Page 22 of Crease Collision

All at once, something shifts. He talks about the history of the plaza and starts tapping his leg with one hand. The other gestures in the air, apparently trying to match the rhythm of the one hitting his leg. His jaw is tight, barely moving as words tumble out of him.

Between the echoing voices and splashing water, there is a lot of noise. The volume of the crowd is pressing on me, so he must feel it too. He shoots me a frantic look, like a skater carrying too much speed into a turn with no way to slow down.

I move closer to him, touching his shoulder with mine, making myself a boundary against the chaos. I have seen the terrace now, I want to say. We can leave and find someplace quiet.

But his eyes are gleaming, so I let him run out of breath.

“Du passar så bra i solen,” I say.

The tapping on his thigh slows, then stops. His cheeks turn a beautiful shade of crimson, and his distressed expression fades into a small smile. “Keep that up and you’re going to start something.”

Yes. I must speak Swedish if we sleep together again.

“Maybe that is the idea,” I say. “In Swedish, I said how well the sun suits you. It brings your eyes to life.”

He looks uncertain, then nods. “Thank you. The sun makes you look good too.”

I want to kiss him, but I do not. He is already nervous. Americans are more open in public than Swedes are, but I do not want to risk embarrassing him.

“Is it okay if we sit for a minute?” I gesture toward an empty spot on the steps. “The sun is getting to me.”

“Sure. I’d like that too.”

I let him take the place next to the balustrade and keep myself between him and all the people. At first, I try not to crowd him, but he scoots toward me until our legs are touching. Either the noise level drops, or sitting off to the side makes it seem quieter.

Thankfully, Kai is still. The tapping does not return, and his breathing is back to normal.

He glances over. “There’s one more thing I want to show you. Ready?”

This time, we take a different path. It curves around the water, leading us to a wide lawn bordered by dense trees. Tall buildings are in the background, towering over everything.

“This is Strawberry Fields,” he says, continuing onto a walkway across the grass.

“Seriously?” I ask. “They grow berries here?”

“No, at least I don’t think so. It’s named after that Beatles song, ‘Strawberry Fields Forever.’ Follow me. There’s something you need to see.”

We stop beside a round black-and-white mosaic set into the pavement, with the word IMAGINE spread across the center. A few people stand nearby in a quiet circle, and a man farther back is playing a guitar. Even with tourists moving along the paths and traffic sounds close by, the spot is very peaceful.

I understand what it is at once—a memorial. Not only to a famous man, but to someone who left an unforgettable mark on the world through his music.

Imagine. The lyrics and bittersweet melody come to life in my mind. Gunnar and I went through a major Beatles period when we were about twelve, and this was one of our favorite songs. We must have listened to it a million times. Even now, I hear his off-key voice singing along in my head. Back then, we thought everything was possible. We made grand plans for the day we would both play professional hockey in America or Canada.

When we made it into a hockey high school, we became even more determined to make it. Every day, as soon as we got home, Gunnar would say, “That’s one day closer to the HFNA.”

“We’ll be rich and famous,” I would answer. “All the sex we want.”

Gunnar always pumped a hand in the air. “We will have so much fun doing this together.”

My chest empties into the hollow ache that has lived there for two years. Our dream has come true, but only for one of us.

I remember the hospital. Eerie lights and beeping machines. Gunnar lying too still, as pale as his bedsheets, telling me not to let our dream die. I stared at his plastic hospital bracelet so he would not see my tears. When I raised my eyes, he was gone.

I do not understand how a person who was so alive can simply cease to exist.

“Oskar?” Kai rests his hand against my back. “Are you okay?”

It is only then that I notice my cheeks are wet. I swipe the tears away, but too late. He has seen them.