We're standing outside in the parking lot of a single-story motel when the good-byes become unavoidable. "I'm gonna get a cell, and I'll call you," she says. "And e-mail. And post mysterious statements on Omnictionary's Paper Towns talk page."
I smile. "I'll e-mail you when we get home," I say, "and I expect a response."
"You have my word. And I'll see you. We're not done seeing each other."
"At the end of the summer, maybe, I can meet you somewhere before school," I say.
"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, that's a good idea." I smile and nod.
She turns away, and I am wondering if she means any of it when I see her shoulders collapse. She is crying.
"I'll see you then. And I'll write in the meantime," I say.
"Yes," she says without turning around, her voice thick. "I'll write you, too."
It is saying these things that keeps us from falling apart. And maybe by imagining these futures we can make them real, and maybe not, but either way we must imagine them. The light rushes out and floods in.
I stad in this parking lot, realizing that I've never been this far from home, and here is this girl I love and cannot follow. I hope this is the hero's errand, because not following her is the hardest thing I've ever done.
I keep thinking she will get into the car, but she doesn't, and she finally turn around to me and i see her soaked eyes. The physical space between us evaporates. We play the broke strings of our instruments one last time.
I feel her hands on my back. And it's dark as I kiss her, but I have my eyes open and so does Margo. She is close enough to me that I can see her, because even now there is the outward outskirts of Agloe. After we kiss, our foreheads touch as we stare at each other. Yes, I can see her almost perfectly in this cracked darkness.
Paper Towns, John Green.
