All three of us are laying on our backs.
Above us, the universe has opened up and while we watch, the stars make their journey home. Behind the horizon, where it looks like the world really does end. Not here on this place.
What Tami meant before is that somewhere ahead in the darkness is the quary that put this town on the map. Some common building material found in it's best form here. I believe it's limestone, but don't quote me on that.
Several years ago the quary was abandoned and all that's left is this crater tthat has slowly filled with water, memories, and maybe a few corpses.
Just last year some guy managed to kill himself in a freak bungee jump accident. I have the newspaper clipping on my wall.
Life ends several feet ahead, so Tami reasons, why not earth? It doesn't really matter though, either way the end result is the same; one last mystery.
It's depressing to realize that your teenage years can be surmised in a vague metaphore about a quary pit.
Really depressing.
So instead of pondering about how pathetically vague these years of my life are, I start to think about other things.
Symbolically, a streak of light scars the deep dark blue of the night sky. Tammi lets out a giggle.
I ask her wats so funny and i'm met with two words: catching sattelites.
She then explains that it's a horribly misplaced inside joke.

It's in moments like these. Dark, silent, almost romantic, that most people like to talk about their dreams and futures-we're no exception.
Tami and I always talk about our goal at these times. Granted, it's pretty much the same conversation everytime we get bored, angry, depressed-whatever. You can't hold it against us.
The conversation, which depends largely on how nostalgic we're feeling, can be summed up shortly. We hate this town, we've both lived here too long, and we feel strongly that it's time to leave. Millions of people are bound to have the same basic plan; ours just has a few more details.
More importantly, we have a way and a destination. All that we're waiting for is the right time.
The right time is when there's a tragedy or something going on in either of our lives for someone to not be surprised if one of us killed ourselves.
I apologize, this isn't making much sense; I'll give an example.
Lets pretend that Joe dumped Tami again, telling her she's worthless and such not. As the plan would call for, she would use this to her advantage. For a few days she would mope around hanging her her head and suchnot. Then, on the last day, she'd completely turn around and act cheery, maybe give away a few keepsakes.
All this in accordance to the warning signs of a potentially suicidal person, as released by some parent organization.
When she gets alone, she would leave a cryptic note about drowning herself in the nearby river. Once written, she would hide it somewhere obvious, like a schoolbook for example. Then she would leave home and start the long journey to Seattle. We picked Seattle for it's lovely weather.
At first authorities would think she ran away. Until the note surfaced, then they would hopefully draw the conclusion that she killed herself. The authorities would realize that with the time spent looking for her, her body could be miles down the river. Hopefully they wouldn't even try to find the corpse, mearly pronounce her dead. This would leave Tami on her own without people looking for her.
The next part of the plan would happen once she arrives in Seattle. From there Tami would call me with a calling card and tell me that she made it, and where she was. After this, it would be my turn to shine.
I'd purposely get in as much trouble as I could without going to jail. Get myself expelled, brought home by the police, the type of things all parents in this town seem to fear. And then I'd wait.
At the first mention of my problems by my parents I would throw out the meanest and most unreasonable argument I could find. I'd let the arguement go as long as I could before storming off somewhere. The next morning would find me missing, with a note saying I can't relate to anyone so I'm going to L.A. If all goes well the L.A. bit would throw them off long enough for me to hitchhike far enough north to Seattle. Of course, we have no clue if this would work, but everytime we get the chance to, we talk about it. Slowly working it out.
Tonight, on this ledge, we decide that the notes needs to be lengthy. The suicide note needs to be less complaining and more of a story of the events that led to this fictional demise.
Tami looks to me, "Yea, good idea."