I look over and see he’s sitting by the fire alone, just like last year.  My lips curve up in a small smile and I walk over.  Silently, I sit down next to him and we both watch the flames waltz together.  Laughter from our friends on the other side of the house drifts towards us like stray autumn leaves at the beginning of December.  He continues watching the fire and I begin to look around the backyard, the air thickening with the imprint of memories appearing clearer and clearer.  In the pool I can see all of us, diving deep into the eight-foot depths, jumping in curving arcs and cutting straight through the glossy surface.  I watch as we stand on top of floating rafts, balancing on wobbly knees for a few feeble seconds before collapsing back into the cold water.  A small smile brushes my lips as I remember us tumbling backwards down the tiny, plastic slide, the one we should’ve retired three summers ago.  I can see him, hair shining under the strong June sun, flipping with ease into the pool, ease that always worried me for a few frozen seconds before he landed in the water safely and resurfaced, laughing at his own recklessness.  

I shift my gaze to the covered hot tub, where the colored lights faded through the steamy night air and the warm water circled around our waists like I wished his arms would.  I can see the wooden patio, where we all used to share poolside pizza from his best friend’s favorite restaurant, talking and laughing together.  I look down to the trampoline, back when it was under the patio and I can see the four of us bouncing each other around, screaming and laughing over the creaking of the rusting aluminum poles before finally flopping back on the tired elastic, exhausted.  My eyes follow the stone path back up to the ledge, where him and I first sat and really talked over a year ago.  Finally, my wandering eyes return to the crackling fire, the smoke spiraling into hypnotic patterns in the hazy night air, and to him, still sitting in the comfortable quiet next to me.

I trace my eyes over him, so different from our childhood.  His grown-out hair is ruffled with wind and his arms, now stronger, lead down to hands clasped gently in his lap.  A gust of wind rushes over us like an ocean wave and my hair flies back, caught in the gentle current.  He turns and looks at me with his baltic-blue eyes, softer than I remember.  His gaze conveys emptiness and warmth, curiosity and understanding.  Without responding, I shift closer and lay my head on his shoulder, and we both turn our attention back to the ever-changing fire.