The Problem with Forever

“I got busted for tagging a couple of times,” Rider said, stepping back from the wall. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his frayed jeans, just like the child on the wall. “But this is one of the places where we’re allowed to do this without getting in trouble. Helps me clear my head. Don’t really think when I’m doing it.”

“This... You did this?”

“Yeah.”

Stunned, I stared at the boy. He had done this with a few cans of spray paint? Blown away, I slowly shook my head. Rider had always been talented. He’d doodled on any spare piece of paper growing up, but this was incredible. I couldn’t stop staring.

And I couldn’t stop the pressure squeezing my chest or the burn of tears clogging the back of my throat. I knew the tears wouldn’t fall. They never did. Not anymore, but I wanted to cry as I watched him, because I knew deep down, even if I didn’t want to admit it, that the sad, wrecked boy on the wall was Rider.

“Have you seen Graffiti Alley or the other warehouse?” Rider asked, referencing the locations where Baltimore’s graffiti artists could do their work without prosecution by the city.

I nodded. “I saw the Alley once.” I dragged my gaze away from him and scanned the wall. “It’s beautiful...like this place. That’s amazing. That you’ve done this.”

Rider lifted one shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s unbelievable.” I thought again about my soap carvings and almost laughed. “I can’t...do anything like this.”

He tilted his head to the side. “I could show you.”

I choked on a laugh. I was pretty sure that would be like handing a crayon to a toddler in the middle of a tantrum and telling them to color within the lines.

Facing me, he glanced up at the fat, rain-heavy clouds. “I mean, if you want me to. There’re other places where you can do it without getting in trouble.”

I looked back at the wall and tried to picture creating something so awe-inspiring. I would end up with a spray-painted stick figure. “I wouldn’t want to mess anything up.”

A lopsided grin appeared. “You wouldn’t. Promise.”

Unsure of that fact, I didn’t respond as my gaze trekked back to the painted child. I wondered if Rider had brought Paige here before. Immediately, I knew that was a stupid thought. Of course he had. They probably did this—the tagging—together.

“Is...is Paige into this?” I asked, and my cheeks warmed.

“This kind of stuff? Tagging?” Rider’s grin evened out as he shook his head. “In the beginning, maybe? I mean, she used to come and watch me, but I honestly don’t think it was ever her thing.”

I looked back at the wall. “Would she be okay with...you showing me how to do this?”

“Yeah.” His response was immediate. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

I really had no idea how to answer that.

“She knows you’re important to me, Mouse.” He stepped closer. “And like I told you, she’s a tough girl. Doesn’t warm up to people easy, but she will with you. Eventually.” He paused. “She’s not going to have a problem with me spending time with you.”

Slowly, I looked over at him. I thought that I should explain that his girlfriend just might have a problem with that, and I couldn’t blame her if she did, but I had to take what he said at face value. He knew her far better than I did, and Paige hadn’t been mean yesterday in class. She was just stating her place in things. I could respect that. And Rider and I could be friends—we’d always been friends. Maybe she would warm up to me.

At least this part of my life, my life with this new version of Rider, could work.

I turned back to the painted wall. There was no way I’d be good at this, but what could it hurt? A mini cyclone formed in my belly. “Okay.”

The dimple appeared, and the cyclone in my stomach grew. Our gazes collided, and I hastily looked away, suddenly feeling hot. I wanted to tug at the collar of my shirt, but that seemed too awkward to seriously consider.

“Do you want to head back?” he asked, and whe

n I looked up, he

was closer and I hadn’t even heard him move. “Mouse?”

Class was over at this point, and I should really head home, but I...I didn’t want to leave. Not yet. There was something peaceful about this place despite the distant hum of traffic and bleating horns. I shook my head.

He stared at me a moment and then walked over to the old stone picnic table and sat. I joined him after a minute. Neither of us spoke for a long moment, and it was like falling down a rabbit hole. How many times had we sat side by side in the past?