Although it had stopped raining hours before, the cobblestone was still wet, covered in abstract reflections of the street lamps shining down on us like rivers of yellow and green. I hugged my arms around myself tighter, stealing a glance at Patrick. I wanted to burn this scene, the music, the way he looked in the moonlight just then, into my mind forever. By this time next week I would be home, groveling for my parents' mercy in the wake of the destruction that is coming home after running away with your boyfriend.
I tried to concentrate on Preacher, the street performer, the accordian master we’d met on our journey on the streets, in the underground of Seattle. A mime was his best friend and late under the moon like this the mime would sit next to him while he played for the last stragglers of the night. This night it was us. This night the song was Blue Moon. I didn’t want to hear the lyrics. They felt intrusive. They felt like goodbye. And I would tell Patrick goodbye and we would go their separate ways, though I had suspected for some time that he knew we would be parting.
I wondered in the still silver of the night as the tinny notes hung in the air around us where my path, the one I would walk without Patrick, would lead me. I wanted to promise myself that I would remember Patrick for this night and this night only. That this night would be the night I remembered when I thought about this time in my life, when the nights were somehow longer and I was alone.
But this was the not the night for wondering. I would not ruin this moment by whispering promises to myself. There would be time for promises later. I wanted to live this one last moment. I could never have this back. Once we left it would vanish like an illusion and I knew I would be left wondering if indeed it had even been. The last verse of the song faded into silence and I linked my arm through Patrick's. As we strolled back to our car, the drops of rain grew larger.
