Will We Ever Have This

"I wish I had friends like this."

"You have me."

"Yes. Yes, I do. And you have me. But will we ever have this? Will we ever have a boat of our own? One you just get into and turn on the motor and then with a wave of the wand you're out here?"

"Betty. Betty, Betty. I don't know what we'll have. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll have each other."

"Noah," Betty said, pulling him suddenly toward her so he almost lost his balance, "listen to me. We already have that, and it's not going away. Not if I have anything to do with it. You hear me?"

Noah looked into her dark amber eyes, like those of a lioness, and then up at the sky, and then around at the view (of the ocean, of his father's old friend Clancy at the wheel, of the lone house on the island) and then he said, "Betty, I love you. What else can I say? We're barely a man and a woman."

What else could be said? They were indeed in love, but at the same time one could be a predator and one could be prey. And, being teenagers, each looked at the future in a different way. Noah got this.

In her way, Betty got it too. She dipped a hand in the spray of the wake and shook the water all over his face. When he winced and asked what she had done that for, she laughed as if she had just told the best joke she ever could or would.

24 April 2025
Jim Lindsey
Prospect, Nova Scotia