I helped Jacob pack his stuff a few days later. We hadn’t said much to each other in a few days. There wasn’t anything to say. We stayed wrapped up in our sheets until the day before he had to leave. Now, the night before, we were silently folding his underwear and white undershirts. I was trying my hardest not to cry. As he put the last pile of clothes into his duffle bag, he sighed.
“I won’t be able to call or write you as much as I’d like.” He told me.
I nodded. “I know.”
“And you won’t be able to write me.” He added.
“I know that, too,” I said, my voice cracking.
“It’ll eat me alive not being able to talk to you,” Jacob said, sounding like he was holding back tears.
“Me too.” I agreed.
Then, Jacob wrapped his arms around me. We both began to cry i
