Ethan and Jacob: Wish You Were Here
by SalientLane
Chapter 14
The cold January air bit into my skin as I stood there, the world around me muffled under a heavy blanket of snow. Papa was whistling some cheerful tune while he loaded the last of our boxes into the van. Each thump of cardboard against metal echoed in my chest like a judge's gavel—final, unyielding. Maman's face, usually so serene, was lined with worry as she watched me from the doorway.
"Ready, Ethan?" Papa called out, oblivious to the ice forming in my veins.
"Almost," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Jacob stood beside me, his hand trembling in mine. We'd spent the night huddled together, grasping desperately for each other in Jacob's room, the room which felt more like home to me than my own bedroom at my parents' house. Our whispered jokes and laughter from days past were replaced by the sounds of our tears, and finally, our attempts to give each other comfort in any way we could. We gave our virginity to one another last night, at last, and now we were saying goodbye.
"Look at them, Vincent," Maman said quietly, her eyes not leaving our intertwined fingers. "Do you really think this is right?"
"Of course, Mireille. It's a new start for us all," Papa replied, but his voice held a hint of doubt now, as if he'd finally noticed the clouds hanging over our little universe. He looked away.
"We didn't need a new start, Vincent. We loved our life here." Maman whispered. I don't think Papa heard her.
Jacob squeezed my hand, a silent plea. I squeezed back, wishing we could melt into the snow and reappear when spring chased away the frost. But wishes were for bedtime stories, and this was a bitter morning awakening.
"Time to go, son," Papa said, more gently this time.
"Wait," Jacob whispered, pulling me into a tight hug. His body shook against mine, our sobs mingling with the winter wind. My face felt raw, stained with the salt trails of our shared sorrow. And then, in a moment braver than anything we'd ever dared when not alone, Jacob pressed his lips to my cheek—a kiss that spoke of promises and memories, the kind that daylight had never before touched.
"Je t'aime," he murmured, the words wrapping around me like the scarf I'd forgotten to pack.
"Je t'aime aussi," I answered, the familiar phrase feeling heavier on my tongue. And I returned the kiss, my lips lingering for one last moment on Jacob's cheek.
We stood there, two boys on the verge of an abyss, our hearts carved open for the world to see. And as we finally let go, the keys jangled in the lock for the last time, sealing away the echoes of our childhood laughter in the empty apartment we once called home.
The engine sputtered to life, a growl that marked the end of everything. My hand rested against the cold window as I watched Jacob's figure shrink with distance, his tears glinting like frost under the gray sky. He was a statue, carved from pain and longing, a sentinel bidding farewell.
"Je t'aime," he mouthed again, no sound needed. The words hung suspended in the chilled air, refusing to fade even as we pulled away.
I felt the van lurch forward, a merciless tug into the future. Each rotation of the wheels was a twist, unraveling the tapestry of our shared past. Jacob's face blurred through my waterlogged vision, every detail etching itself deeper into memory—his reddened eyes, the slump of defeat in his shoulders, the desperate clutch of his mother's hand.
"Take care of him," I whispered to the universe, or maybe to Maman sitting beside me, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Mon cœur," she said softly, reaching out to squeeze my hand. Her touch was both an anchor and a reminder of what we were leaving behind.
My breath fogged up the glass as if trying to obscure the inevitable. I drew a tiny heart, watched it fade too fast. In the space between heartbeats, the van turned a corner, and just like that, Jacob disappeared from view.
"Jacob," I muttered, the name a prayer, a plea for strength neither of us possessed.
Maman didn't tell me it would be okay; she knew better than to paint falsehoods. Instead, she allowed silence to wrap around us, a shroud for our grief.
The world outside moved on, indifferent to the small tragedy unfolding in our van. Buildings and trees passed by in a blur, each one carrying a piece of my soul along with them. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the darkness was no refuge.
"Will he be all right?" My voice cracked, betraying the facade of composure.
"Jacob is strong," Maman said, conviction warring with concern. "And so are you, Ethan. Stronger than you know."
But strength felt like a foreign concept, something lost among the packed boxes and sealed memories. I leaned my head back against the seat, let the hum of the road lull my splintered thoughts.
"Chicago won't have Jacob," I said, the truth of it hollowing me out.
"Non, but it will have you, mon trésor. And you will carry him in your heart. Always."
The van carried us further away, to a city where dreams of wealth awaited my father, to streets that knew nothing of snowball fights and whispered secrets. A place where Jacob's laughter wouldn't echo off the walls, where his absence would be a constant echo in every heartbeat.
"Je t'aime aussi," I repeated to myself, a silent promise that no distance could sever what we had. Not truly. Not ever.
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