The Counting-Downers by A. J. Compton Read Free Book Online Page B

this boy is sitting next to me right now because of my dad, makes me sense his presence. Tristan and his grandfather are part of my dad’s legacy in their own way.
    “That’s amazing. I’m glad he could help; that sounds like him. Is your grandfather here today as well?”
    At this innocuous question, his face falls into a serious, sad expression. “No, unfortunately, he couldn’t make it. In fact,” he says, looking down at his watch, “I’m going to have to leave soon to check in with him.”
    “Oh, okay.” That strange feeling overtakes me again. Even though this is our first conversation, and even though I’ve had more entertaining and meaningful conversations in my life, I don’t want to stop talking to him.
    With his head bent to look at his watch, I take in the countdown clock above his head for the first time. I don’t know why I hadn’t looked at it before and I’m not sure how to feel about what I see. He has 27 years, 8 months, 16 days, 14 hours, 11 minutes, and 49 seconds left to live. On the surface, that seems like a lot of time, but in reality that time will run out faster than he can prepare for.
    “How old are you?” I blurt out.
    “Twenty. You?”
    “Nineteen.”
    I watch his gaze wander up above my head and I wonder if he’s doing the same thing I am. Trying to work out the math to calculate how long I may have with him, to get to know him, to explore this extraordinary connection we have. I’m usually happy to live in blissful ignorance, and have made peace with the idea that my time will run out whenever it’s meant to and not a moment before or after.
    But this is one of those rare times when I can’t help wishing I knew what my own number was and if it was compatible with his. For all I know, I may die before him. Knowing my number, my dad still gave me advice about marriage before he died, so I hope that means I have at least a few more years.
    But what if we started something and, seven years later, I died while he had to go on for another twenty years? I wouldn’t want to be in a similar situation to my parents. My mom still has almost forty years left to live without my father.
    I work out that Tristan will be about forty-seven when he dies. Almost the same age as my dad. Chills erupt on my skin at the eerie similarities. Forty-seven is a strange age to die. On the one hand, you’ve lived through a lot - childhood, adolescence, careers, marriage, maybe even children. On the other, you’re still missing out on so much living—retirement, anniversaries, your children’s marriages, and future grandchildren.
    Deciding now isn’t the time to think about him dying when we haven’t even established if we want to be a part of each other’s lives, however long they may be, I stash that thought away for later.
    “Do you go to college?” I ask him, eager for any information I can gather about him.
    “No, it wasn’t for me. You?”
    “No, I didn’t apply anywhere as I wanted to spend the past year with my dad, then take some time to grieve and adjust to life without him. I didn’t want to be away from home for most of his final year, so I made an excuse that I needed a year off from studying. I think he knew the real reason, but he let me get away with it.”
    “Do you think you’ll apply anywhere for this coming year?”
    “I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything right now. I just need a bit of time to figure things out.”
    “It always comes back to time in the end, doesn’t it?” he asks, leaving me wide-eyed and stunned that he’s voiced a thought I’ve had so often.
    “Yeah, it does,” is all I can think to say back. It’s not enough though, I want him to know the extent of our connection, to help me work out this thing I can’t explain. “You read my mind. I’ve had that thought so many times.”
    He just smiles at this, as if he’s known all along that our thinking is aligned. “I guess we’re surfing the same wavelength, Baby Bear,” he says