Again, But Better

7. There’s a Glow Off the
Pavement
We wander quietly through narrow, cobblestoned alleys, full of
old buildings and crammed with tiny parked cars.
“So, how much have you thought about time travel since
we got here?” Pilot quips.
“Let me think. I thought about it a few days ago, and again
today, so … just about every other minute since we got here.”
I smile sweetly.
He snorts.
I shake my head. “
Breaking Bad
hasn’t ended here, and
Game of Thrones
hasn’t even started! I saw a sign for it on a
bus when I was walking to class the other day. It’s mind-
boggling!” I vent. “Have you seen 
Hot Tub Time Machine
?”
He narrows one eye. “Yes?”
“You know how they release all these hit songs before they
were actually released?” I grin. “How funny would it be to do
a cover of ‘Wrecking Ball’ and put it on YouTube and just see
what happens? We could do that!”
Pilot huffs. “While we’re at it, why don’t we film our own
pirated version of 
Deathly Hallows Part 2
and release it in
May?”
“Pies, they’ve already released a trailer. Everyone would
know it wasn’t real.”
A real smile spreads across his face.

---

We walk on: down more tiny streets, past closed shops,
occasionally bumping shoulders.
I scuff the cobblestones with my foot. “So, why did you
stop doing music?”
Pilot takes a moment to ponder this. “I mean, I worked on
it a lot the summer after London. Did some little gigs in New
York.”
“I thought you were going to invite us to those so we could
come watch you play? We never heard from you. Even when
we sent messages…”
He sighs. “It was complicated.”
“The album you released in September that year was great.
Babe and I had a little listening party in our living room when
you uploaded it. I know we tweeted you, but we never got to
talk about it in person.”
“Damn, a musical endorsement from a doctor. This is big,”
he says through a small smile.
I push him sideways. “Shut up.”
He laughs, but then in a more serious voice, he says,
“Really though, thanks. That was my last one.”
“Why, though? What happened? What happened to the
Swing Bearers?” I smile.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I got busy. Senior year was
tough, and I had a lot to juggle. It’s not like people were really
listening.”
“
We
were listening. You could have made them listen! I
could have helped. I can help. You can start a YouTube
channel! I was a blogger, I’m internet savvy. YouTube can
open up so many other opportunities. I’ve seen it happen! We
could kick it off with a ‘Wrecking Ball’ video, and then you
can just perform your originals after it goes viral.”
He grins at the ground.
“Do you miss it?”

---

“Of course. I mean, I still play sometimes on the side.”
“Do you miss writing?” I ask.
He slows to a stop and looks at me hard, with his lips
mashed together. Heat flashes down my neck.
“Do you?” he asks.
I hold his eyes. “Yeah I really, really do. I didn’t realize
how much till I went to class on Wednesday. I’ve been
dragging myself through the motions of what I thought I
needed to do for so long, I forgot how great it feels to do what
I 
want to do
.” I shake my head slightly. “I miss that feeling
you get when you create something, you know?”
He drops his gaze, and we start moving again. He nods
slowly. “I do know.”
We emerge into an open square—to my surprise, rising
before us in the night is the Pantheon. I suck in a breath, taking
it in. It’s colossal and extra-impressive without the usual sea of
tourists. I stride ahead, skirting around the fountain at the
center of the square to stand right before the hulking structure.
Pilot’s jacket brushes up against my arm a minute or so
later. I smile at him. “I wish I had my camera. I could get some
damn good night photos right now.”
He walks off behind me and takes a seat on the wide steps
that encircle the fountain. I shuffle over to join him, crossing
my ankles straight out in front of me and leaning back on my
palms.
“We haven’t really talked about what happened in the café
the other day,” he says quietly.
My cheeks warm. I try and keep my eyes on the Pantheon.
“How many guys have there been since study abroad?”
I resist the urge to scoff. “Why are you asking?”
“Because you’ve been with other guys. You’ve had other
crushes. You don’t still feel … that way,” he says hesitantly.

---

I turn to him. “What?”
“Don’t pretend you’re not attractive and smart and funny
and…” He trails off. “You don’t still feel that way,” he repeats
insistently.
I meet his eyes, which is difficult, because a windstorm of
anxiety just materialized in my chest. How do I explain how
rare it is for me to feel so ferociously about 
a crush
?
“Pilot, I’ve dated people, but I’ve had one actual
boyfriend … Melvin. And I don’t feel the way I’m supposed
to.” I pause, picturing Melvin at the kitchen table, that last
morning we spent together, going on about his latest medical
research project while I fiddled around with the poached eggs
he made me. He was trying to do something nice, making
breakfast. But we’ve been together for four years. Why
doesn’t he know I don’t like eggs? “I’m gonna have to break
up with him when I get back.” I curl forward and hug my legs
to my chest. How do you break up with someone you’ve been
with for so long?
Pilot’s quiet.
“Of course, I’ve had other crushes, but I’ve never
randomly shown up at their place of work.” I stare at a stone
on the ground and loose a bemused huff. “I’m a mess. I can’t
believe I randomly showed up at your place of work.”
“You’re just going through some stuff. Come on, you’re
about to graduate at the top of your medical school class.
That’s unbelievable. You’re going to be a real, live doctor.”
“Yeah, but do I even like being a doctor?” It comes out like
a plea. Panic sweeps through me.
I don’t allow myself to think things like that, let alone say
them aloud. It’s a second before I feel like I can breathe again.
“I don’t know. I thought I was okay with it. It makes my mom
really happy, but I’m, I don’t know. I thought it’d make me
happier. But I feel like I’m losing myself a little bit.”
I stare blankly at the Pantheon. Pilot doesn’t respond.

---

“So, in conclusion, yes, tons of other guys,” I add.
He grins, shaking his head. “I don’t believe you.”
I exhale a breath and let go of my legs, relaxing back into a
normal sitting position. As he meets my eyes, a memory
resurfaces. An embarrassing, repressed, secret chapter of my
Pilot chronicles.
“There was this one guy I met the summer after study
abroad.”
He raises his eyebrows, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Oh
yeah?”
I heave in a load of oxygen. This has been locked up for a
while. “Me and a high school friend went to visit our friend,
well, more her friend, Matt, at college. The three of us went
out to this bar. We got a table, and one of his friends from
college ended up meeting us there.
“And my jaw dropped when he walked in, because he
looked