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THREE
Why
won’t anyone stop the buzzing? It’s horrible, vibrating . . .
It’s
my damn phone.
I
roll over in bed and reach for the table.
SARAH.
Am
I ready for this? No. Probably never will be.
“Hey,”
I answer.
“You
sound terrible.” She laughs. “You know it’s like one in the afternoon, right?”
I love her voice, all childish sweetness, mixed with something older,
indefinable. “No.
I was sleeping, Sarah.”
“Your
family, I swear. My dad still has his 9 AM no-matter-what rule.” I can picture
her perfectly. Her small round face is pulled into the annoyed scowl that makes
me want to smooth out her forehead with my fingers. Her lower lip is probably
pushed out in a bit of a pout and her freckly cheeks will still hold the hint
of a smile.
“Yeah.”
I’m wide-awake now and wish I wasn’t. My chest is still hollowed out today, but
it’s raw, too. Talking to Sarah just scratches at the edges.
“Wow,
you’re talkative this morning.”
“That’s
what happens when you wake me up.” I know she wants me to ask about her night,
but I can’t do it.
“Aren’t
you gonna ask me about my night?” The edge of excitement is there. The edge
that makes me nauseous.
“Why
don’t you just tell me.” I let the words out in a sigh.
“Geez,
you’re a ray of sunshine today.” Now I bet her small lips are pulling down and
she’s trying to make her eyebrows look mean, when really it just makes her even
cuter.
I’m
being a jerk. No matter what happened, I can’t stop being her friend. “Sorry,
Sarah. Tell me everything.” I hope it doesn’t kill me.
“It’s
official.” She squeals and I pull the phone from my ear. It doesn’t help. Her
squeal strikes right into the jagged wound from yesterday. “We kissed and then
we stayed up all night talking. He drove me home and was so nice.” She breathes
out this totally girly, happy sigh.
I
press my fingers against my eyes, because, believe it or not, it actually does
hurt worse than last night.
“Well?”
She’s waiting for my response.
Right.
This is where I’m supposed to say something really sweet and supportive.
“That’s . . . great.”
“You’re
supposed to be more excited for me, Jamesy.” Her voice has a teasing edge, but
it also sounds hurt. She’s called me Jamesy since I can remember. I love and
hate this nickname she’s given me. Love it, because it’s so Sarah – a little juvenile and silly, and
probably now I hate it for the same reason.
“You’re
happy, I’m happy, Sarah.” Is that true? I guess parts of it are.
“Aw,
don’t worry, Jamesy, we’ll still hang out.”
She
thinks I’m worried because we won’t hang out anymore.
How
many times did I have the opportunity to tell her I liked her?
Too many to count.
How
often was it just her and I?
All the time.
I
mean, we have other friends, but we don’t spend time with them because we have
each other.
Had.
And
now I’m screwed because she’s with someone else and thinks I’m bummed because I
might lose my friend.
“Course
we will.” I try to laugh, but end up coughing.
“Okay.”
She giggles. “This is going nowhere. You obviously need more sleep.”
“Yeah.”
That’s just what I need. More sleep. More sleep will fix everything.
I
hang up the phone and hurl it across the room. It hits the wall with a
satisfying thump and falls to the floor. I lie on my back and pull my knees up,
resting my feet on the bed. I suck in a breath to hold in my tears. How much of
a girl am I? I rest the backs of my hands over my eyes.
“Jameson?”
Mom knocks softly on my door.
“Yeah.”
But my chest is so tight I’m not sure how it comes out.
She
sits on the side of the bed and puts a hand on my knee. I don’t know if her
sympathy makes it better or worse.
“Waffles?
Swim?”
“They’d
get soggy, Mom.”
She
laughs.
I
laugh a little, too. I swear when my body shakes to laugh it shakes out more
tears and hits those raw edges together again.
“Deep
breath.” Mom’s voice is a whisper.
“I
can’t. Not yet.” I flatten out my hands and wipe the tears away with my palms.
“Might
take a while.” Her hand squeezes my knee in a depressingly sympathetic gesture.
It’s
actually the most comforting thing I’ve heard yet. “Swim.”
“I’ll
see you in five.”
“Three.”
Mom
walks out and I let the hands fall off my face. Swim. I can do this. I roll out
of bed, throw on shorts, and step outside.
When
we moved into this house, Mom and Dad made sure that both our bedrooms opened
into the backyard. This means I have about twenty steps to our pool.
“I
win.” I hear Mom outside.
I
make a dash for the pool, but we hit at just about the same time. I can feel
the line of water slide across my skin as I jump in. It’s been years since
Mom’s been able to keep up with me. We swim together anyway. Back and forth we
go. No need to speak, no need for anything. Just the pull of my arms, the push
of my feet, and the coolness that flows over my body as I move. The hole’s
still here, digging at the insides of my chest. But the edges are getting
smoother. The water is wearing on them, just like it does with everything. Smooth
and wears.
After
a few laps, I realize I’m alone in the water. I check the edges of the pool and
see mom’s feet below the surface. I swim straight to her and stand up.
“I’m
starving.” She smiles.
“Me,
too.”
“Good.”
She stands up and heads for the house.
I
sit on the edge of the pool for a few more moments. My night with Sky flashes
to mind. Her raw honesty. Her dark hair. And yes, her small black panties. I
wonder when I’ll see her again. My stomach rumbles and I smile. Smile. As
impossible as that felt this morning, it feels good now. It’s not like Sarah
died.
No. Just like she’s dating someone who won’t
understand a tenth of her worth.
But it’s what she wants.
Maybe she doesn’t know what she wants.
And
how am I supposed to tell her?
Stop having imaginary conversations in your
head, Jameson. Sooner or later you’ll be having them out loud.
“Breakfast!” Mom calls out the back door.
I
almost laugh then because it’s probably somewhere between two and three in the
afternoon.
- - -
Spring
Break passes like this:
Wake
up around noon or one, or two . . . swim. Lay in the sun that’s almost hot
enough to really love lying in. Hang out downtown. Fend off attacks from Kim,
even though they make me feel good.
Visit
Mike, who takes care of the dolphins at the Mirage, but only after the exhibit
is closed. I like having them to myself.
Drive
by and look out at Sky’s house more than I should. Miss Sarah. Want Sarah to
call. Sarah calls. Wish Sarah hadn’t called.
My
eighteenth birthday consists of the swim team coming to my house and trashing
my backyard. I’m okay with this. Sarah couldn’t come. Sky isn’t here. Just
people who like to swim.
I
swim. And then swim more. And then swim more. It works my body and helps my
brain not wander to places I don’t want it to go – like to Sarah. I almost won
state last year in the men’s freestyle. I have to do it this year. It gives me
an excuse to spend hour after hour in the solitude of the pool.
I’m
getting sympathy stares from Mom, and Dad’s been working every shift he can get
his hands on. Maybe he wants to update his Porsche.
I’m
mad at myself for not taking Sky’s number, and wish I could erase Sarah.
