, holding fictional battles and trading rare cards with each other. We even sneaked in our Nintendo DS's one day and hid under the tumble of trumpet flowers to help each other advance to the end of the game, even when our school had a strict technology ban. Everything that we have all started with a flimsy card that I had lost a long time ago. It sounds almost too surreal.

"Do you have anything here?" Charles asked. "Any important memories?"

I didn't respond for a couple of moments. It's not that there wasn't anything good, but on the contrary, there were too many good memories here in elementary school. Playing hot-lava monster and four-square, stalking butterflies flitting around the school garden, running after each other in capture-the-flag, catching the ball midair in the annual kickball tournament and winning it. But I decided to go the other way.

I told him to follow me to the monkey bars on the playground. The whole structure, like everything else, looked a bit smaller than how I remembered it. Charles stood and grabbed one of the monkey bars, as I stayed a bit away.

"Remember how I fell from the monkey bars here in fifth grade during a grounders game and broke my arm?"

"Of course," he said. "You were, like, the third person in the school's history to break their arm on the playground."

"You wrote a card for me when I was in the hospital," I said. "The one with the Lucario and Luxray hand drawn on it, with everyone in class's names written on the bottom."

"Did they look good?" he asked. "I've always wanted to ask since I'm bad at drawing."

"Well, if you suck at drawing, then they looked like masterpieces," I said. "They were great, and that's actually what inspired me to start writing with my left hand. I learned how to draw Pokémon before I could write letters."

"I didn't know that," he said after a while.

I guess I wasn't surprised when he said that because I'm not super forthright. That's why I tried being better at that today, so that no feelings were left untold. But even then, I felt like I could've said more about how his card helped lift me from the misery that was swamping me in the hospital, and how writing with my left hand went from something that felt impossible to something I became so good at that I nearly refused to switch back to writing with my right.

"What should we leave behind?" I asked.

"Let's draw Pikachu with the tanbark," he said. "I'll take the head and ears."

"I'll do the tail," I said

We began sketching out an outline of it on the playground, before pushing aside more tanbark to make it more distinctive. While Charles worked on the pointy ears, I traced zig-zags into the ground for its distinctly lightning shaped tail. For the eyes and the red cheek dots, we didn't have anything appropriately colored, so we took off our shoes, using my black ones for eyes and his brownish boots for the cheeks.

"It looks a bit demented," I said.

"Yeah, I think my drawings were better."

"For once, I actually agree," I said and put on my shoes. "You want to stay here? For a little while longer maybe."

"Yeah," he said. "Let's swing by the, well, swings."

I groaned while he chuckled and grinned mischievously, running towards the rusting swings as I followed behind. We sat next to each other, swaying back and forth in silence, until Charles pointed up at the sky, at the giant, fading moon in the sky.

"You know that I used to want to be an astronaut when I was younger. I used to stare at the moon during recess, whenever it shined during the morning."

"I thought you were into computer science and stuff."

"I mean, later, yeah," he said. "But whenever I would swing over here, I'd always reach out to try and touch the moon. That was before I learned that it was 240 thousand miles away, and that I'd suffocate and freeze to death in the emptiness of space and moved on hard. But it was good to dream freely."

"Then let's try 'going to the moon'," I said. "For old times' sake. I'll push you."

So I stood behind him and helped push him on the swing. After a couple of pushes, I was already tired, and I put on my mask as dust got kicked into the air. Charles moved higher and higher, as he shouted, "Screw you, Moon. Just because I don't have an asteroid doesn't mean that I won't try moving you away."

Instead of attempting to touch the moon, like he described in his childhood memories, I saw that he was curling his arm back. Before I could stop him, he attempted to punch the moon, but he knocked himself out of balance and tumbled off the swing.

I grabbed the swaying seat and ran towards him. "Are you alright?"

He was laughing, and I couldn't help but crack a smile even as I said, "Don't do that again. You nearly got hurt."

"I might have a little bruise," he said and grabbed by hand. "I'm perfectly fine. You don't need to worry so much. And I think the moon moved back a little."

"I just want to make sure that you and your family have a safe journey," I said, but he ignored me.

"C'mon. Let's get out of here," he said. "My second one is just down the road."

We left our childhood haven, walking around desolate halls, and opened the chain-link fence before leaving it all behind. It was the end of this era.

We walked down the tree-lined road, and I looked around, noticing all the shattered windows and the occasional collapsed home. None of the chimneys near the school had any smoke streaming out, and everything was silent, except for our small talk. I couldn't help looking at the glass shards in his boots, wondering if some of those came from the houses around us. When we turned two corners and crossed the street, I recognized exactly where we were.

"Our walks home in middle school," I said. "That's your second favorite memory? Didn't those take place across—"

"Weeks," he said. "Months, but time passed so quickly, so they're just one memory really. And plus, it wasn't just the walks, but our arguments about axes vs swords."

I groaned. "Are you going to bring those up again?"

"Yes I am," he said. "I'm still right. Swords are way better than axes. Imagine trying to swing a big, lumbering axe compared to a graceful and elegant sword—"

"Imagine bringing a sword to a battle against a fully armored knight and just having nothing happen since plate armor can take any sword hit. But guess what it can't take, the blunt force of an axe."

"Plate armor is a myth," he said. "Just think about running sound cloaked in metal—"

"I'm pretty sure there's a video online that debunks the idea that plate armor was hard to move in and was actually quite mobile."

"Well, I'd look it up, but the internet doesn't exist anymore," he said. "So your source, by default, doesn't exist—"

"We're never going to find closure on this, will we?"

"We would, if you just came to the light side," he said. "We have cookies and electricity and the internet."

"I think I'd prefer to stay in my land of no internet and suffering, thank you," I said.

He shrugged. "Your loss. I'll be chilling here with my anime."

I ignored him. "Remember how we'd create stories around this debate?"

