When we reach the pilings, something skitters at my feet. Its a huge rat! I let out a gasp. The thing is almost as big as dog Gong Yoo. In my terror I latch on to Hae-in’s arm.

Softly he says, “Just be still, he’ll go away.” I shudder and close my eyes. The sound of the waves crashing against the pilings fills my ears. Several moments pass before Hae-in tells me, “He’s gone.”

With eyes still closed, I ask, “Gone where?”

“Into the pilings. You can open your eyes.”

I open my eyes. I feel unsteady and afraid. I hate rats. “What if he jumps out at us?”

Hae-in’s tone changes a little. He says, “He won’t. We can go back if you like.”

I don’t want to go back. I let go of his arm even though I don’t want to. I tell him, “No, it’s okay.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

It is too dark for me to make out the features of his face, but it feels like he is smiling at me, so I smile back. We make our way to the lighthouse. It is beautiful in the night. My older brother fell in love with this lighthouse when we were kids. Now he is a lighthouse keeper in Maine. Strange how what we loved as kids can guide us into our adult lives. As if he read my thoughts Hae-in asks, “How’s your brother?”

“He’s good. You guys were friends weren’t you?”

“We are friends. We play on line games from time to time.” I didn’t know this. His voice drops ever so slightly when he adds, “It’s been a while though.”

The image of twelve year old Sam and Hae-in sitting on Neighbor Song’s floor playing some RPG with machine guns comes to mind. They didn’t even notice me back then, and I couldn’t have cared less.

We reach the lighthouse. It is a powerful symbol not only for my brother but for me. On those lonely nights when I was thirteen and couldn’t sleep I would watch it for hours just trying to get through another long night. I was also waiting, praying for a glimpse of Hae-in. Suddenly. I hear myself asking, “Did your granny or gramps know you snuck out at night when you were seventeen?”

Now that we are in the street lamps near the lighthouse, I can see his face. A smile quirks his lips. He says, “No. She was starting to loose her hearing then and gramps slept like a log. I didn’t now any one knew.” He is looking at me with intensity. I feel like I have said too much. I feel like I have just outed my thirteen year old self. He turns his attention to the waves and says, “I guess that was a tough summer for both of us.”

Until this moment it never occurred to me that his running might be more than a habit. Was it a coping skill? If so why is he running this summer?

Without looking at me he tells, “I don’t know if I could have survived that summer without you around.”