“And you’ve heard about the cave, right? The one that just opened up way out in the fields? They keep talkin’ about it in the news like it’s the second coming of Jesus or somethin’! Now I don’t think it’s far-fetched to think it’s some sort of conspiracy crap that they’re pushin’ to keep everyone focused on somethin’ other than the fact that a Snickers costs two-fifty, but—“

“Alright, stop with that,” I shoved Harry’s shoulder and watched him nearly tumble off the porch and into the weeds. “You think I read the news? None of it’s ever good.”

“First of all,”—he grunted and gripped the wooden rail we sat on—“FUCK you.” A toothy smile didn’t follow far behind. “Why do you think I was tellin’ you? You need to know about the doom n’ gloom!” He let out a hushed snicker that sort of sounded like a pig farting, my reaction to it nearly sending me off the side of the porch as well.

“Because you’re evil and bored,” I bent back up toward the clouds, tracing the cirri in hopes I’d find something else to say, but couldn’t, because there was nothing.

“I ain’t evil,” he picked his fingernails and rocked. “I’m just not allergic to curiosity.”

“That’s alright.” A single-engine circling the sky had begun luring me away from the conversation. I’d seen a few more of those around in the past few weeks than I was used to; the old airport down past the ripe fields was decommissioned after the war, but apparently, our town thought that it still having one half-decent runway was enough to sort of let it keep running as a recreational thing to enable the old pilots to still get their kicks. The problem was that there weren’t more than a few pilots around anymore. As far as I knew, none of them really wanted to fly anymore.

“Well, I’m beat from all that mowing.” Harry swung his body around and jumped off the rail. “I’m gonna drink the rest of the bug juice.”

I raised one hand halfheartedly and the other to wipe some sweat off my forehead. “Don’t get drunk off it again. If you fall asleep on the floor again, my Dad is gonna kill you.”

“You can’t get drunk off bug juice, Erin.” His smirk was audible, even if my eyes were still fixed on the sky. “It’s just sugar, water, and Red 40.”

I didn’t bother to respond, transfixed on the never-ending cyclical motion of the plane watching the skies, circling around and around like the pilot had fallen asleep turning right. I thought about how stupid it was, how stupid that anyone still cared to send themselves up there. We had better things to do than watch for the past.

The wooden deck gently creaked as Harry walked toward the door. I could hear him nearly trip on the sill for the thousandth time, masking a curse before turning the knob and thrusting the door open. “You uh, want a glass? I’m sure you’re thirsty too.”

I slowly lifted my legs around the back of the rail, grunting out of soreness, and slumped forward to face him. Bug juice was usually way too sweet for my tastes, but for some odd, impossible reason, I suddenly felt like trying again.

“Only half full, please.” I nodded.