Eight Perfect Hours

by Lia Louis

the inevitable start of the fun-hangover.

Big things, I hope, might happen someday, but it’s the little things that are important, isn’t it? They keep us grounded. The little things are the things we miss the most when normality is turned on its head.

It’s like Mary Poppins’s magic bag, but full of crap instead of fancy lamps and funky umbrellas.

Someone who cares so much about their child, they’re just so frightened of getting it wrong.

“Some say hydrangeas symbolize gratitude. Be thankful for the little things, always.”

“My life has started. I’m in it. It’s not something I’m waiting for anymore. I’m here. And whatever I wanted for my life, was it this?” Was it this? Was this what I saw for myself? And what is it that I wanted? Am I still waiting?

“Say yes and panic later.”

dove on it like it was catnip,

He’s the sun. He’s the fucking sun.

“What does Jenna think about all this?” I ask, although I feel like I’m in purgatory. Am I being his friend? Do I even want to be his friend when actually, all I think I want is to kiss him, to wrap my arms around his neck?

“I want you to know something,” he whispers, words barely there, his nose inches from mine. “You said nobody does but—I see you, Noelle. I do.”

He presses his lips to mine—warm, soft lips that taste like whiskey and chewing gum, and as he moves, deepens the kiss, and warm stubble prickles against my face, I swear my whole body feels like it’s alive, and I’m nothing now but stars.

The TV on the wall is just an inch away from mute, a football commentator barely audible, a footballer rolling around clutching at his leg.

If someday is going to be now, then I have to stop being afraid. We are supposed to let go of things. We are supposed to make room for new. Things are meant to change. Say yes, panic later.

“I’ve gone my whole life without feeling the way I do when I’m with you,” he says. “I don’t want to go another day.”

I’ve said yes, and if I need to, I’ll panic (a lot) later.

Sam pulls me up and I pull Charlie to the top of the verge, and the view in front of us knocks the breath from my lungs. “Fucking hell,” breathes Charlie. “Are we in Mordor or what?”

And we’re scared, definitely—I for one am shitting myself—but we’re doing it anyway. We’re living now. Because now is all there is.

the only way to live forever is to leave parts of yourself behind. And that’s what this is. A part of me.