"We still never finished that fictional battle, did we?" he asked. "The one in the map that I created with the poisonous forest and all of the mini-bosses and castle defense systems."

"I think you were going to win, with your weird time-slowing mechanism," I said. "Now, I wish that I have that power, so that I can stop time for all of us and let the world move on until everything gets better."

"So that you don't have to leave," I wanted to add at the end, but left it off because I didn't want to sound too sad. I'd been trying to avoid making him guilty for leaving because I couldn't let his last impression of me be so negative. If only I could stop time and prevent all of this from happening. I'd put his family and mine in a bubble and let time rush around us until the days when sunlight bursts from the skies every day and the ash storms and tidal waves are just a bad memory.

It's too bad these things are only possible in my head.

"I'd totally help you," he said. "Maybe even pull out a bit of telekinesis and push the moon back into its normal place, so that we can get to your future quicker."

"That'll really show the moon who's boss," I replied, and we both chuckled.

We had finished walking down the street and were facing our middle school. I turned to Charles. "What are we leaving behind here?"

"I was thinking of something more symbolic and dramatic," he said. "Like settling our axe vs sword debate in the only way possible: a duel."

"Or we can just agree to disagree."

"Neal, you can be so boring at times," he said, and he put his hand out. "But fine. Agree that swords are the best?"

"I disagree," I said and shook his outstretched hand. "But at least we've gotten some closure."

Some closure that I'd never get when he goes away. I guess it's like Mira and Leon's situation, where both Leon and Charles are just out of reach. But at least Mira was able to get some closure with Leon's letter from Southern California. With the roads collapsed on and mail trucks retired due to increasing petroleum shortages, I'd never hear from Charles again. It's like once his car turns the corner and passes the gold-lettered sign marking the border of our city, he'll be alive and dead at the same time. But either way, forever gone.

We went into the school, though it took us a while to actually find a way in since the whole front was chained up. Luckily, they left one of the fences in the upper fields open, and I told Charles that we were walking towards the track because that's where the second greatest moment happened.

"Remember when we managed to beat two fastest kids in school here?" I asked.

"That was probably the best relay that I've ever ran," he said, his eyes tracing the oval rim of the track.

"We were unstoppable," I said, thinking about the memory and smiling.

It was a hot day in late May, during our final PE class when the teachers organized a massive track-and-field mini-tournament. I personally wanted to just do the long-jump and quickly get my participation logged, but Charles insisted that we do the two-person relays. Plus, he'd already signed me up, so there was no going back.

I was the second runner, placed right next to the fastest runner in our school. I was so nervous that my legs started shaking and my teeth started chattering, even when I was sweating out buckets. When he was nearing me, I was terrified of dropping the baton or having it slip out of my hand that I nearly pulled out of the race.

But as soon as he was right behind me, the baton outstretched as I stretched my arm behind me, I grabbed it and didn't look back, only glancing to the side to realize that I was in first place. When I crossed the finish line, I nearly threw up from the cramps and the nerves, as Charles gave me a high five since we had managed to do the impossible. It was amazing.

"Of course, it didn't help that the other two people messed up their pass, but who cares?" I added.

"We went from the bottom of everyone's picks during PE to the top," he said. "Not like it mattered since after summer, everyone forgot about it, and we went back to being complete unknowns. But for a glorious few seconds, we were on top of the world."

"It was the best day of seventh grade," I said.

"By far, I can't even remember anything about seventh grade other than that," he said. "It's freaky how much that I've forgotten."

When I thought about it then too, I realized that seventh grade was all a blur. I couldn't even remember my social studies teacher's name, and I started panicking at that moment. It's terrifying when you think you know something, but you realize that you've forgotten it, even if the memory is just on the tip of your tongue. But thinking about it, it's not the worst kind of forgetting. The worst would be when their name is the only thing that you could remember since while you've been trying to preserve something as symbolic as their name, everything about them falls apart and crumbles into ashes.

"You alright?" he asked me.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I said, somewhat betraying my vow to tell the truth. "Let's head out of here."

"Wait," he said and walked across the track field to snap off a branch from a fallen tree before returning to me.

"What is this for?" I asked.

"Let's live in the moment again," he said. "So that the memory is still fresh."

He stood a couple of paces behind. "Imagine that the air was hot and dry, the smell of cheap deodorant and wet socks wafting in the air. You're standing with your arm outstretched, ready to grab the baton, as I'm zooming around the track."

I looked back as Charles ran in such exaggerated slow motion that I couldn't help laughing, even when I was supposed to be nervous. He continued with his speech, "I'm suddenly right behind you, baton in my hand. I'm ten feet away, five feet, thee, two, one."

At that moment, I could feel the baton in my hand as I pretended to run, and when I closed my eyes, the full, raw memories of that day came back. The gusts of wind pushing through my hair, my feet pounding against the rock-hard sandstone track, nausea and exhaustion meeting the rush of adrenaline. What was once a dying memory came back to life again, a brief moment of heat and nostalgia before the coldness in the air froze it up again.

"I'm going to miss middle school," I said and put the stick baton on the ground.

"It was fun working together," Charles said. "We really were the best running partners."

When we closed the gate behind us, it felt like we were leaving another chapter of our life behind. Instead of heading back the same way that we went, Charles and I headed westward. "We're going to the beach, right?"

"Yeah," he said with a shaky breath, and I could see that he was a bit intimidated, even as he tried cracking a small smile. "There are tons of great moments there."

"It's going to be alright," I said, though my scattershot breath betrayed my calmness.

I guess both of us were nervous about going back to the beach. I swore that I wouldn't go back, but for this project, I needed to because two of my greatest memories ever were right by the seaside. It was hard, though, especially since nothing good had happened at the beaches since the moon brought the tsunami tides. If anything, the beaches reminded us of everything that we lost, the place of summer memories now a hellish bog of quicksand and flooded homes.

