Too Like the Lightning

by Travis Beaudoin

“Here and gone.” “Here and gone,” I repeated, then, “Ere one can say ‘It lightens.’”

“So…the balcony scene? When Romeo creeps into her garden, and he’s spying on her while she gets ready for bed?” “Ew,” he said. “Mrs. Childs didn’t describe it that way, but…that is what he’s doing, isn’t it?” “Yeah. It’s not great. Teenage boys are gross, you know? Anyway, he’s in her garden, and he gets her attention, and they’re flirting, right?” “Right.” “And Juliet—which, make no mistake, Juliet is way smarter than Romeo, and just generally too good for him—she’s crushing, but she knows teenage boys are kind of garbage, too, right? So she’s fine with this cute guy wanting to chat her up, but she needs him to back up what he’s saying.” “Very smart.”

“Very smart, indeed. She’s definitely the brains of the pair. Anyway, he says he loves her, and that’s nice, right? She likes hearing it. But the whole situation is a little…strange. He crashed a party at her house, they kissed, he ran off, and now he’s creeping around her orchard, swearing he’s in love. It’s a whole lot, very quickly. So she says ‘Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract tonight. It is too rash, to unadvised, too sudden, Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say, ‘It lightens.’”

“So…he makes her happy.” Coley wasn’t looking at me. His eyes were unfocused, thoughtful. “But she’s not happy right then…she has no joy…because it feels…quick? Like, insubstantial, maybe?” “Insubstantial! Yes! Perfect. In fact, Romeo uses that same word later. She finally tells him she loves him back and it sounds too good to be true, almost like a dream, and he says it’s ‘too flattering sweet to be substantial.’”

“So, anyway. I just like that phrase? Too like the lightning, that doth cease to be ere one can say, ‘It lightens!’ I think a lot of life is like that. Not literally as quick as a lightning flash, but things go by before we can appreciate them. It reminds us…it reminds me, anyhow…to be on the lookout. When the lightning strikes, notice it.”

I did joy in him. I joyed in him immensely. And every part of me that wasn’t joy—all my melancholy, all the awkwardness and doubt—came from understanding that this whole summer was temporary. Like the lightning, my time with Coley would cease to be, and probably before I could truly parse what it had meant.

“You don’t do that, do you? You like talking about yourself. But only up to a point. And then you get real quiet.”

He was naked now. Really, truly naked. And he was beautiful. So beautiful I ached. I lusted after him, but that wasn’t the only, or even the strongest, emotion surging within me. More than anything, I think I felt grateful that he existed, grateful I was allowed in his presence, had access to his loveliness.

I loved falling asleep to the sound of his breathing, loved waking up to his sleepy smile.

I came to love the image of his silhouette backlit by the silver-flashing sky.

“They’re grey.” He cocked his head, studying me. “I’ve heard of grey eyes before, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pair till I met you.” “My eyes are blue.” “No,” he said. “They’re grey like storms, and your pupils are big and wide, like you want to see everything in the world.”

I’d never wanted anyone or anything more. I wondered if there was a heaven like this—a twilight field with a tiny breeze and Coley Brandt sitting on my lap and feeding me strawberries. It seemed too precious to be real, and I took a moment to emblazon it on my mind: the light in his eyes, the way the wind played with his hair, his weight on my thighs, the taste in my mouth. I catalogued each sensation. I vowed to protect each remembered detail. And then I breathed, and I kissed him again.

So I eavesdropped and laughed and nursed my PBR between trips to the sink, amused at the household’s decision to stock just about the shittiest beer on the planet, while also going for a top-shelf tequila. Priorities.

I felt trapped. I knew I wasn’t. I could walk out to the pond right now. Shit, I could get dressed and grab my keys and drive to the horizon. Nothing held me here. But I felt trapped. Trapped by my stupid feelings.

At some point over the last five years, I’d learned to settle. For a while that had worked. Life had come to me, and I’d gotten comfortable. I’d forgotten how to want things, never mind how to chase them down. Now I had a new thing to want. I could tell myself I’d fight for it, but when push came to shove, it seemed easier to just keep standing around. Waiting.