Inexpressible Island. Paullina Simons

      “Ashton, did Julian ever tell you the story of how he stumped a mystic when he was thirteen?” Joanne Cruz said. “Eat, eat, while I tell you. A pillar of the church was visiting our parish, a revered Augustinian monk, a man of prodigious theological output. He gave a lecture and then invited some questions. And your skinny friend, his voice still unbroken, stepped up to the microphone and squeaked, ‘Um, excuse me, why did Jesus weep for Lazarus when He saw him dead, even though He knew that in a few minutes He would raise Lazarus from the dead?’ The monk thought about it and said, ‘I do not know the answer.’”

      Ashton, wiping the cinnamon sugar off his face, smirked. His shaggy blond hair needed a cut; his happy blue eyes gleamed. “Even I have the answer to that, and I’m no wise man and certainly no monk—pardon me, Mrs. C. The God in Jesus may have known, but the Man in Him wept because Jesus was both—fully human and fully Divine. And to mourn the dead is the human way. Next time, Jules, ask me. I have an answer to everything.”

      Fast forward.

      “If you wake up first, don’t go out there without me, like you did yesterday,” Ashton said. They’d been camping for days. “Promise you’ll stay put?”

      “I don’t know what you’re all up in my grill about. We’re camping, not caving.”

       Fast forward.

      “Oh my God, what happened, Jules? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Everywhere but here. You don’t know what you’ve done to us.

      “Julian, say something!

      “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. Help him! Help him!

      “Why did you do it, I told you not to go, why do you never listen, why did you leave without me?”

      I’m sorry, Ashton, Julian wanted to say, but couldn’t speak. I don’t know what happened.

       Fast forward.

      “My buddy Jules over here used to be a boxer,” Ashton said to Riley and Gwen the night they met. The boys were groomed and shaved, wore jeans paired with Hugo Boss jackets. “You should be impressed, ladies.” The girls were young and sparkling. “He was nearly untouchable in the ring. He hit his opponents with shots that could’ve brought down mountains. Yes, he was a magnificent fighter but a flawed human being. Whereas now, he’s precisely the opposite—lucky for you, Gwen, and I mean the word lucky in the most literal sense—ouch, Jules! What are you hitting me for?”

      “Lucky Gwen,” Riley said after a beat, turning her smile to Ashton.

      A flirty Gwen scooted over to Julian. “Well, I am feeling pretty lucky, I must admit.”

       Fast forward.

      “Do you know any boxing jokes?” asked Riley. They had settled into a booth, ordered drinks and snacks. It was their first double date.

      Julian did. “Did you hear what Manny Pacquiao planned to write on Floyd Mayweather’s tombstone? You can stop counting. I ain’t getting up.”

      The girls laughed. Ashton laughed, even though he’d heard the joke before.

       Fast forward.

      “Riley, don’t try so hard,” Ashton said. “Women have no need to appeal to men by also being funny. They appeal to men already, you know what I mean?”

      “Go to hell,” Riley said. “I’m funny.”

      “No, no, my love. It’s not an insult. You’re under the mistaken impression that men want their women to be funny.”

      “No, no, my love,” Riley said. “It’s you who’s under the mistaken impression that women don’t want their men to be funny.”

      Julian nodded approvingly. “That was funny, Riles.”

      “Thanks, Jules. Ashton, you should try being more like Jules. Because unlike you, see, he is actually funny.”

      “Fuck you, Jules.”

      “What did I do?” Then Julian added, “You know, Ash, if you can stimulate your girl to laughter, and I mean real, head thrown back, deep throated, full and loud laughter, perhaps she will become more open to you and you can stimulate her to other things.”

      “Fuck you, Jules!” And later: “All right, I’ll try to be funnier,” Ashton said. “Let’s try it Julian’s way.”

      “Said the bishop to the barmaid,” said Julian.

      To be funnier, Ashton told a joke. “Joe Gideon says to the masseuse, ‘Excuse me, miss, how much do you charge for genitalia?’ and she replies, ‘Oh, the same as for Jews, Mr. Gideon!’”

      The four of them threw back their heads and laughed. They loved L.A. and All That Jazz.

       Fast forward.

      “Yes, I’m moving to London. It will help my dear old dad, and you know how close we are. Kidding aside, though, I’ve always wanted to live in Notting Hill. It’s on my bucket list. Of course I’ll still keep the Treasure Box. Why would I give that up? It’s my life.”

       Fast forward.

      “Yes, I’m selling the Treasure Box. Don’t look so deflated. It’s just a store. I’ll get another one if I really want to be tied down again. Right now I’d like to travel, see the world. You in, Jules? Where have we been besides London? Nowhere, exactly. Want to go to France? We have the time. What do you say, we can be two free men in Paris, so we can do our best, maybe feel alive.” Ashton grinned, humming, drumming. “Because you’re a very good friend of mine.”

       Fast forward.

      “She is going to break you,” Ashton said as they were coming home one night, unconscionably intoxicated. “I told you she was going to bust you open, and did you listen? You never listen to me, because you think you know everything, you think you’re the only one with gut feelings.”

      “You sure you’re talking about me?”

      “She turned to you, eyes blazing,” Ashton continued, “like you were her enemy in the ring and said, tonight, I keel you. And so far, nothing you’ve done has stopped her from fulfilling her promise.”

      “Why am I even here?” Julian said.

      “You’re like my dad, you both keep asking, why are we here,” said Ashton. “Why is anything here is a better question. Not why do you bother to exist, but why does anything bother to exist at all?”

      “Because. The art of living in this world,” Julian replied, recalling Marcus Aurelius, “is to teach us that whatsoever falls upon man, he may be ready for it—that nothing may cast him down.”

      “Some things cast you down,” Ashton said. “Bow out, Julian. As if you have a choice. Admit when you’ve been defeated. Forget you ever loved her. That’s what I had to do.” His head was bowed. “Forget I ever loved them.”

      “Let’s go to Paris, Ash.”

      “Okay, let’s. But first come with me to the wedding in York.”

      “I can’t.” He had a lot to do to get ready for the equinox.

      Was this the end? Were these wretched memories Julian’s life passing before his eyes?

      No, he realized.

      Not his life.

      Their friendship was the beginning of everything.

      How could Ashton be the one on whom the tempests fell.

      Run along, my only friend.

       Rewind the reel, rewind.