Kissing Her at the End of the World

The apocalypse is just something made up for shock value. I’ve seen the old-time movies where monsters rise from the sea, where alien invaders populate the skies with their ships, and where natural disasters give humanity its comeuppance at last.

The end of the world is not really like that. Everything happens in microcosms: a patch of sickness there, loss of fossil fuels there, a nuclear war threatened over on that continent. You become desensitized by it all very fast. I mean, we all have to go out and work for what’s left, right? There’s no point in getting bogged down by the details.

We won’t live any longer for it anyway.

When the news ignites that night about an impending segue into World War III, I call Mazie up before the crowds can take to the streets in protest that won’t do any good in the long run. While the world imagines what might happen next, all I can think is that—if tonight’s the end—then I want it to be with Mazie.

“You saw the news too?” She sounds breathless on the phone. I wonder if she just got back from her nightly run. I wish she wouldn’t do that; there’s no telling what might come out of the dark nowadays.

“Yeah,” I say, my eyes glancing over to where my mother and little brother sit, glued to the incoming breaking news. It sounds like someone important was assassinated yesterday—as if we needed any more sparks to light up the tinder. The world’s been a matchbox for a long time; it was only a question of when the match would swipe and ignite its flame.

“Meet me by the river,” she says, and then she’s gone before I can respond. It’s probably for the best. Who knows when the next round of hackers will attack the cellular tower systems. Last month, we went for two weeks without any cell phone service. But even that is just a part of the normal we know now.

I kiss my mom on the head goodbye and give my brother a fist-bump. Even though I know I should be here for them right now—especially since Dad’s not here anymore—I can’t face being the adult tonight. I want to be a child again, if only for a few spare moments.

“Be safe,” my mother calls, and I almost want to laugh. It’s so surreal.

The roads of our small town are quiet as I weave through shortcuts and try not to draw too much attention to myself. Outside, in the free air, I can almost convince myself that the world is just askew right now and that it’ll be back on the tracks tomorrow. But I’ve been hoping that for months, especially since I’m old enough now where I could be conscripted if the government demanded it.

I turn my thoughts to Mazie—her long red-gold hair, the way her eyes light with mischief, the smile that makes my heart thrum a little bit harder in my chest—and I tell myself that tonight’s a beginning, not an ending.

I don’t want to be afraid of what might come. I’m getting too old to let my fears rule me. I’m not that little kid huddling in the dark any longer.

When I reach the bridge overlooking the small river, I feel lighter to see Mazie’s silhouette waiting for me.

“That was fast,” she says, her hand holding an old-time flashlight that cuts a beam into the shadows. Still, I can’t see her expression that well. I hope she hasn’t been crying—not that I would blame her. I’ve shed a few tears lately too.

“Didn’t want to miss out on any fun,” I say, bumping my shoulder against hers, but she doesn’t laugh like I expect her to do. Instead, she looks out towards the river.

“I almost wish it were deeper,” she says. “I might jump if it were.”

The casual way she says the words strikes me because she doesn’t sound like she’s making a joke. My heart stutters in my chest, but I don’t know what to say. I’m lost in the idea of a world without Mazie, and it’s somehow even worse than the thought of being forced into military service for a war I don’t believe in.

I decide to take the easy route. “Well, I’m glad it’s not deeper,” I say, “because then I’d have to jump in and save you.”

This time, the words spark a laugh. “Oh, okay. Hero complex much, Jeremy?”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice soft, “that’s me. The superhero in waiting.”

We fall into an uneasy silence as we both stare out into the river’s expanse.

“Jer?”

“Yeah, Maze?”

“I don’t want to die like this,” she says.

“You’re not going to die,” I say, my tone firm but gentle. I don’t want her to think I’m just trying to placate her. A world without Mazie—well, that’s no life at all to me.

“You don’t know,” she says, practically spitting the words out. “None of us know what’s coming tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the week after.”

“Okay, no one’s going to bomb a small hick town in Michigan,” I say.

“And why aren’t you scared?” she asks, as if I hadn’t even spoken at all. “You could be going to a war zone in the next few months. You may never come back.”

“Mazie, come on. I thought you’d be the one with the pep talk, but you’re being a real downer.”

What follows is a sigh that makes Mazie sound like she’s aged twenty years in the span of a moment. “This world is dying, Jeremy. It has been for a while now. And we can’t reverse the tide now. It’s too late. And now all we’re going to do is destroy ourselves. In a few years, we may not even recognize the places we knew.”

“I’m not gonna lie. I’m scared too. But you—you have to put it in perspective, y’know? We’re not goners yet.”

She doesn’t say anything, and this time I brush my hand against her shoulder, sweeping her wave of hair away. “We can forget,” I say, soft, my voice as thin as the river flow below us. “I can help you forget.”

Mazie turns her head towards me, a gleam in her eyes. “How?”

I take the flashlight away from her hand and switch it off so the light can’t give us away if someone comes by. We’re engulfed in shadows, yet I have none of the fear I once felt for the dark. If anything, the darkness offers seclusion and privacy.

“Let me kiss you,” I say, and I try to make my voice sound husky instead of nervous and awkward. “Just once. And, if you don’t like it, then we can just pretend it never happened.”

Mazie laughs, the sound stark in the otherwise quiet atmosphere. “Kissing isn’t exactly on my priority list right now.”

“Really?” I step closer, intentionally invading her space, but she doesn’t back away. “You’re telling me you could die tomorrow and not wish you had known what it felt like to kiss someone?”

I imagine she might have a blush blooming in her cheeks. I imagine her biting her lip, unsure. I imagine taking her face in my hands, bridging the distance, until our mouths meet—

“But it’s you, Jer,” she says. “Don’t you think we shouldn’t ruin a good thing?”

“What’s there to ruin when we may not have much time left?”

Mazie is quiet, contemplative, and for one moment I think she’s going to walk away and tell me to go find someone else to act all desperate with.

But she’s the one who brought up about dying first. She shouldn’t have made me consider leaving behind life when I haven’t even kissed the first girl—the only girl—I’ve ever loved.

When I trail my fingertips from her shoulder to her cheek, I feel her take a steady breath. My hand trails down till I find the heart-shaped locket she’s worn ever since the day she got it when we were five.

“Then at least put my picture in here to remember me by,” I say, “because, who knows, I may have to go. And I may not come back.”

I can tell I’ve hit a nerve when she slaps my hand away. “Why do you have to be like that? You’re so infuriating sometimes—”

“I’m just being honest,” I say. “And, Maze, it’s always been you. I just want you to know that.”

I think that may be the end of it, the abrupt finale to one last argument between friends, until she grasps my hand before I can walk away.

“That’s not fair,” she says, and I can tell she’s starting to cry from the way her voice wobbles. “That’s not fair at all, Jeremy.”

And then she tugs me forward until I’m looking down at her in what little light the stars and moon provide. She’s cast in deep shadows and pale glimpses of moonlight.

She kisses me, first light as a peck between children, and I wrap my arms around her and feel the soft curves of her body press against me. Our lips ask questions we have no real answers for. In just moments, kissing Mazie may become only a memory, but I long to make it last as long as possible—to sear it into my brain for those cold nights ahead that may come for me when I’m sitting in a military encampment so far from home.

Tonight, Mazie is my one gleam of hope and rightness.

Tomorrow, I’ll be facing the end of the world, but at least I’ll have the phantom touch of her lips against mine to remember.