Part 1

1985

They met in the spring at a party at Frank’s Diner. The music was loud, so they slipped outside, where the quiet darkness offered a little relief. They smoked cigarettes, and the beats still pounded against the plate-glass windows.

Clara wore a Salvation Army sweater with holes and paint on the sleeves. She shivered, and Ethan draped his studded black leather jacket over her shoulders. They shared a soda, and for a while, the night seemed to belong only to them.

“The soda machine is busted. Have you ever drunk anything fouler than a coke without the fizz? It’s unbearable,” he said, putting his hand into her hair. “Why do you have orange paint in your hair?” he asked, pulling out a dried clump as he got closer to her.

“Shoot,” she said, her fingers searching her long, frizzy hair. “I’m working on paintings for my college entrance exam,” she answered, and kicked the parking-lot gravel.

“That’s amazing. I would love to see them,” he said with a youthful zeal and extinguished his cigarette under his heel.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

“What? Now? It’s midnight.”

“Don’t worry. My parents are not at home.”

And just like that, they walked, and smoked, and talked.

“So where did you apply?” she asked.

“I didn’t. I’m taking a year in Germany to learn the language and teach English. Unfortunately, my grades reflect the fact that I’m somewhat morose,” he answered and grinned, but his gaze filled with a glint of shame, and he lowered his gaze to the pavement.

“I think that’s very brave. That’s an incredible adventure. I don’t think I could just pick up and go, leave it all behind. I hope it will cure the moroseness.”

“I hope so, too.” He chuckled.

They opened a bottle of red wine from her parents’ liquor cabinet, and drank from wine glasses like grown-ups. She showed him the paintings, and he rummaged through them, and he loved each of them with the flame of seventeen.

“I feel like I’m in the presence of greatness.” He smiled.

“You are just saying that to get with me,” she said, and punched his arm with a smile.

“Nah. This moment feels more special than that. It feels like… harmony.”

“Oh, boy. You are so lame.” She smiled and gently pushed his head away. “But thank you. I’m scared, though. I don’t know what the school competition’s like, and it makes me so nervous. I went all in on this. I even got a job in the hardware store to pay for the paints and canvas. I didn’t pick a backup school either.”

“All or nothing. I love it. Who says you are not brave?” he asked and stumbled backward. She grabbed onto him to support him.

“Wow. I’m brave, and you are drunk. You can’t hold your liquor, sweetheart. I think you should sleep here. I don’t want you to wander the streets in this state.” She sat him down.

“You are so sweet. The last compassionate human left on earth.”

She pulled out the sofa bed. He fell asleep in the living room, and she in her room. But when the rain hit the windowpanes in the middle of the night and the thunder and lightning rolled through the hills above the house, she walked quietly downstairs and joined him under the covers. He wrapped in his arms around her, and they kept each other warm like two kittens in the storm.

They would meet again that spring, but, like spring, the moment dissolved like so many memories of the young life do. At seventeen, it’s as hard not to fall in love as it is to take the leap into love.