it was the answer that stumped you

i asked you once if you had ever run for your life. i used to keep you up at night asking questions like that, questions phrased specifically to make you wonder about the meaning of it before you wonder about the answer.
i used to press my bare back against the shiny cool wall, what must have been tile underneath the slick paint. it was so hot in that room but we couldnt leave the windows open because the pigeons would come in and whisper to us at dawn.
we slept on two twin beds pushed together on the floor. my side had pink sheets and yours had white ones. we jumped on them once when the carpenters came on, and sang so loudly that the neighbors banged on the wall and said WHAT THE FUCK!
one night, because i wasnt tired and because i felt all empty and rootless inside and needed to remind myself of what i already knew, i asked you what your best memory was. you told me about the trip to south america, and when you had been kayaking for a month and finally, when you turned the corner and the sun was setting and you realized that you had done this impossible thing, you wanted to cry. maybe you did cry. it was the best moment of your life.
you talked about it for a long time. i worried about the sun coming up. i hated it when the sun would come up and we would still be awake because the thought of not going to sleep at all depressed me more than the thought of sleeping all day, which was a horrible thought.
you were quiet for a minute and then you asked me the same question. i hadnt thought about what i was going to say but when you asked me i remembered it perfectly, like i was driving past it as it happened.
i told you that i must have been around 5 years old. my mom was still in her business clothes but she had taken off her contacts and put her glasses on. we went to pizza hut and i got a personal pan pizza to go. we went to brother bryan park and i ate it on the bench in front of the swings as the sun went down in a monochromatic autumn sky. after i finished it we swung until it was totally dark.
you thought i was lying. you said what are you not telling me. you sort of snorted air out your nose and in the dark i felt your eyes rolling. you turned over and curled up, and i lay on my back and dared the sun to show through your cheap blinds. you were angry that you shared so much and got nothing back. i shrugged my shoulders and told you that i didnt know what to tell you.
it was so sad and strange that that was the thing you thought i was lying about.