A Love Like the Sun

What I Remember

WHAT I REMEMBER

Eleven years ago. Eagle sticker.

Sun starting to cut across the sky, the smell of an early rain still in the air, my father on the front steps of our house, fine-tuning his guitar. When I opened the downstairs door, he beamed at the sight of me, as if my existence meant he was unable to contain his happiness. I threw my arms around his shoulders, hugged him close, inhaled the scent of tobacco on his warm skin.

“The only thing that’d wake you up this early on a Sunday is a boy,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “You know Issac’s not a boy the way you’re saying he’s a boy, Dad.”

“How am I saying it?” he asked, just as my best friend came out of his house across the street and our eyes locked from a distance. When Issac Jordan smiled with his whole face, my father hummed, “I’m waiting for an answer, sweetie,” which earned him a wide-eyed look from me and a whisper begging him to drop it. My face was already flushed when he teased, “Because the boy who’s not a boy is heading over here? Fine, but may I ask where you two are heading this morning?”

The corners of my lips twitched; I raised a single brow.

“You’re right,” he said. “Spare me the details that might save me from your mother’s scrutiny over your whereabouts later. But remember to walk with courage and…”

“Trust our instincts,” I finished with a smile.

He tugged on my long braid, and when Issac made it to my porch to collect me he called out, “Take care of each other.”

At Issac’s quick “Always,” my satisfied father began strumming his guitar. It was the last time I heard him play that particular song, one he’d sing to my mother with a goofy look on his face, and the first time I heard him struggle to breathe through a melody. We didn’t know that afternoon he’d receive news from his doctor that would forever change the path of our family. Right then, I was still mostly carefree, not exactly trusting my instincts but convincing myself I was about to walk with courage.

And as soon as we were out of my father’s eyeline, Issac and I hit the pavement running. We normally weren’t in the business of stealing bikes, but Benjamin Cooper was Issac’s personal bully, tormenting him by throwing rocks at his head on the way home from school, laughing at Issac’s “used clothing,” and most recently slashing the tires on both of our “cheap bikes” so we were “doomed to walk like peasants,” while he rode beside us on his fancy Aventon Soltera for the rest of the year.

That’s when Issac agreed to my suggestion of stealing it.

We snuck into Benjamin’s yard before his family got up for church, and I hopped on the pegs of his bike with a rush in my chest, but Issac was shaky, the bike wobbling as he rode us away, and I worried whether agitating his bully was the right move. A few streets over, in a neighborhood full of beautiful houses, we hid the bike behind someone’s rosebush.

Issac glanced at it longingly and finally spoke. “Maybe instead of leaving it here, we should use it to travel the world.”

A smile stretched my face, relieved. “Do you think we can make it across the country?”

Issac examined the tires, then nodded. “We’d have to pack a lot of the food we find in your pantry. Maybe shower in random water fountains at parks along the way.”

“How long do you think it would take for our parents to notice we were gone?”

“We’d leave notes not to worry yours,” Issac said. “But I doubt Howard and Alice would notice me missing. Not with the new kids they just took in last month, anyway.”

I stopped myself from insisting he was wrong about his foster parents, then considered apologizing, but watched as Issac bent down to rip an eagle sticker off the bike instead. He had just started making collages by gluing random things to notebook pages, so when he pocketed the sticker I figured it was for that.

“How long do you think it’ll take him to notice it’s missing?” I asked.

“He’ll probably send out a search party for his precious bike by noon,” said Issac.

“Do you think he’ll cry?”

“Definitely.”

“Is it bad that I’d pay to see it?”

“If I had money, so would I.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the street. Said, “You make me feel brave, Laniah.”

I glanced down at our linked hands, my heart warm at his words. Issac always said things raw and outright, while I struggled to express myself. But I loved that he seemed content with me bumping my shoulder against his in response while we walked back home.

We were always braver together.