Walking alongside the boulevard, I think the both of us were a bit relieved that the tides were fairly close to the border but receding away, so that we'd be in no rush since it'd take an hour or so for it to go far enough that it'd be safe.

"You want to have lunch?" he asked.

I nodded and we sat on the damp-ish ground, staring west towards the ocean. When I reached into my bag, I realized that I hadn't brought a can-opener to actually eat from them. Charles noticed this because he split the protein bar that he was nibbling on. "Have it."

"You can keep it," I said. "I'm not that hungry anyways."

"I thought we weren't supposed to lie today," he said, knowing that he had caught me. "No one's not hungry anymore."

"You need it more,"

"Just take it," he said. "Think of this as a minor payment for all that you've done for me. And I will not deal with low-energy Neal."

"Fine. I'll take half of what you're giving me," I said, and split the half that he was offering me.

He reluctantly took it from me and popped it into his mouth. I wondered where he got those protein bars, but I was too scared to ask. There's no way that he got protein bars from an abandoned home since they are too convenient to carry around and too invaluable. Only people would have this resource, right?

After a long period of silence, he turned to me and said, "I'm scared."

"Me too," I said, grateful that he made the first comment.

"The first time we went to the beach, there was a body. The second time, the nightmares plagued me," he said. "I don't know what's going to happen this third time."

"Maybe the third time will be the charm," I said, trying to keep positive.

He smiled a little, as I continued, "Maybe it's important that we go down there, to confront the bad memories and reclaim our vision of the beach from the apocalypse. It's the one thing that it can't take from us."

"That's all very inspiring," he said. "But that's what I did last time, and it didn't work."

"That's because we weren't on the same page," I said, and I think he knew that I was talking about his secret and my hesitance to talk about the nightmares. "But now, we're confronting this together. You and me."

After a small lull, Charles smiled a bit, and I said, "What?"

"Nothing," he said. "But that speech was a little cheesy."

"You know what, cheesy things are inspiring," I said. "And your swing story about the moon was much more cheesy than my speech."

"What are you talking about?" he said and scoffed. We ended up arguing about whose life stories were more cheesy and cliche (we concluded that the best stories and speeches are always a bit cheesy, even when they come directly from our heart) until the tides had rolled far into the distance and the midday sun had begun to sink towards the ocean.

The tattered bits of yellow caution tape blew with the wind as Charles and I looked down the salt-stained roads marking the beginning of the flood zone. Some of the homes bubbled and leaned precariously in all different directions, the rush of water and rotting foundation weakening them until they were close to collapse. We had to be careful not to get caught near them.

"You ready?" I asked Charles.

"Always," he said with faux confidence. "Let's go."

We gingerly stepped over piles and piles of dried and fresh kelp rimming the edge of the flood zone before making our way down the streets. As we got closer to the rush of water and the stench of salt in the air, the mansions around us looked worse and worse. There were half-collapsed adobe roofs, walls stained dark brown from sand and mud, gashes carved into formerly manicured lawns, entire buildings dislodged and smashed into others, rusted cars stripped of paint. It was surreal, like we were stepping into another universe.

But even in this twisted world, there were moments of beauty.

"Look," I said and pointed into a tire lodged in the soil. In the middle of it, there was a shallow puddle of water, holding reddish algae and a giant, orange starfish.

"It's like the tidepools down at the beach," he said.

"Yeah. It's so pretty," I said. "I wonder what else we can find."

"First person to find another starfish wins," he said, and we rushed down the street, looking everywhere for the next starfish, from giant ceramic pots to tiny marble bird-fountains. Most of the pools were empty, except for some amorphous algal blobs, but even then, there were small signs of life everywhere. Small clusters of snails stuck onto sagging roofing, sea urchins tangled in the slimy kelp, mussels and other shells scattered around, like little jewels amidst the wreckage.

I ended up finding the next starfish, a pudgy red one, but Charles found something cooler: a pool filled with fish. When he was searching for a starfish, he stumbled upon a massive pool filled with water and murky with seaweed, but in there, he could see flashes of silver. When I came to the pool with him, the fish came out of hiding from the kelp and were darting all around.

"Who needs to go to Monterey when you have your own private aquarium in your backyard?" Charles said.

"I wish I could live here," I said. "It's too bad that it's flooded half of the time."

"The moon sucks," he said.

"Hey. Don't be so mean to the moon," I replied. "It's the one that even made this possible."

"Whatever," he said and looked westward. "All of this reminds me of this anime movie, I forgot its name, but it's where a whole village was swallowed by the ocean. But it wasn't violent like the Mooncrash, and it ended up being beautiful. I wish that it didn't have to be this way."

"Yeah, I guess the moon sucks," I said with a pause. "What did you come to the beach for?"

"There's one day that I'll always remember," he said. "It was a long time ago, but it was beach day—"

"In fifth grade?" I said, finishing him. "The annual trip to the beach."

"Exactly," he said. "Wait? Is your beach memory that memory?"

"How could it not be?" I said.

"You definitely copied me."

"I think you copied me," I said before pivoting topics. "What was your favorite part about it?"

He extended his arms around, pointing at our surroundings. "The tidepools."

As he described the memory, the day came rushing back to me like ocean waves. Charles wanted to explore the rocky outcrops, and I followed him, albeit a bit hesitant since we weren't supposed to go there. But I had no regrets as we tip-toed across the algae-soaked coastal rocks, marveling at all the wonders tucked within these little pools.

There were blobs of lime-green anemones with crowns of tentacles, and rows of opaline mussels glistening under the sunlight. We hopped from one pool to another as the ocean spray misted us and sea foam curled around the olivine boulders close to the ocean covered in kelp. As we chased scuttling crabs and drifted pieces of seaweed in front of anemones to try to tempt them to eat them, that's when I felt the beauty of life. It's the sounds of laughter and bubbling swash, the swirling turquoise and sapphires of the sea, the exploration of creatures around us in this safe haven.

