Toward the end of the night I was sitting by the fire by myself, sipping a beer and staring into the flames. I was thinking about the rest of the summer, the rest of my life, and struggling to see anything. It seemed like the only thing that was certain was change itself, unstoppable and careless like fire eating wood. Then a shadow moved and you sat down on the log beside me. We didn’t say anything for a while. I felt weak. You looked exposed in the light of the flames, and even more handsome, with your red-and-black-checkered shirt, your eyes reflecting the fire. You looked around, as if to see whether anyone was listening. There were many conversations around us, couples dancing, others sitting on logs, singing along to the guitar.

“I’ve almost finished the book,” you finally said.

“And?” I tried to sound detached as my pulse began to quicken.

You looked into the fire. “I like it. I can see why it’s not officially published.”

Our eyes met for a moment, and you smiled.

“Why did you stop coming to the river?”

I turned my head away. No words came to me. Finally I looked up and saw you looking at me with tenderness.

“Don’t be scared.”

The way you said this—softly, perfectly calm—pierced right through me. The flames crackled. I nodded; that’s all I could do. You smiled, dissolving the tension, your teeth flashing in the light of the fire. We sat there for a while, in our private silence, worlds shifting in me.

“I’m going to the lake district tomorrow,” you said. “I’ve never been, and I always wanted to go. And I thought this was the moment, before returning to the city, before real work begins. There are some great places out there. Lakes, rivers. I have a tent and all.” You paused, and our eyes met again for a moment. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: Do you want to come with me?”

Chapter 3

I remember the bus leaving with the others, and you and I staying behind. It was an overcast day. Rucksacks on our backs, hands around the straps, we walked up the country road, hoping to hitch a ride. I was nervous and we talked little, but somehow the silence between us was a pact. I felt like a small bird set loose, scared and exhilarated by the void before me.

The first car that stopped took us east. The driver, a middle-aged man, eyed us from time to time but asked no questions. We drove silently along country avenues lined with tall chestnut trees, past fields bordered by poppies. I had no idea where we were. We had no map and there were few road signs, but even if there had been more, the names of the places would have meant nothing to me. While I took it in, this nameless expanse, you slept with your face against the window.