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He didn't mean to cause the meltdown. I found him hanging onto the buttons, repeating the words aloud — "It was a mistake."
"You idiot," I said, "I know. Now get up."
He didn't move. His hands stayed shaking above the keyboard, fingers repeating the motions of his last decision, as if in echoing them he could lessen the disaster. He couldn't, and there wasn't time for him to reach this realization.
"Here." I forced my hand into his palms, slipping on the sweat, and stood him up. "You're fine, you're ok." I repeated it as steadily as he insisted his error was unintentional. He started to breathe easier when we could see windows again. The alarms quieted slightly as we got above ground and left 138 Albany Street in the past. Gradually, he started to speak in full sentences.
"I should've been a Course 6."
"Yeah, selling out might've been preferable to blowing stuff up. How much time do we have?"
"I'm not sure. I don't exactly know what went wrong."
"You're stupid, that's what went wrong."
His voice quieted again. "Thank you for coming back."
I couldn't tell him that I only came back because I didn't like the thought of his face melting like lava with the radiation, and because I wanted the chance to be his hero like he'd been mine when I went hacking in the rain and almost slipped off the Green Building. He'd caught me — it was life-threatening and cute. The impending nuclear disaster was a little less cute, but it was enough to reconnect us, enough for me to walk down Mass Ave holding hands with the guy who would soon become the reason campus exploded. We had a little time together before it happened, so we enjoyed it.
Carolina Warneryd