That was my favorite part, but I didn't want him to feel bad, so I chose my second favorite memory down on the beach. "Well, luckily for you, my favorite part was when we built sandcastles on the beach."

"We should go check out the beach," Charles said. "Maybe even 'reclaim the memory.'"

"Stop mocking me," I said jokingly. "If you really want to, let's go."

As we walked more and more westward, the landscape around us began shifting. Mansions were crumbled and some were completely demolished, with just concrete foundations and a bit of miscellaneous metal junk lying around. Sand was strewn everywhere, and the ground was damp with puddles of seawater scattered in dents on the ground. The railing that we stared out from last time that we were here had been torn from its foundation and was lying on the ground in front of the sandy bank.

The beach was about the only thing that was similar to last time. The sand was still wet and bubbling, signs of it being quicksand, and it was absolutely littered with kelp and man-made objects like rusting boats and car frames. The ocean had extended so far back that I could see the concrete poles that once held the westernmost edge of the pier sticking out from sand.

"Yeah," I said. "There is no reclaiming this."

"What happened to your hope and positivity message," he said.

"Well I'm a big hypocrite," I said and changed the subject. "The ocean looks so far."

"It looks a lot less scary than last time. Or the time before."

"If only it would just stay back there," I said.

"Then we'd be able to claim that mansion," Charles said. "With the swimming pool tidepool."

"Wouldn't we need the ocean to refill the pool?" I was about to point out, but Charles brushed me off.

"We should totally build a sand mansion," he said. "Or a kingdom of sandcastles. We don't even need to go down to the beach since there's sand everywhere around us. It'll be what you want with reclaiming the memory."

"I guess that's a good idea," I said, trying not to give Charles the win.

"Just admit that it's a great idea."

"I don't think the sand is even going to hold to build sandcastles," I said. "It's too wet."

"Watch me," Charles said with a smile. "You're going to lose this bet, you know."

I did lose the bet because the sand held just fine, even if it was a little soggy, and we spent the rest of the afternoon building our sprawling kingdom of castles, though it would've been a lot better if we had some shovels and a pail.

The day passed by in a flurry of tiny moments. Everything felt like one golden blur.

"Look at the spire," Charles had exclaimed before it immediately collapsed to the embarrassment of him, as I helped him reform it even while quietly laughing.

"We are not adding snails to the castle," I said when Charles started plucking snails from pieces of metal scattered around and putting them inside of the walls. "Just because they are regal in France doesn't mean they are in America."

"I can't hear the ocean," he said as he held a mussel to his ear as I laughed because conches were the only ones with this property. "What are you laughing about?"

"No. No. don't you dare do it," I said as he held some murky water in his hand, ready to splash me with it. "You know how much I hate getting wet."

He gave me a devilish grin and did it anyway. We ended up having a mini-sand snowball fight, flecks of sand flying onto our jackets and hair, before we continued carving roads and building walls out of the flats of sand near the former railing.

It was as if I was a little kid again. Building the sandcastles with Charles took me back to the time when growing up wasn't terrifying and life was just about having fun. Maybe I'm gold-washing my childhood memories, rewriting them to be better and happier, but honestly, I don't care. It's better to think this way and let my fantasies of memories remain untainted.

"I'm done," Charles announced as he placed a stick with a piece of seaweed tied to it on the main castle.

Our kingdom sprawled across a relatively small space, but we packed it with details. Hedges of seaweed marked the borders of roads and spires adorned with empty limpet shells with mussels acting as large windows. Colorful rocks speckled the land outside the walls, and I drew lines into the sand bank, representing the crop fields. There was a central garden in the castle, where I put a variety of algae (and even added Charles' snails) to make it as vivid as possible. We wanted to add colored beads into it, but Charles felt uncomfortable about it, probably because he didn't know if they came from a corpse.

It was exactly what a younger me would've wished every day for his sandcastle to be like. Even though I chose that day on the beach as one of my favorite days ever with Charles, there was a tinge of sadness attached to the memory when a large wave crashed and washed away my pitiful castle. It's like building this sandcastle not only reclaimed my memory of this beach, but it also served as retribution to the waves that smashed my early attempts to build a sandcastle.

"It looks even better than your swords vs axes kingdom drawing," I said.

"Hey," he said and lightly punched me on the shoulder. "My drawing skills are far superior to my sandcastle building skills."

"Whatever makes you feel better," I said as I nearly got smacked with a sandball.

I then looked up at the sky. "Oh... Wow, it's late."

The sun was nearly setting, the rim of it hanging just above the horizon. We must've spent hours on building the castles, time slipping by us so fast. I almost had a panic attack because I should've savored every minute, made every moment last forever, because at that moment, the end felt so close and real.

Charles swore. "We're not going to get everything done."

"It's alright," I said, but he cut me off before I could continue.

"I had today all planned out, and I got distracted and carried away," he said. "If we ran back, we could probably make it to the last couple of memories—"

He seemed guilty and angry at himself. It's at that moment that I realized the obvious: today was also Charles' last day with me. I had been thinking about this event all from my perspective that I never actually thought about how he was feeling, given how he's always been jokey and upbeat, only revealing sadness in small flickers.

"It's okay," I said. "My second last one is also by the beach."

"The same beach day?" he asked.

"Nah," I said. "It's actually kinda like your swords and axes memory, where it's not one specific one but a clumping of them."

I pointed out in the distance to where the pier used to be. The cement poles that supported the pier that were above water a couple hours back had sunk under the waves that were rushing in. We didn't have much time, so I made my story quick.

"Remember how we used to toss pennies from the pier," I said. "Wishing for something every single summer Saturday that we used to go here."

"I used to toss double the amount of coins," Charles said. "To double my luck. But thinking about it now, the coins probably cancelled each other out."

"Nah," I replied. "My wishes never came true, and I definitely followed the rules."

"What did you wish for?"

