When we made up the game, we thought we were very funny. You stood on your roof and I stood on mine, and when a crow came to roost we both got one shot. The goal was to make our shots an angle with its vertex in the bird. Day after day we failed, and then we lay in your yard while you told me your big plans. Secretly I thought we would always fail at everything, you and I, together. You would never get into college out of state or join the Army or go overseas. We would open a store in town that sold ammo and math tutoring.

The day we hit the bird you jumped into the air above your house. I was sure you’d fall off the roof and splatter on the grass below. I would jump too, then — I would try to make my body land against yours. Of course your feet landed squarely on the roofing tiles. You looked down at the dead bird, smiling. My heart sank. I’d never love anyone the way I loved you.


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