Heart Condition

Prologue: August 2012

I couldn’t think of anything better than Sasha and I kissing at the train station.

            Except, you know, being at a train station.

            He stood there, with his laptop and his sketchpad, making promises he knew he couldn’t keep.

            “Beagle.” He whispered, lips pressed and his hand moving my hair away from my face, “I’ll be back. It won’t even feel like…”

            I reached up and covered his mouth, “Don’t. Don’t say any of that clichéd ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’ bullshit. You know what’s going to happen, and you can’t stop it. And you can’t make it better.”

            “Damn it.” He sighed dramatically, “And I thought we’d break up in some hopeless way, like they do in the movies.”

            “Shut up.” I said.

            Sasha pulled me into his arms, and kissed me softly, “You get that, the next time I see you, you’ll be eighteen and in college someplace? And I’ll be…”

            I looked up, “At Bennington, with all the fancy people in their pea coats and pleated skirts.”

            He smirked, “I need to find out their policy on kilts. It’s not fair that the girls are the only ones allowed to wear such refined clothing.”

            I nudged him “It would be so much easier if you would just go to Berkeley like you said you would.”

            He pulled my jacket tighter over my shoulders, “Do you love me?”

            I sighed, and buried my head into his shoulder. He squeezed me, before he moved away slowly “I’ll call you when I get to the airport. Hey…” My eyes lifted, and Sasha’s smile was too much for me, “It’s going to be okay. I know it’s far, but we’ll be okay. I love you, Bee.”

            “I love you, Sash.” I whispered, but the blaring of the passing train drowned out my words.

            He kissed me, his lips warm and palms spread against my sides. Moving away, he squeezed me with a smile.

            “Goodbye, Abbie.” He said, slinging his bag over his shoulder before kissing my forehead and turning away.

            And, you guessed it: his bow-out. No encores, no revivals.

            Seven hundred and fifty-two days of radio silence.