"It's kinda embarrassing, but I wished that I could become a Pokémon trainer," I said, and Charles began laughing. "Go ahead and laugh all you want, but it seemed cool to travel the world and fight and catch Pokémon. I wanted to be like Ash."

"It's funny because I had that exact same wish," he said. "I've re-watched all of the Pokémon movies a hundred times and re-watched the anime series too many times over."

"The movies suck though."

"They do," he said. "And I would not want to be Ash considering that he loses every single time."

"I'll be Red then," I said. "And you'll be Blue, and always lose to me."

"You know what," he said. "I'll be a better Blue, and maybe next week, I'll pop out randomly from the wild grass, and challenge you to a battle."

"Game on," I said. "Destiny is on my side."

"Well breaking destiny is on my side," he retorted with an (extremely) weak comeback, as we stared at the ocean before I turned back to him.

"You want to make a wish?"

"You have two coins?" he asked.

"Let me see," I said and searched through my backpack even though I knew that I didn't pack any coins because I never expected to use them. But in the deep crevices of one of my pockets, I felt a coin, and when I pulled it out, I saw that it was my lucky Canadian penny. I had found it on the streets somewhere and always kept it in my backpack for good luck.

I nearly put it right back into my backpack. I couldn't bear the idea of tossing away something that was as valuable to me as this tiny copper coin. But I had a vow to tell the truth, and I thought that maybe the penny may bring good fortunes to any wish that he made. Yeah, I know it's not real and that wishing coins are things that we do to make ourselves feel better, but I wasn't going to take any chances.

"Here," I said and gave away my penny, letting it go to Charles.

"Cool," he said and inspected it. "This looks different from a normal one. Is this from Canada?"

"Yeah," I said. "They stopped making them a while back. It's like the last of its kind."

"You sure you want me to toss it into the ocean?" he asked.

"It's a good luck coin," I said. "And you're going to need it for your trip. I'll just flip a seashell into the ocean. It's not even breaking the rules since I'm pretty sure some ancient society used these as currency."

We both stood there, staring at the ocean that was creeping back towards the land. After taking a deep breath, Charles tossed his penny into the ocean, and he looked at me as I stared at my shell, choosing what wish I should make.

I wanted to wish for Charles and his family to stay here, so that he wouldn't have to go and risk death from blizzards or raiders or just plain starvation on the road. I wanted him to come tomorrow and tell me that he and his family changed their minds, and that they'll try to make the best of the situation here. I wanted to have another Tuesday where we'd talk about anything, where he'd come up with some ridiculous project for us to do, where I wouldn't have to face this dismal future by myself.

But I knew that what I was thinking about was selfish. If I wished for them to stay, he and his family would suffer as their food stores dwindled down to nothing, and they'd have to beg for scraps or worse, kill and loot others, to stave off starvation. I wouldn't be able to do a thing because Mom and Dad would put an iron lock on the pantry and his visits, and I'd be forced to watch my best friend shrivel into a skeletal, starving husk. Going would give them their best chance at survival, and I couldn't be the one to stop them from staying alive.

So I went the other route.

I wished for Charles to have a safe journey to his destination. I wished that he'd find plenty of gasoline on the road, and that starvation wouldn't be a concern. He'd hop into the car, drive through miles of empty, unobstructed highways, and reach his destination in a day or two. He wouldn't have to face raiders, wouldn't have to make tough moral choices, wouldn't have to sacrifice anything.

When he gets to the South, I wished that conditions were like what the rumors foretold. The weather there would be milder, the skies clear of ash year-round, food and gasoline abundant, electricity and the internet available so that he could watch anime all day. The last thing that I wished for was for him to not miss me. Maybe it's presumptuous to think that someone would feel that way, but if he does, I wish that he wouldn't feel that way. I don't want him to be miserable or leave the oasis. I don't want him to move on, but I know that it would be better for him.

So thinking all of that, I closed my eyes and tossed the seashell onto the beach.

"What did you wish for?" Charles asked.

"You're not supposed to tell anyone what you wished for," I said. "It's bad luck."

"Well I hope your wish comes true."

"It better," I said and turned away from the ocean. "You want to head back now? We probably don't want to get stuck in the tides."

"Let's just stay here and get drowned by the waves," he said sarcastically.

"Well I hope you can swim," I said and walked past him with an amused smile.

We walked away from the ocean and back the way that we came, as the crashing of the waves faded into the distance. As I was walking, I realized that I didn't feel nauseous from the scent of the sea or have flashbacks to those nightmares of everyone dying on the beach today. Everything felt good. I guess I did reclaim my memories of the beach, where the hours spent gazing at the tidepools and building sandcastles were all that I had associated with it.

When we walked past the kelp line that marked the boundary between the tides and the land, the sun was just a couple of minutes away from setting. Charles waved me over to a house with a broken-down car in front of it. He climbed the car and pulled himself onto the low-hanging roof before motioning me to follow him.

From the roof, we were able to get a less obstructed view of the sunset. We were awash in a golden light as the sky began transforming in front of us, the plain blues of the sky swirling into pinks and violets.

"We didn't get to your last two memories," I said. "Sorry about that. It must suck."

"My second to last one is actually right here."

"I don't recall ever climbing roofs ever in my life," I replied.

"I used to be afraid of heights," he said. "I definitely wouldn't have been able to climb up here."

"Really?" I said. "You always seem so fearless about everything."

"Thanks for that," he said. "But I was so afraid of heights that I'd be terrified of getting into those elevators with the glass bottoms. And sitting in the window seat of an airplane. I think I would've died right on the spot."

"So what changed?"

"Remember that dumb leadership camp that our parents coincidentally both signed us up for?"

"Oh, that one," I said. "They made us do so many embarrassing things."

"Yeah," he said. "You know the trust fall one—"

I remembered that one. We had to face each other, palms touching as we leaned into each other. Both of us walked on a tightrope that got farther apart the further down we moved. On top of that, we had to do this thirty or so feet above the ground, though we were latched to the safety rope, so there was no risk of falling and getting hurt. It seemed perfectly safe.

