Ginette wasn’t following.
“See, if I’m here…”
Pete pointed out a spot on the snowball facing them that represented him.
“And you’re here…”
Pete pointed out a spot on the snowball that represented her, just to the left of him.
“… then…”
Pete traced a path with his finger all the way around his miniature globe to demonstrate the immense space between them.
And when his finger returned to the point on the snowball that represented him, he said, “That’s far.”
And he looked at Ginette, in awe of what he felt like was an important discovery.
Ginette looked up at Pete, puzzled. “Huh?” she queried, her face all screwed up.
Pete demonstrated again, this time with more props. He reached into his backpack and grabbed his bag of gorp and took a peanut and a green M&M out of the bag and tucked his flashlight under his arm again and continued. “See, if this is me…” He held up the peanut. “And I’m here…” He shoved the peanut into the snowball, facing them, to represent himself. “And this is you…” He held up the green M&M. “… and you’re here…” He placed the green M&M directly to the left of the peanut, but then moved the M&M in the opposite direction of the peanut—all the way around the snowball—until it was close to the peanut again—but on the other side of it. And then he shoved the M&M into the snowball next to the peanut and said, “That’s far.”
And then Pete looked at Ginette, in awe of his discovery.
“Yeah,” Ginette muttered, wondering why Pete was telling her this. She looked to him, hoping for more of an explanation.
But none was forthcoming. Pete was just smiling goofily, excited about his new definition of what it means to be close to someone. To him it was a happy revelation: He and Ginette had just confessed their love for each other. And they were going to have to get to know one another in a brand-new way. He suddenly felt like the space between them was enormous, because their world had changed—they were in unknown territory and had so much to learn about each other. And he couldn’t wait to learn all about Ginette and fill that space. And get close to her again—a new kind of close.
But Ginette didn’t know that this was what Pete was thinking. Because she felt like he was saying—in a cruel, cryptic way—that he felt like he was far away from her. Or didn’t want to be close to her. Or something.
So she moved away from him. Because she didn’t want to be close to him if he didn’t want to be close to her.
Pete clocked Ginette’s move away from him. And explained brightly, “But now … you’re closer!” And this was true, according to his newly formed theory on what it means to be close.
Ginette turned to Pete. He was still smiling goofily. Which irritated her. “Pete…” she said, hurt and confused. And then said nothing more. And exhaled—a little exasperatedly.
Pete kept smiling and earnestly asked, “What?”
“Nothin’,” Ginette said, sliding farther away from the guy she had just professed her love to.
Pete responded to Ginette’s second move away from him by triumphantly repeating, “And closer!”
Ginette looked back at Pete and wanted to ask him what the heck he was saying. So she could understand what he was saying. But she was so irked by him that she didn’t want to understand what he was saying and decided that she just needed to leave.
She leaned over and grabbed her backpack, unzipped it, pulled out her flashlight, and clicked it on. And then zipped up her backpack and stood up to go—but stopped. And felt a deep sense of loss—like she had just missed out on experiencing the greatest joy she would ever know. It made her feel hollow. And heavy. Both at the same time.
But then she shook the hollow heaviness off, slung her backpack over her shoulders, and started to leave.
She didn’t really know where she was going. Wherever it was, it was going to be somewhere Pete wasn’t.
Home, probably.
When she had taken barely one step, Pete called out hopefully, “And closer!” Because, to a conventional thinker, Ginette was getting farther and farther away from him. But to an unconventional thinker, she was getting closer to him with every step away from him she took.
Ginette stopped and turned to Pete and shone her light on him.
“Right?” Pete asked, shielding his eyes from the light but still smiling and expecting Ginette to be wowed by his radical new theory on what it means to be close.
Ginette looked at Pete like he was crazy and shook her head and turned and started to go again. And had barely taken one more step when Pete said almost triumphantly, “And closer!”
Ginette stopped. And turned to Pete, who still had a goofy grin on his face.
And she tried to understand what he was saying. But couldn’t.
Part puzzled, part hurt, and mostly annoyed, she started to leave again.
But when she had taken just one more step away from him, Pete called out, “And closer.”
Ginette stopped. And turned to Pete again.
And shook her head and shrugged again, completely at a loss.
And then continued on her way on the path out of Skyview Park, which was taking her west alongside the Road to Nowhere.
And with every step she took, Pete called to her, eagerly explaining that she was getting “closer and closer and closer and closer…” to him. Which made Ginette walk faster and faster and faster and faster, because she really didn’t want to hear that anymore, especially when the fact was, she was getting farther and farther and farther and farther away from him.
It wasn’t long before all Pete could see of Ginette was her silhouette against the pool of light from her flashlight. It was getting smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller the farther away she got. And it started dropping out of sight as she descended the little hill that the observatory was on.
And then it disappeared.
And Pete was alone.
And his goofy smile faded.
And he started to panic a little. Because this was not quite how he had planned for the evening to go. He didn’t know exactly how he had planned for it to go—but this was definitely not it.
He suddenly didn’t like his theory very much. Because—while it was true that Ginette was getting closer and closer and closer to him with every step she took, it was also true that she was getting farther and farther and farther away from him.
Oh, no.
What had he done?
He had just experienced one of the greatest things he would ever experience. And now … well, it seemed he had ruined it.
He wanted to get up and go after the girl he loved.
But he couldn’t move. Because that strange lightness he had been feeling had been replaced by darkness—and a painful heaviness. It made him feel like he had a brick of osmium, the densest naturally occurring element, in his gut.
And he was scared and confused.
And embarrassed.
So he just sat. On the bench. Alone. Trying to figure out what to do.
* * *
And Ginette walked.
2
Ginette made her way west along the path from the observatory at Skyview Park, which ran parallel to the Road to Nowhere, until the path and the road merged.