We sat in the McDonald's for hours more, watching the sun set as we ran out of words to speak and gestures to exchange. We didn't need to speak, me and Finn, to know what the other was trying to say. I watched as he wrote a poem on a napkin - his calligraphic handwriting gliding through the rough tissue paper like a black swan.
She is sunlight
And clouds
And contrasting bright
She is a storm
And the sea
And the wind in the trees
She is love
She is pain
She is sun
She is rain
She is lightning in a bottle
She is a hurricane.
He belonged on the stage, my Finn, with every spotlight upon him. Nobody could ever show you the world with their eyes quite like he could.
I still remember the rain as we left the restaurant, the way the water made his eyelashes darker, his dimples deeper and the green in his eyes shine through like new grown grass in the spring. He had the features of a lamb, but the passion of an ox. Personally, I had always seen myself as an otter in its first few weeks of life.
I was drowning when I should be learning to swim.
I followed Finn to the old subway line, it had been disconnected for years and it stunk of damp but anywhere was beautiful when I was with him. The pangs of rain sounded tinny underground, but almost peaceful, and I listened to them intently whilst Finn went to find some lights. The old political graffiti's still remained on the walls; arguments at Bush and economic figures, black outlines of refugees and children of war were spread across the white tiled walls.
Suddenly there was a buzz as the whole underground station became illuminated in all its former glory. Wires hung from the ceiling and the old iron rail tracks had begun to decay, but the overall capacity and size of the place became apparent. Abandoned carriages sat on the tracks - a playground for someone as beautifully curious as Finn.
"Come on, there might be possessions in them"
"That's ridiculous Finn"
"Nobody's been down here for years, anything left behind will still be here".
I rolled my eyes at him, but his features were just that of a puppy. So I let him take my hand and guide me to the tracks edge.
"Be careful, the tracks might be live"
"Doubt it"
And before I could stop him, there he was.
Standing on the tracks.
Smiling that 'I'm always right' smile.
I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be angry because he could have died.
But I couldn't be angry.
Not at my Finn.
It took the two of us to slide open the doors to the nearest abandoned carriage, not that I was much help. We sat cross legged under one of the old seat frames, and in that moment nothing in the world mattered.
The only thing that mattered were the sounds in that empty station;
Rain and two heartbeats.
