The World More Full of Weeping by Robert J. Wiersema

her head still angled
toward the ground, her eyes almost hidden by the fall of her hair.
“It’s just — ”
    â€œIt’s okay.” His face was hot.
    â€œI just like you. An awful lot. And I hate it when you have to
go. I miss you.” Her words came in whispered bursts, as if she
had to steel herself for every phrase.
    â€œYou . . . like me?”
    She had nodded, looking up at him slowly, shyly.
    His father was staring at him strangely from across the
table, and Brian felt the stretch of his smile pulling at the
corners of his mouth.
    â€œGood soup, Dad,” he said, trying to draw his attention
away.
    They sat side by side on the fallen log. Brian was keenly
aware of how close she was to him, how near her hand, resting
on her leg, was to his own.
    â€œIt’s hard for me when you have to go,” she said, looking
toward the scrim of undergrowth that separated the worlds of
forests and fields. “I miss you.”
    â€œI miss you, too.” Until that moment, he wouldn’t have
really been able to label his feelings. He hadn’t realized that
his thinking of her, his wanting to be with her, the empty space
within himself when he was away from her, had a name.
    He knew about missing someone, of course. Since his mother
had gone, he had missed her every day. But this was different.
Stronger. Sharper.
    â€œI don’t like having to leave.”
    She turned to look at him, her eyes the pale green of a spring
leaf. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand,
entwining his fingers through hers. Looking into her eyes,
he was surprised to see her need there. He had thought, until
that moment, that he was the only one who felt the absence of
someone so deeply, that he was alone in missing someone so
much it physically ached.
    â€œI talked to your mom on the phone today,” his father
said, scraping his spoon along the bottom of his mostly
empty bowl. “We talked a long time.”
    Something in his father’s voice made Brian look up.
“About what?”
    â€œAbout you,” his father said, setting the spoon down.
“About the fall.”
    â€œWhat about the fall?”
    â€œYour mom . . . your mom and I, like I said, we’re a bit
worried. About you. About how much time you’re spending
on your own. We think . . . we think it might be best if you
tried going to school in the city next year.”
    â€œNo!” he cried out sharply, before he knew he was doing
it.
    His father nodded. “I know this is a bit of a surprise, but
we’ve been talking about it.”
    â€œYou never talked to me.”
    â€œThere’s a lot of programs you can do after school, a lot
of opportunities that Henderson just doesn’t have.”
    â€œBut . . .”
    â€œAnd it’s not right away. You’ll finish up this year here,
and we’ll get you moved over the summer. I figure you can
come home every weekend if you want.”
    â€œWhat if I don’t want to go at all?”
    â€œBrian, it’s — ”
    â€œWhat if I want to stay here?”
    â€œYour mom and I — ”
    â€œI don’t want to go!”
    His father sighed. “Let’s not get into a fight about this, all
right? When you’re there next week, I think you’ll see — ”
    â€œNext week?”
    â€œSpring break,” his father explained. “You’re spending
the week with your mom. She thought it might be a good
chance . . .”
    â€œNext week?”
    â€œWe’ve talked about this.”
    â€œRight.” He vaguely remembered them talking about
it, looking at the calendar, how excited his mom had been
about it during the last weekend at her apartment in the
city.
    But that had all been before he met Carly.
    The thought of her tightened his stomach into a hard
ball.
    â€œWhen is she coming to pick me up?” he asked.
    â€œSunday afternoon. And she said she’d bring you back
around