I nodded and looked at him. "You tried hiding from the camp counselors there, so that you wouldn't have to do it."

"My plan would've been successful," he said. "If you hadn't been looking at me and directing all their attention my way."

"Sorry," I replied. "Maybe I should've not paid attention to the fact that my only friend in the camp was acting super suspiciously."

"At that moment, I was really mad at you," Charles said. "Because they called me and you up and geared us up and sent us to the rope."

"You were about to cry, weren't you."

"No I wasn't," he said.

"Remember how we said that we wouldn't lie to each other today."

"Fine," he said. "Only a little bit. Anyways, back to the story. I remember standing up there, too afraid to look down because it'd feel like the forest floor would sink into the ground until I wouldn't be able to see the camp leaders' heads."

He continued, "We were standing there, palms touching each other, standing there unmoving because I couldn't go any more forwards. And then you gave me either the worst or best piece of advice I've ever gotten—"

"I told you to look down," I said. "Because everything was in your head, and that we weren't on the top of a skyscraper and that ground was closer than you'd expect. There was nothing to be worried about."

"And when I looked down, I understood what you meant," he said. "We weren't flying high in the sky but unexpectedly close to the ground. I didn't have to be scared of the fall."

"We got last place, though," I said. "But only who cares?"

"Considering that you brought it up, it seems like you definitely do care."

"Okay, fine," I said and then repeated Charles' earlier words. "Only a little bit."

He socked me in the arm gently, and we continued staring at the horizon. The sound of the ocean was getting louder, more urgent, and I could hear the faint screech of metal scraping against asphalt. But the sky remained serene, as bright oranges melted into yellows and ambers that burned with the brightest summers.

I pulled open my backpack and grabbed the amber stone with the bee. I turned to him. "This is for you. I was going to give it to you on your birthday or on Christmas, but I guess we ran out of time."

"That's so cool," he said and held it up to the dusk light as it glistened. "Why'd you get this?"

Originally, the gift was a lot bleaker, with the bee symbolizing how we'd all get wiped out in the apocalypse. Thinking about it now, it felt a bit strange that I'd be giving Charles a gift with death in mind, especially given how his family has struggled deeply. But when I saw the stone shining in the light, like a golden dewdrop, my whole interpretation of the stone changed.

It sparkled like the sun and all of my memories of summers during better times. The bee preserved within wasn't a symbol of death, but a symbol of flowers, warmth, blossoming fruit trees, and life. Even in times like this, where the cold nips at the last buds of us and ash threatens to choke us all, it still glows against all odds. It was all summer in a stone.

"Just because it reminded me of life."

"A dead bee reminded you of life?"

"It's complicated," I said and waved him off. Charles also reached into his bag to grab something heavy.

When he pulled it out, it was that jar of colorful stones that we had gathered all the way back in August. It shimmered like a mirrorball, capturing and reflecting the colors of the sunset as the sky danced with pastel pinks and charred oranges.

"I want you to have this," he said. "We couldn't bring this along, and I didn't want it to go to waste."

"I wish I had brought the turquoise shard," I said. "So that it'd be complete."

"Don't make this day anymore blue than it is," he said.

"Your puns are getting lower and lower in quality," I said jokingly.

But he did bring up a good point about the day and the loss lingering in the salty air. It's then when I began thinking about the vows that we'd made in the past, like the ones we made on the day we gathered stones for the jar. They would forever stay unfulfilled, the unrealistic dreams never coming to life because of the Mooncrash.

"We're never going to see the snow here," I said. "Or ever get the Hawaii vacation or the camping trip. I know that it's pointless to think about everything that we won't be able to do, but I can't help it."

"Who says we aren't going camping?" Charles replied. "Yeah, all the old camping places in Wyoming will probably be ash choked, but we'll be able to find new places."

"Like in Kansas or somewhere in the middle of nowhere."

"Kansas is a great idea."

"There's just miles of cornfields," I said. "Where are the mountains?"

"Cornfields are pretty lively, and being surrounded with so much life will provide as much protection as the mountains do," Charles said and continued before I could point out that cornfields are ecological dead zones. "We've still got time to figure this out together. I'll be there to help get this done. I promise. "

I was surprised that he said the last part like that, like we'd be friends forever, or at least for the rest of our possibly shortened lives. I remember how we'd barely been able to hold a coherent conversation all the way back in May, as our friendship crumbled away. Now, we were inseparable, and I guess in that moment, I felt enough trust that I told him my biggest secret.

"You know how I never really talk about people that I like?" I said. "Or about dating or crushes or anything like that ever."

"Are you finally going to expose your crush?" he said. "Who's the girl?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm not really into girls. I'm more into guys."

"You're gay?" he asked, barely holding back the surprise in his voice.

"I guess," I said because I was just surprised that he went out and said the word that I'd been avoiding when talking about myself. Even though I kinda acknowledged it, I guess I don't see myself that way yet, just because I can't see myself in the book characters that call themselves that.

"We should've spent this summer finding you a boyfriend," he said, and I groaned.

"God, you're making this so embarrassing."

"What can I say?" he said. "I'm an embarrassing person. Anyways, we need to part two of our ideal partner conversation. I already bared my soul to you, and now it's your turn."

"I don't know," I said. "I guess guys with dark hair."

"Like black or dark brown?" he asked.

"Why are you even asking this?" I said, slightly mortified.

"It's all part of my secret plan," he said. "Just trust me."

"Okay..." I said, starting hesitantly. "I guess either is fine. I think guys with scruffy beards look better, and, this is kinda embarrassing and cliche, but guys that are, like, muscular."

"Now I shall plug this into my AI boyfriend generator to find the perfect guy for you," he said, and we laughed for a bit because out of all of his ridiculous plans, this had to be the most.

