I leaned my forehead against the seat in front of me as Boston's skyline grew progressively smaller out the window of the Greyhound bus. Tears streaked my face. I tried to keep from looking up, I didn't want anyone else seeing them fall.

The greater part of me hoped that she would completely forget about me, marry some rich guy that could take care of her for all the days of her life, and that she'd live happily ever after in a fairy tale life, like she deserved. I wanted her to have the perfect wedding with him, have children and be the best mom ever. I wanted her to grow old with him, sit in rocking chairs on the front porch with him. Experience life with him.

But the selfish part of me - my heart - prayed she'd come after me.



We'd been sitting at the breakfast table that morning, eating eggs and bacon, when she'd put down her fork, wiped her mouth, and said boldly, "Nick, marry me already, will you?"

I'd looked up, surprised, and blinked wordlessly. The idea of being married to Claire had made my heart soar for the most marginal second. I'd really pictured it - seen her in the white dress and me in the black suit and bow tie, and heard the march, the whole nine yards. But then reality, as usually, snapped back into place. My forehead creased. "I can't, Claire," I said.

She looked hurt. "Why? Don't you love me?" her bright green eyes had dimmed the moment the words came out of my mouth.

"I'm sorry," I answered, "Claire, you know what's wrong with me, you know I can't do that. I only have seven more years."

"So? Marry me and we'll spend all seven together."

"I can't do that to you," I answered.

"Do what? Agree to love me and take care of me and cherish me?" she asked.

"Promise you 'til death do us part' because death won't part us," I answered, looking away, unable to stand the look in her eyes anymore.

Claire had reached across the table and touched my hand. "I don't care if you turn thirteen again," she whispered, "I'll always love you anyway."

I pulled my hand away. "Someday you'll want to marry someone, and you won't be able to because a thirteen year old is in the way," I said, shaking my head, "I can't do that to you."

"I'll never want anyone else," she replied, stubbornly.

"You say that now, but it's only 'cos I'm still here," I said, "I'm not going to always be here, Claire. Eventually I'm going to have to leave, and --"

"You can't leave me," she whispered.

It had been in that instant that I realized how selfish I'd been. Staying with Claire was destroying her life. She would waste her entire life for the seventeen years that I was with her, and she would die alone... and it would be my fault, for leading her on, for not letting her go.

Claire wanted things that I would never have the luxury of being able to give her. Such as a marriage and family and a husband with salt and pepper hair.

And I loved her too much to deprive her.

I'd packed my clothes up in the dark. The note I'd left sat on the pillow next to her, all the money she'd ever need in a bag I'd slipped into her purse. I dropped a check into the box of the landlord on my way out, paying rent for the next year.

I threw up twice on the way to the bus station - once in the Public Garden and once in the restroom at the terminal while i was waiting to buy the ticket. I'd chosen a place close enough that I could check on her if I wanted to, but far enough away that the odds of running into her were not very high. Though, I admit, I did not want it to be completely impossible.



And that was how I ended up on a midnight ride to New York City, crying, and praying that she could forgive me for running away.