Gone, Gone, Gone by Hannah Moskowitz Page A

relationship.
    It’s not that.
    Although I can see, from an objective standpoint, that maybe I was too young, but is that really the point at all? Why the hell should I see things from an objective standpoint? I’m not objective, I mean, this is my life.
    And if we stop having sex, the terrorists win, right?
    I guess Lio would say that, statistically speaking, I was too young, since he’s so crazy about numbers, and I’m sure that means that, from his perspective, I should have waited,because his whole fucking life is about how many other people are doing things. I’m sure he’s a virgin. I’m sure he’s waiting until he’s exactly sixteen and seven months, which I think is the average age, but I think it’s a lot higher for gay boys, eighteen or so, because it takes us longer to realize and find each other and, I don’t know, wax off all our body hair or something.
    But I didn’t have to go through any of that with Cody because I guess we were made for each other and too young to have a lot of body hair.
    He’s a junior now. It’s crazy to think about that, to think that actually right now, maybe he’s thinking about college and SATs and stuff. Do they even talk about college at his school? Do kids from his school go to real college? Because it’s not exactly a real school. I mean, it’s called a school, a residential school, but it’s pretty much a mental hospital with classes.
    At least that’s how I imagine it. It isn’t like I’ve visited him, and is that the part that’s important? That I haven’t visited him, even though he’s asked, he’s said fuck you fuck you Craig get up here goddamn it get here now, and is it important that I haven’t gone, or is it more important that that isn’t a real invitation? Is it more important that Cody is there or that he’s here in my head?
    I think the part that’s important is we kissed in my parents’ attic when we were nine and ten.
    That was great. And the summer before freshman year, the summer of 2001? That was a great summer. And then everything got so fucked up. I guess what happened is that the terrorists won.
    My city, Silver Spring, isn’t technically a city in the legal sense of the word, according to the internet. I’m not sure why. Downtown, where I almost, almost, am, looks like most small cities, in the way that it’s a pretty rundown place, but with some tall buildings, and it has a general feeling of blue and brown. The streets are beautiful at night because of all the fast food places and the little liquor and wine stores. It looks like Christmas every night here, with all the brake lights and streetlights, and even along the highways, because you can see the lights from the hotels and churches. But on the edges of all of it, where the light almost, almost, but doesn’t quite hit, the dark is very deep, darker than any of the places in the whole world that I’ve ever been.
    These are the kinds of things you realize when you stare out your window all night, waiting for an email that doesn’t come, listening to Sandwich whine for food even though there’s still some in her bowl. I have this brutal headache, and I know I need to go to sleep, but right now sleep feels as impossible as holding my breath all night.
    I wonder how many people are getting shot over these few hours. All over the world, how many people are getting shot tonight, in this weird time between October 3rd and October 4th?
    It turns out, no one was shot, at least not in our area by a single long-range bullet, the news says this morning. But that’s not even important, because the front page of the newspaper has an article tying all the shootings together, and there is, guaranteed, a sniper.
    I read the word “sniper” and it’s like a bell in my head, ringing and ringing with the realization that everything is about to get really weird.
    My mom drops me off really close to the front door of my school, like I’m six or something. “Just to be safe,” she