I want to tell you of the summer where I went crazy. It was hot and I was wet with wilderness the way the ocean is when it combs rock into the soft cooing of a beach and he hadn’t quite killed himself yet. My dad would tell me that we do not go crazy. Nor is there an ocean nearby. It was lake, the kind you can’t swim in anymore, the kind that held all life in the beginning.
It was a summer like that start, the same slow crawl, the inevitability of something mutated on the horizon. Sun was bent, lopsided. I could smell snow years away. I did not go to the beach that summer.
I was very sane. I knew what led to what. Where one thing over another would happen. First, wake up. Shower. Shave. Brush teeth. Eat. Wonder why I didn’t eat then brush. Remember the breath of mourning curling to greet the dawn. Move move move. Brush teeth. Wrench them. Watch them wear. Wear them to those who remained in a twisted, kind villainy – my sister, my mother, him waving. Hello. Good night. Morning morning morning.
We do not go crazy. I come from a family of those who daringly lived. I am brutal ancient history packed into a hot dog, a testament to the pinnacle of evolution warped into sandals with smelly holes in them. My grandfather hid Jews. I sometimes hide that I am Jewish. My other grandfather delivered milk. I think I am lactose intolerant.
We do not go crazy. He had just won the biggest scholarship. It is the highest award under 20. It is like winning the Nobel, apparently, without all the suggestion you have achieved all there is to achieve. You are just starting, similar to how the Nobel Prize was created by Alfred Nobel, the inventor of dynamite, on his deathbed. He wanted something to outlive him. To create peace. Enter TNT. Close war. Boom boom.
We do not go crazy. I was eight when I was first zoomed under a CT scan. Aneurysm they said. I said that I did not understand the word. They said stop moving. I did, though my thoughts were rapid, everywhere, leaking and crazy.
We do not go crazy. I think I am trying to tell you that it is summer, so what. No question, more of a statement, of a realization that nearly, on some long days that wear worse than those teeth, that lake with no fish for they have all hobbled out search for land, that beach distant and growing from waters faraway, it is not.
I have held that most dear to me against the lie of another last day. Alongside you, dear, I hold dearly. I take no day as promised. I deserve none. I am owed nothing.
But with you, I can see more than summer. I need no answer to a question to this giving sun, these generous rays. I instead want to sit still in your laughter, to curl in the inflection of your sweet voice, to bubble over good milk tea, to eat pizza even if I do not have the taste, to march along to second hand stores even if I have the taste, to swim, to bike, to do nothing – stay in bed, outlive the night, the morning, the night again. I want you to say, Kacper, this is crazy. We can’t rest here for a second day. I want to tell you in a whisper so soft that it barely disturbs the sheets and can hold your head in a hug, that we are, indeed, we are crazy. Listen to this: boom, boom, peace.