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You can read this novella from the beginning through this link.

Do you remember, Izar,
That one time in the basketball court
Of our old primary school?
Your hair looked like honey.
Pale wisps floated about your face.
You glanced up at the sky and said,
“The sun’s right above. Look!”
While shielding your eyes with one hand,
With the other, you gestured toward the hoop,
And the round, golden sun,
Glowing with midday heat,
Swished through the net.
You grinned triumphantly at the perfect shot,
The work of a godly markswoman.

In my memories, in my dreams,
Our teenage selves, wild and free,
Dressed in the sun of summer,
Roamed iridescent streets together
Under a sky layered like an oil painting.

One day, after a shower,
I wiped the fog off the mirror
To reveal a man’s naked body
Glimmering through the vapor.
The once lean-muscled figure,
Sculpted laboriously in the gym,
Had softened under the looser skin
To a layer of resigned flesh
That gravity insisted on dragging downward.
With both hands, I grasped my gut,
Stretching it as if to rip it open
And let the aging machinery spill out.

I locked a tortured gaze with the mirror,
With that cold-eyed stranger
Whose wrinkles carved on his face
Deepened each passing year.
His hair and stubble were flecked with gray.
The flaws I scarcely noticed during the day
Beamed back as if lit by headlights.
Every trace of my youth had eroded away;
I had transformed into a middle-aged man
That you, forever eighteen,
Would hardly recognize.

A rapping on the front door shattered the static haze.
When I opened the door, I faced an apparition.
Your chocolate eyes glowed with affection,
Your smile showed off your crooked teeth.
Rainwater slid down your sleek red jacket,
That framed the Evangelion T-shirt underneath.

You had finally returned from the beyond
To replace my dust with your stardust.
I hugged you tight, lifting you off the floor,
And you wrapped your legs around me
While giggling like a girl in love.
“How long has it been?” you asked.
“Far too long.”
“Will you come with me?”

In the corner of the street gleamed
Your beloved Aprilia Red Rose,
Its fuel tank painted yellow-and-white.
High-rise chrome handlebars,
A padded leather seat with visible studs.
Exposed engine components turned the Aprilia
Into a rugged and warworn mechanical beast,
Ready to race through the landscape
With its raw wounds laid to the wind.

As I rode pillion on your bike,
Its throaty rumbling vibrated through the seat.
I rested a hand on the thigh of your jeans,
And felt the firmness of the flesh beneath.

You swerved onto Navarra Avenue toward the highway.
The road ahead lay empty, an invitation to speed.
We passed by an endless procession of ghosts,
Whose whispers blended with the engine’s rumbling.

The low, crimson sun raced toward the horizon,
Stretching wavering, unnatural shadows.
My heart pounded, my breath came in gasps.
Dread clawed at my mind: we might never arrive.
Even as you speeded,
The destination receded farther and farther.
“We’re never going to get there, are we?”
“Where is there?”
“Wherever it is we’re going.”
Your whipping hair framed the profile of your face,
And your lips curled into a sad smile.

Back when you told me you were quitting school
To pursue the goal of becoming a motocross racer,
Should I have convinced you to continue your studies
And to use your spare time to train,
Even at the cost of seeing you less?
That one time in your parents’ apartment,
When your father stomped out of your bedroom
While threatening to go beyond words,
If I, instead of just comforting you,
Had confronted your old man,
Even at the risk of ending up bruised and bloody,
Maybe I would have intimidated him enough
That he wouldn’t have marked you
With a red handprint on your cheek.
If I had instilled in you the fear
That you might ruin both our lives
By crashing during one of your reckless stunts,
Maybe you wouldn’t have died so young.

I see you back on April 27, 1999,
When you scratched flakes of paint
Off that basketball pole.
The wind tugged at your ponytail,
And shiny raindrops dripped
From the soaked tips of your hair.
You turned your youthful face to me
And revealed your plan to leave.
For a moment, I panicked;
Would you untether yourself from me?
But you asked me to run away with you,
To drift through Spain on your bike
Like pirates on the open sea.

I said I would follow you anywhere, didn’t I?
When I replay that night in my mind,
Sometimes I see myself answering you,
And other times, I assumed you knew the answer.
Had I answered enthusiastically,
Promising that nothing and no one could stop me
From accompanying you to the ends of the world,
Would you have chosen to speed through the rain?
Did I let you die thinking I had abandoned you?

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Author’s note: the song for today is “The Wait” by Built to Spill.