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The Great Thing

He’s the type of boy I would make a sandwich for.
The type I could clean the bathrooms with and have a good time.
He’s one of those people who the better you know them,
the more beautiful they become.

Sometimes, I’ll go over to his house
and we’ll make an elaborate plan.
Then, we’ll end up making mac and cheese
and playing taboo instead and
falling asleep on the sunny couch
curled up like cats.

In February, we jumped off the dock at his house into the frigid lake.
In the second before his feet touched the water
he swore and I laughed and he wrapped me in a towel like a burrito
and hugged me until the shivering stopped
and my teeth didn’t chatter.

We make up stories about people we see in the grocery store
and read little kid books to each other
and go on runs where we do more talking than running.

Once, he made me bread when I was having a bad day
it was pesto-cheese bread and he made a heart out
of parmesan on the top.

When we go skiing, we have competitions
for who can give the most high fives to small children
and at lunch, he buys reese’s peanut butter cups
and writes “I love you” in the surface of the chocolate
with the tines of a plastic fork.

One time, we rode our bikes home after dark
and I got a flat tire going 25 and he fixed it
and we walked around Montlake
looking for someone with a pump.
We practiced riding with no hands
and instead of going home
we climbed to the top of gasworks and
all the sprinklers were on.
We got soaked but the night was beautiful
so it didn’t matter

I know that no good thing lasts forever
but sometimes, when it’s just the two of us
laying beneath a blanket of stars,
it feels like maybe we’re one of those
great things that doesn’t have to end



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