Waves

I have a phobia of drowning, and when that first wave crashed down on me, I panicked. It took me under the water and spun me around like I was a leaf floating in the air. I tried holding my breath, focusing on which way was up. When I touched bottom, I kicked off, but only to be twisted around again. Another wave had pierced the surface and started stirring up its contents, including me. My lungs burned and felt tight.

I knew I was running out of time. Realizing there was about a ten-second gap between the waves, I let myself sink to the sandy bottom and watched the water above me. After the wave hit, I launched myself upward.

This time I broke the surface. Gasping for oxygen, I flailed my arms around and hoped Nicole would notice me. Has she even realized I went under? I thought. I knew the next wave was coming fast so I began swimming toward the shore. I cursed myself for swimming out this far. I never swam out this far. I heard the wave splash behind me and thought I’d take a break and let it push me. But the current was weird today. Instead of doing what I wanted it to do, the wave jolted me forward and then sucked me backwards, away from the beach.

“NICOLE!” I screamed through the salty spray. My eyes stung and blurred, making it impossible to see clearly. The blue sky and even bluer water blended together.

I considered giving up, but instead I kicked my way towards the surface for the second time. I wasn’t in the same spot I was before. In fact, I was farther out, which is bad because I couldn’t use the seafloor like I wanted to… needed to. The waves were stronger out here, which just irritated me.

Did Nicole hear me when I yelled?She should hurry up. I mean, it’s not like I have all of my life to wait on her. I felt like sighing but I knew it’d kill me. I let myself go limp. By thrashing around like that, I was wearing myself out and blowing out too many bubbles in the process. My oxygen wasn’t going to replenish itself. As I floated to the top, relief washed over me when I heard the whirring sound of a motor.

“What are you doing way out here?” Nicole asked as I hauled myself onto the back of her jet-ski.

“Oh, you know, drowning.” I sneezed. My hair was sticking to my face and I had a fleeting thought that going bald might not be such a bad idea.

“If I hadn’t heard you yell, you’d be dead right now,” she yelled over the motor as we headed toward the shore. I didn’t realize I was that far out, almost half a mile.

“Good thing I yelled then, huh?” I said.

She shook her head and snorted. “You’re such an optimist.” I couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or complimenting me. I let it go.

When we landed on the beach, Nicole jumped off the jet-ski and ripped the key out of the ignition. She ran up the dune that’s been collecting sand in front of our back porch for years and returned with a towel. I was sitting on the ground, shivering, digging my toes in the sand.

“Here,” she practically threw it at me and it fell in my lap. I looked up at her, hoping she’d sit down next to me but she didn’t.

“What’s the matter?” I asked, wrapping the towel around me.

“My sister almost drowned and she’s acting like nothing happened,” she placed a hand on her hip and smirked at me. I didn’t know what she expected. Was I supposed to cry? Bury my face into her shoulder while I did it, too? I didn’t feel like crying, I just felt exhausted. I felt like taking a nap.

“I’m sorry,” I started.

“For what?”

“For swimming way out there and scaring you.”

Nicole plopped down beside me, scattering sand in front of us. She leaned into me, facing the ocean. “You really did scare me. I didn’t think I could drag the ski out to the shoreline fast enough, Chelsea.”

Her words hung in the air and dangled over me like the undeniable truth it was. I almost died. What if it had happened? What if Nicole couldn’t drag it out there in time? I sighed out loud and thanked God internally that I could do so without inhaling saltwater.

“I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” the words came out in one breath.

Now, she turned to me. “What were you doing out there, anyway?”

As I began telling my sister about what I had seen, she shifted her whole body around so she was completely facing me. The sun was setting and the mosquitoes were buzzing in our ears, but nonetheless, we were content with sitting right there, like it was the last time we would ever spend together. And it was.

————————————————————————————————————

The bell rang for third period. I was late. I picked my head up off of the desk, wiping the drool from my lip, and looked around. The next class was already in the room and no one was paying attention to me. I casually grabbed my binder from under the chair and stood.

“Miss Kimms,” a deep voice called for me before I made it to the door. I turned to face Mr. Pete. His beard was grayer than usual and he had bags under his eyes. He was stressed. I would be too if every student I had couldn’t care less about economics.

“Mr. Pete?” I tried smiling at him, but that procured a yawn.

“Do you have any idea what we went over today?” he asked me with a grin.

Honestly, no, I didn’t. Now the class was quiet and everyone was watching this scene that was unfolding at the front of the room. I could feel my face getting warm.

“No, sir,” I said, looking at the wall behind him. “I’m actually late for third period, I should be heading that way.” I started to turn away but he stopped me.

“Let me write you a pass,” he headed towards his desk, reaching for the pen that was tucked behind his ear. He finished scribbling and handed me the small, green paper.

That went better than I thought it would. Now I was going to have to face Mr. Lung, who didn't really find me favorable. I was walking down the science hall when a door on my left swung open and a guy walked out. He was wearing gray jeans with a dark blue t-shirt... a little baggy around the stomach but tight on his arms. His biceps were really defined... ahem. He had on a pair of black sneakers and his hair was a light brown color with a messy look to it. I’ve never seen him before, but of course I don’t know everyone at this school. I meet new people each year, yet, he doesn’t look like he’s from here. Floridians just don’t look like him.

