“You look like hell. You need to sit down.” The nearest bench was a mile away, or four steps.
He took the handkerchief. “Where did you get this?” His breath heaved as if it hurt him.
“Some guy. Tall guy, it’s fine.”
It dropped from his fingers, and I saw the black and blue embroidered letters: JDD. It all came to me. The voice, the way he had looked and walked. It had been Jonathan’s father. I was about to confirm that, but Jonathan put his head on my shoulder. I put my arms under his, and before long, I was holding him up.
“Jonathan!” I cried for help, the sounds shrieking and echoing off the granite walls.
He fell, sliding down my body. I bent over him, rolling him onto his back. I didn’t know what to do. His face told me he was in pain, his hands reached for me, clutching my arms, keeping me from moving. All I could do was shout his name.
Why was no one coming?
My phone. I had to get my phone.
I dumped the contents of my bag onto the floor, searching through the contents. I looked at him, the love of my life, finally found, finally recognized, finally embraced, with his eyes toward the sky in surrender. I turned back to my pile of crap and found my phone through a curtain of tears. “Okay, I’m calling someone. Please just...”
His eyes closed.
“No! You shit!” I screamed his name and slapped his face.
His eyes moved under the lids.
I slapped him again.
People came.
I hit him harder.
I felt hands on me, clenching hard on the bruised parts of my arms.
I couldn’t slap him if they held me.
So I fought, and they pulled me away.
I didn’t remember anything after that.