His guilty eyes passed over me. He was shorter than i, by a few inches, and younger by a few important years, but his hair was a good foot longer. This was a side of me he had never seen, and he looked too outraged, too shaken, too shocked, to speak. He said nothing, but ran for the pond. It was a balmy, mediterranean day, sixty degrees and hazy. The grass around the pond was lush with silent life. The ice was thin; I knew this. He knew it too. He was no damn fool. “It’s too warm!” I yelled hoarsely after him. “The ice is too thin!” But he ignored me, and hurled himself bodily over the edge. He skated out a few steps, then faltered. As I ran, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the girl had followed him. We hadn’t even taken our pants off.... They both fell through, of course. A squad of helpful park visitors helped her out. She was shivering badly. Her thin frame looked helpless as a baby duck. He helped himself out, glaring, and said nothing still. The three of us walked back toward the apartment building. I grabbed him by the face and said, “I have two things to say to you. First—we weren’t really going to get married. We didn’t even take our pants off. And second—” I raised my voice to a harsh stage yell. “—DON’T WALK ON THE ICE WHEN IT’S WARM OUTSIDE!” He had made his point. The next day I remembered the smiling but raw feeling in my flesh as the girl and I, his girlfriend and I, interlocked our legs, pants on, and heaved and swayed together. Then the golden hurt look of betrayal on his smooth face when he opened the door. Then my smiling smug pronouncement: “We’re getting married.” Her silent laughing. Ah, fuck. He needed to learn some lessons anyway. I knew him well. Knew what he was going through. And it wasn’t that I didn’t care, but— He had to go through it. And go through it he did, into the wet deathtrap chill of the pond in early spring. He would learn. He would sink, and sputter, and silently suffer, and die. Like the rest of us. Like we all would. And then crawl back out. And do it all over again. Only this time with a beard on his face, and a different kind of laugh as he grunted and swayed, grunted and sweated and swayed. grunted and swayed, grunted and sweated and swayed.