After a brief pause, he asked, "So why now?"

That was a great question, and there was a long pause as I thought about it. I wanted to say that it was because I'm now confident in my identity, but that would be a blatant lie. Telling him that I trust him or that I wanted to be a bit emotionally available answers the "why" aspect of the question but not the "now" part. Technically, I couldn't lie today, as part of my vow but I never needed to come out to him. There was only one answer.

"It's because I'll never see you again," I said. "You'll be gone forever tomorrow, so I'll never have to see you seeing me differently. It's like taking a risk without needing to face the consequences."

"Don't think you're getting rid of me that easily," he said. "When I come back, I'll be bringing back your dream Southern guy: muscles, beard, and dark hair all included."

I thought that my face couldn't get a redder shade of red, but it did. I almost waved off his response, but there was one thing that he said that I couldn't get out of my head.

"You're coming back?"

"When times get better," he said with a sigh. I didn't know whether "times get better" was a nicer code for never or if he truly believed that things were going to improve.

He turned to me. "Just one last question—"

"I know exactly what it's going to be," I said with a small groan. "It's going to be the question."

"What is the question?" he asked.

"Just go on with it."

"Did you ever, you know, like me?" Charles said. "You know, like in the relationship stuff way."

"See, that was the question I was talking about," I said.

"So?"

"No," I said before immediately taking that back. "I don't know. I've never been in a relationship, so I don't really know."

I guess the reason that I took back my hard "no" is because I guess I started thinking about what Mira and Leon said on their wedding vows about how they'd always be there to support each other, and how they see the goodness in each other. I do feel the same way about him, in that he's funny (with the occasional pun-groaner) and upbeat and forward thinking and looking out for others, and that I'll always support him. Can a guy feel this way about another guy in a friend way? I've never really had another friendship, so I wouldn't know.

But at the same time, I don't feel the same way about Charles the way I feel about the man in the magazine, with his chiseled body and handsome smile. I do care for him, but in a different way, one that I'm not sure is closer to how I feel about the model or closer to a friendship. Mira said that her love for Leon wasn't instantaneous and that it took time to develop, but I don't feel like this'll happen with me for Charles. But it's pointless pondering about this when he's gone for good.

"What about you?" I asked a bit hesitantly.

"No?" he said. "I've just never really thought of other guys like that."

There was an awkward lull in our conversation as we stared at the horizon, the sun making its last few gasps. We were cloaked in soft indigos and lavenders, as the moon grew brighter, and the stars re-appeared. The air was frosty, so we sat closer to each other, and watched as the golden light rimming the sea faded to dark. By then, the brightest stars were illuminating the night.

"You know that my last favorite memory was the last time we went stargazing," I said. "Back when the world wasn't so bad."

"What a coincidence," Charles said. "Well, luckily for you my last item on the bucket list is stargazing, just like the day we made our bucket list."

"If that was your last wish, I would've brought my dad's telescope," I said. "We weren't able to see much last time."

"I'm already thinking two steps ahead of you," he said and grabbed a cylindrical object from his backpack. When I took a closer glance, I saw that it was a telescope.

"Where'd you get that?"

He ignored my question with a simple shrug before saying, "Let's wait a bit longer, so that all the light will fade away, and it'll be easier to see all the stars."

So we laid down and stared at the night sky, the moon shining so bright that I was worried that even with a telescope, we wouldn't be able to see much. While we laid there in this serene silence, I began thinking about the conversation last time we were here when I told him that I wouldn't take back the Mooncrash. Maybe the universe listened to my calls and that's why the volcanoes started erupting.

It was all one twisted punishment that the event that brought Charles and I closer together for these past few months would be the one to separate us forever.

"I'm sorry," I said, and Charles looked a little surprised. "For what I said last time about not wanting to take back the Mooncrash. If I could, I'd take it all back in a heartbeat."

There was a bit of a pause before he replied, "It's okay, really. We always say things that we don't really mean."

"No, but you don't understand," I said, and everything came pouring out. "I really meant it. I was terrified of college, growing up, losing our friendship, and the Mooncrash took all of that away for a moment, and I wanted it to be that way forever. But I didn't realize that you were being hurt."

Charles didn't respond for a long time after that. I wondered if I had said too much or that I sounded too needy or clingy or that I told him too much about myself. Even now, after all of the events today, I still don't feel like I know enough about emotional honesty to know when it's just too much.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally said, "I felt the same way, you know. I thought that the Mooncrash was this break from my pre-scheduled future, one that'd give me a little more breathing room."

After a short pause, he continued, "I'm also sorry for making you feel anxious and scared since I know that all I could talk about then was about the future. I didn't know that it was making you feel that way."

"It's alright," I said.

There was another long, awkward pause before I turned to him. "You think it's dark enough to use the telescope?"

"Let's do it," he said and grabbed it from his backpack before pointing it at the sky and staring through it.

"What are you looking at?" I asked.

"The biggest thing in the sky," he replied. "Just to test the telescope out."

"Can I try?" I asked, and he handed me the telescope.

When I looked through it, I could see the wrinkles and craters on the moon clearly. There were dark and light splotches, with pale lines etched onto the surface, marking the impacts of various asteroids. I wondered where the crater marking the impact of the Mooncrash asteroid was. It must've smashed into the dark side of the moon, which was how it got closer to us and created this mess.

"Getting to know the enemy," Charles commented after I had spent about five or so minutes staring at the moon through the telescope.

"Totally," I said dryly and handed it back to him. "What are you looking for?"

"The little dipper," he said. "It should be right above us."

I stared straight up at the sky, searching for the stars that he was looking for. The moon was still to the side of the sky, so its light didn't hamper our search for the constellation. While he waved around the telescope, I scanned the dark sky that slowly revealed stars the more that I stared at it.

"Did you know that I used to believe in the myth that people turn into stars once they die?" he asked. "I thought that Santa was ridiculous, and the tooth fairy even more so, but I really believed this when I was younger."

