Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl

by Andrea Lawlor

“Thank you for saving my life,” he said, to say something. He sat down. “You’re too beautiful to die,” Diane said, so Paul guessed he’d said the right thing. “I don’t want you to die.” “I don’t want you to die, too,” said Paul. He hadn’t been thinking about death but now he was. He reached for her hand and pulled her down so they were facing each other on the grass. “Let’s never die.” “Everyone dies sometime,” said Diane. “We’ll be in the earth, one with everything. But not until we’re very old.” “Okay,” said Paul, with a little thrill. “When we’re very old.” He’d never said “we” to anyone before, not even Tony Pinto, with whom he’d thought but not spoken words like “we” and “very old.” Now Diane had said the words, and they were bound to each other in this field, like a hippie wedding. He didn’t know what else to say, so he pulled her on top of him.