The teacher followed him out and told him to go down stairs. I assumed the dean’s office. By the look on new guy’s face, he’s pissed, and the teacher is just as upset.

I cut to the right into the girl’s bathroom and stopped. I listen for a minute then hear the door click shut. I step out and head down the hall, away from my classroom. I’m a very nosy person and new guy seemed interesting. I was also bored and didn't care that Mr. Lung would mark me absent on the roll sheet. I’ll just come in as tardy. I was late anyway.

When I came to the top of the stairs, I caught sight of the tail of new guy’s shirt going around the corner of the math hall downstairs. That’s the opposite way of the dean’s fffice. Where’s he going, then? I quietly placed a foot on each step.

With my shoes planted at the bottom of the stairs, I stop and peer around the corner. I want to make sure he doesn’t see me. I thought I was a ninja. I am definitely not a ninja. When my binder hit the floor and fell open, my papers scattered. I cringed away from it and threw myself backwards. When I did that, I fell on my ass. I just sat there, gritting my teeth, praying new guy didn’t hear all of this.

“Smooth,” he came around the corner and looked down at my binder with its contents strewn across the floor. His voice was raspy, the good kind of raspy. I looked down and shook my head. When I looked back up at him, he was already looking at me.

“Why are you following me?” He leaned against the corner of the wall, staring at me. I can’t read his expression. “Ever heard of the saying, ‘curiosity killed the cat’?” he asked.

“If I remember right, my great-grandpa told me that once,” I smiled when he laughed at my sarcasm. We sat there for a minute, a very long, awkward minute. I’m looking everywhere but at him. I know he’s looking at me, though. I know I’m blushing, too. I decided to move.

I reached down for my binder and he squatted, too. “Why’d you come storming out of the classroom?” I glanced over at him.

He didn't answer me at first, instead he pretended to focus on lining up the notebook paper, making it all neat.

“Hey,” I reached for the stack of papers and he stopped. He looked at me, and for the first time, I noticed his eyes.

They’re a deep orange color, with brown speckles surrounding his pupil. I couldn't help but stare at them. I realized how rude I was being and looked down at the papers again, completely forgetting I was expecting an answer out of him.

New guy cleared his throat: “I was being told by Mr. I-Know-Everything to go to the dean’s office for playing my iPod during class, which I wasn’t doing in the first place. So I argued with him, and being the new kid, I didn’t make my first impression with him a good one.” He looked at me the whole time he was talking and the constant eye contact reddened my cheeks.

“So, you are a new kid. Where’d you come from?” I asked shyly.

“Minnesota.”

“Why here? Why this little town?”

“I came with my uncle. It was up to him. We didn’t really plan on moving, things just happened back at home and we came down here.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Just, things.” He held my gaze for a second but I looked at my hands, resting on top of the papers. I realized I might’ve been intruding a little too much in his personal life, so I dropped the subject. I mean, I don’t know this guy. I don’t even know his name. Which reminded me.

“I’m Chelsea,” I stood up and extended my hand. He stood, too, staring at it. “On planet Earth, we shake hands when we meet new people,” I said, and smiled.

He took my hand softly, like he was afraid he’d break it, and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Earthling,” he paused, “I’m Turner.”

––––––––———————————————————————————————

I walked through the front door of my house and stopped. The first thing I saw was the broken lamp lying next to the wall in the kitchen. The second thing I saw was my step-dad lounging in the recliner, beer in his hand. There were more than a few empty ones scattered on the floor around him. The television was off, curtains drawn. My stomach dropped.

“Where’s my mom?” I demanded, slinging my backpack onto the couch. Gary grumbled something under his breath.

I went upstairs to look for her. All the lights in the house were off, even the hallway, which we always kept on. Mom’s bedroom door was cracked open but I knocked lightly, announcing my presence.

“Chelsea?” Her voice made me shiver. She sounded exhausted and hurt. It was so dark in there. My eyes adjusted and I saw her sitting on the bed, legs dangling over the edge, hands in her lap. Her blonde hair was a complete mess and her eyes were red and puffy from crying, making their blue shade stand out above everything. She was wearing a wrinkled t-shirt that was stretched at the neck, like it had been pulled. Hard.

I realized I hadn’t moved. Or breathed.

“Yeah, Mom. I’m here,” I whispered. I could hear her sigh and it broke my heart. I felt guilty that I wasn’t here for her when she needed me. A part of me was yelling at myself and the other part was telling me I couldn’t help it because I was at school. How did I know this was going to happen? I walked over and sat by her. She placed a hand on mine and squeezed. She began to cry.

“I don’t know… what to do….” she gasped between sobs. I wrapped her in my arms and held her tight. In my head, I laughed at God’s irony. You would think she’d be the one consoling me but it was as if I was the mother in our relationship. I didn’t mind, though.

I made a declaration. “This is the last time Gary is…” but she stirred and raised her head at that.

“This wasn’t him. Not this time,” she shook her head. I was slightly confused.

“But, the lamp. He was drunk… I don’t under—”

“No, the lamp was me,” she sat up straight, “I threw the lamp.”

“At Gary?”

“At Nicole.”

I dropped my mother’s hand and scooted away from her like I needed a better look in order to hear her correctly.

She threw the lamp at Nicole.

Nicole, who smiled at everyone even when she was sad.

Nicole, the one who made good grades and never did anything bad.

Nicole, my older sister, who left home last year and never returned.