"I mean we all turn into stardust eventually," I said.

"True," he replied. "But it wasn't like that. It was more of a person's spirit going up and turning into a star immediately."

I didn't really know how to respond, so I just nodded and listened as he continued, "Thinking about it now, it's absolutely ridiculous because stars are balls of hydrogen and helium, not spirits. I think I knew that even then, but I chose to believe the myth because it was a better story."

"I think I'd choose that too," I replied.

"That was a story that my grandma told me," he said. "Before she passed away. Whenever I'd visit Taiwan when I was younger, she'd point to a spot in the sky, just next to the North Star, and say that that's where she'd always be, so that she'd watch over me all the time."

"Except for the Southern hemisphere," he said with a dry chuckle. "That's why I'm definitely not planning to go to Australia anytime soon."

I let out a quiet laugh at his quip before the mood became more somber. "So why are you telling me this now?"

"I know it's ridiculous, but I feel like the Northern Star is brighter now," he said. "It's impossible, but I can't count out the impossible after everything that has happened. I just want you to know that if the star is shining brighter than today, just know that I'm up there watching over you. Maybe it'll help you find closure."

"Don't say that," I said, knowing right away what he was implying. "You guys are going to be safe. I know it."

He was about to say something, but I cut him off, "Let's just enjoy the telescope. I want to see Venus."

He gave me a sad but knowing smile, but I pretended not to see it because I couldn't let him know that I thought that he was going to die. I had to be strong, just like he was. So after that, we didn't really talk much about death and focused on stargazing.

After what felt like hours of gazing into the sky, watching the pale spiral of the Milky Way and its arc of stars as the moon traced its pathway across the night, Charles and I finally put down the telescope. The air was chilly, and we were both shivering, despite bringing heavy layers. I can still remember all the sights: the dusty orange of Mars, the earthy tan layers on Jupiter, the bright yellow of Venus and the blurry rings of Saturn.

I turned towards him. "We never got to your last favorite memory ever."

"Today," he said, with a soft smile. "It was the best day of my life."

"Me too."

We both sat up, knowing that it was close to the end. Even though it was close to three in the morning and my stomach was rumbling after not eating all day, I didn't feel tired. I wanted to stay with him until it was tomorrow morning. But even though he didn't say anything, I knew that he had to get home before then to prepare to leave.

So then we wordlessly hopped off the roof, him going first and me following him reluctantly, and prepared to walk back home, guided by the moonlight. It was a quiet walk back home. I should've talked more because it was possibly the last time that I'd talk to him forever, but I didn't. There was this silence, punctuated with dry grass and ash scraping against our shoes and the soft crashing of waves in the background, and sadness that smothered any possible conversation.

When we reached the crossroads, his house a couple of blocks in one direction and mine a couple in another one, we turned towards each other.

"I guess this is it," he said.

"Yeah, it is," I said, too numb to really process this, before blurting out, "I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you too," he said and gave me a hug. "Just pretend that I'm going off to college."

I was paralyzed for a moment before I was able to embrace him back. "I can't. I'm scared of losing you. Forever."

"It's okay. I'm terrified of dying too," he whispered in my ear before pausing and adding, "I love you."

Those last three words shocked me because I hadn't heard those words a long time in my life, and I certainly didn't expect them to come from Charles' mouth. But the way that he said it, like he actually meant it, not like a short quip or a throwaway line, made me feel like I was truly and deeply loved for the first time in a long while.

"I love you too," I said and tightened the hug before letting go.

We looked at each other for a couple of moments before Charles said, "Farewell my sire. May we meet in better places, preferably not heaven."

"I'll see you down the road," I said with a soft laugh before we started stepping away from each other and walking our own separate ways.

When I had walked a few feet, I turned back to give him one last wave. But by then, he had disappeared into the darkness, the pale moonlight not illuminating enough of the street, so I continued walking back home. As I walked away from the ocean and Charles, true silence descended upon me, the loneliness of this new world finally setting in. Whatever remains here is desolate and dead.

I thought that I would start crying or at least begin tearing up. I wanted to feel this emotional devastation and loss. But I couldn't even force myself to shed a single tear, and at that moment, I was terrified about how easily it was to let someone go forever. It's like I just couldn't comprehend someone who has been there for my whole life just to disappear one day and never return. Even now, after he's gone, I still can't wrap my mind around it.

When I got home, like I expected, Mom and Dad were angry, then fake apologetic, then angry again. I was pretty much grounded forever, but it didn't matter. Mira tried defending me, but that didn't help, and May just stared at me, knowing that Charles and I planned this day during that conversation she allowed me to have. Once my public beatdown was done, I retreated into my room, pulled out this diary, and began writing everything down.

The only time that I took a break was when Mira knocked on the door and handed me a letter. She told me that Charles must've dropped it off by our door just before he had left. There was a note on there telling me not to open it until a week after he was gone, and that he had things to get off of his chest that he couldn't tell me in person.

I wasn't even tempted to open the letter, so I just placed it on the shelf and went back to writing. Looking out of the window and at the sky, I could see dark clouds creeping towards our house, bringing ash storms and frost, the sun soon to be silenced. Despite the looming threat of death, the strange thing is that while I was writing the memories, the graphite and ink felt alive, the words spiraling themselves off of the page, the sentences swirling into memories that felt like life.

That's when I figured out the true meaning of story writing.

I said that I wanted to write a story so that there would be something to remember me by. But remembrance feels too much like a memorialization, like the lines of names carved into granite Vietnam War memorials. Stories are so alive that as I'm reading through these childhood memories, I'm not just remembering them. I'm living and feeling through them.

As long as I'm alive, he won't ever be dead, even if the worst happens to him. These pieces of paper that I'm holding close to me will always have his spark of humor and life within them. He'll be alive on these diary pages, and he'll be alive in my head.

He'll be alive no matter what comes after.