Page 41 of Wayfarers

Knox

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll tell you about my dad.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to. I get it,” Sylvie says.

“First off, he’s not around anymore, which is why it’s not my favorite topic.”

“Like . . . ran off, or—”

“Passed away.”

“Oh, Knox.” Sylvie’s face is tender.

I look away and pick at the ground. “It happened when I was young.”

Sylvie puts her hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry for making you talk about this.”

“It actually feels kinda good to open up.”

“But still.”

“He loved my mom and me. He liked video games and movies and was a big Lord of the Rings fan. It’s why our dog was named Bilbo. My memories of him are fading.”

“Got any pictures of him?”

I meet Sylvie’s eyes and give her a melancholy smile and point to my face. “Just the one I carry around.”

Knox The Hours

The hours of the day slip from us

easily, the way the tide or the wind

will carry something away.

Now sitting together by the fire, the daylight

crumbling behind us, our shadows

thin in a waltz of sepia glow. Looking at Sylvie

as much as I can, her serious eyebrows, trying to save

what I can of her—her perfect features, the warmth and kindness

of her spirit, her nimble mind—our conversation

feeling as inevitable as the smoke lifting

skyward before our faces.

If there’s one thing I know

by now, it’s how to leave and not look back

and yet I know as I dream

in my thin tent beside Sylvie’s van, I will