Where could she be? He had to wonder if she’d left. He couldn’t imagine that she would just go, but then again… He shook the thought out of his head. “Matilda?” he said through a quiet frown. There was no reply. It occurred to him that this was a lot like the game Marco Polo. He hated Marco Polo. He hated games.
“Ian…” It was a whisper. She must be close. It was too dark to see, but her voice was clear. Clear and coy.
“Please come out,” he said. His voice was meek. He was no match for her.
“Make me.”
He could hear her running. Rough grass and old leaves crunched under her soles. She was laughing, but he was in no mood for this game. Ian sat down.
“Ian,” she said, “you’ll never find me if you don’t start looking.”
He grunted. Couldn’t she tell that he wasn’t amused? She laughed again. He cringed. Women…
He’d known her forever. When they were children, they’d been much like they were now; she would run away, and he would chase her. When they were maybe seven years old, she’d tried to leave town in the middle of the night. When Mr. and Mrs. Blank came to his house, distressed and pajama clad, he had been the first one out of bed. He had been the first one with his shoes on. He had been the only one with any idea where to look for her. He had been the one, in flannel pajamas on Christmas morning, to usher little Matilda and her miniature suitcase into the car and back home. When she had warmed up a bit, she had rewarded him with his first ever Kiss from Matilda Blank.
There had been Kisses since then. Once on a roof, when they were kids, after he’d helped her up (she swore he’d saved her life), and again on a swing in an empty park, way after dark when the world thought they were sleeping. She was his little secret. He was her secret indulgence.
And there had been other boys to whom she had awarded Kisses, misfit loves and luckless romances that he could only watch. But he was always there to find her when she was lost in the chaos of heartbreak. He liked to think that they found each other. Maybe she was looking for him too.
“Ian Fisher,” called her velvet soprano, “I am lost in a jungle of shrubbery and if you do not come find me immediately, I may be swallowed whole by whatever creature just brushed against my leg.” Her voice hinted panic but he could hear the smile. She was still playing. He would not play along.
He remembered the last Kiss, the one she’d given him for his birthday, the only gift he’d asked for. She had obliged, but not without a bittersweet sentiment. She loved someone else, she’d said, the Kiss was friendly and nothing more. He had forced a smile and taken what he could get.
Ian stood up from his seat in the dirt. “Matilda, it’s late,” he said, unsure if she was near enough to hear, “tell me how to get out of here.” He hated giant mazes more than he hated trivial water games. He could not understand why anyone would volunteer to get lost in a series of corridors made from corn stalks and bushes. She had the worst ideas sometimes. The full moon was out tonight. He could not stop thinking about werewolves.
“You need me, Ian,” she said play-mockingly, “you’ll never find the exit alone.” Her voice sounded closer than before. He could practically feel her breath in the chill night.
“Why didn’t you ask Tyler to come with you tonight?” His voice hovered quietly in front of him. He knew she could hear.
“I wanted you here tonight,” she said. She’d always had an innocent voice; she’d always been good at disguising her intentions.
“He’s your boyfriend,” he said. He was glad that it was too dark for her to see him pout.
“I don’t need a boyfriend tonight,” she said softly, “I need you.” Finally, he felt the hint of a smile on his lips. He could be that for her.
A delicate palm touched his shoulder. He shivered, and wished she could be this close forever. “I found you,” he said. He imagined her smile, warm and approving. He felt her cheek pressed against his. Her hair smelled like vanilla, which seemed to him, smelled a lot like home.
“Let’s run away together,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “Then there would be no one to find you,” he said.
“So we’ll get lost together.” She smiled against his neck. Her hair tickled his cheek. “We’ll get lost together, just like tonight.”
He did not kiss her. He did not ask for a Kiss. He only stood there, feeling her, loving her too much to ask for anything more. He thought that maybe tonight, being lost together was enough. Ian pulled away for a moment, doing his best to see her face in the moonlight. “I don’t know where we’ll go from here, Matilda,” he said under a dark Virginia sky, “but we’ll always find each other in time to get lost together.”