Last Boat Ride

The boat drifted on glassy waters, swaying peacefully in the moon-lit darkness. It was hard not to get drunk on the wine-infused waters, a wondrous haze settling over both Skye and Raymond as they drifted closer and closer to the island. Perhaps it was the way the night sky shined so brightly, or how the air smelled both sticky and sweet, that cast an ethereal feeling on tonight.

Skye traced the water with her fingers as Raymond watched, entranced with the motion of her fingers. They had not said a word to each other since afternoon, and it was the familiar feel of boat-bottom grazing against sand and water snapped them out of their reverie. As if on cue, Skye and Raymond began the well-choreographed dance to pull the boat to shore. Skye hopped out, landing knee-deep in the cool water, catching the rope that Raymond tossed to her. She began to pull - left, pull, right, pull, left, pull, right...Raymond came in behind her, wrapping his hands over the rope and pulled with her. It was the familiar feel of his hands brushing against her skin, and the way she could feel the warmth of his smile (without even knowing whether or not he was smiling) that made her want to freeze this exact moment (the smell, the feel, the taste, the time), store the memory inside a snow globe, so that all she would have to do to relive this moment was pick the snow globe up and give it shake, watch as glitter and magic unfolded before her very eyes, over and over again.

Fragile moon light revealed a glimpse of the faint etching on the side of the boat: "S+R", wrapped neatly inside a square-shaped heart.

"That's so cheesy," he had said the first time he saw the etching seven years ago. Raymond had found Skye sitting criss-cross on the beach, sweat trickling down her face, red and blotchy. She was holding a pocket knife to the side of the boat, right in the middle of carving out the R.

Skye had skipped AP Biology earlier that day, sprinted 2 miles through dense trees and bushes to the same spot they met every Tuesday. She wanted to make sure she had enough time to carve out the letters before Raymond showed up. The first of many surprises to come.

"I thought so too," she said sheepishly. Skye was the kind of girl who preferred superhero movies to rom-coms; science fiction to sappy teenage novels; black leather pants to the floral skirts that patterned the hallways of the sun-kissed Plumdora High School they both went to. "But it was one of those things that felt right, you know? It was like a spirit took over my body, and I had to do it."

The following Tuesday, she found Raymond at the same spot, kneeling by the sand in deep concentration, a small pocket knife in his hand. "I thought I'd make it a litter deeper, in case it fades away. Do you think the heart is an overkill?"

They called this boat their adventure boat. They had found it beached along a part of the shore nobody ever visited (and they too would not have chanced upon it if Skye had not been struck by a brilliant stroke of adventure, as we are sometimes are when we are with the person we love). That day, Skye and Raymond had been leaving six period towards the direction of home, when Skye pivoted on her heels and turned to face the opposite direction of their original direction. "Ever wonder what would happen if we just kept walking straight?"

And so they did. Through the football field, past rows of houses with neatly trimmed lawns, and into the forest that adults warned teenagers to stay away from. They trudged through mossy underbrush, sunlight streaming through, teasing each other, making a fake trail with crumbs from leftover Oreos (in case they got lost, like the kids in Hansel and Gretel). After a couple of hours, they first heard the sound of ocean waves, before they saw the sunlight streaming through the trees, and a small strait of sand barely just enough for the two of them to stand on revealed itself. As far as their eyes could see, they were surrounded by the cries of seagulls, could taste the salt in the air. Except, it was not the small private beach that intrigued them (although their grins could convince you otherwise), but the small wooden boat that was beached on the shore, covered in moss and tree branches.

They argued for a bit. Raymond, who was ever the rule-follower, said reasonably, "Somebody might still be looking for it. I wouldn't want to be the one to steal it."

To which Skye had replied, just as reasonably, "It wouldn't really be stealing if we returned it," and gave him her puppy dog eyes. "C'mon Ray, let's take it out for a spin. Please?"

In the end they had reached a compromise. If they returned to the same straight of sand the following Tuesday, and the boat was still there, it was a sign that the boat was meant to be theirs.

Tuesday came around, and an over-zealous Skye and still-pensive Raymond hastily made their way back to the boat. The boat was still there.

For the next three years, they would go on mini-adventures every weekend in that boat - watch for sea turtles, look at glowing fish in the stillness of the night, fall in love, point out their favorite constellations, and laugh (not exactly in that order, of course).

And that was just one of the examples of why the pair worked so well together. Skye made Raymond bolder, and Raymond brought a clarity into Skye's life she had never known growing up, with a dad who was never home, and a mom who wanted to be anywhere but home.

Then, three years flew by. They graduated from high school and found themselves in opposite sides of the country. Their boat sat under the shade of the same tree, forgotten.

"And how do I know that you're not flirting with Sarah, and every other girl that's posting pictures with you?" she had asked during a particularly bad fight over FaceTime, during their first year away.

"You really think I'm that shallow, Skye? We've known each other for years! It's hurtful that you would even suggest that."

"Why do you always make me feel like my opinions aren't important, that what I have to say doesn't matter!"

She hung up, in tears. And her roommate, Jane, who had been listening from her bed in terrified silence (but pretending to read the chemistry notes) ran over to Skye's bed.

"There, there. Just another stupid boy, thinking they can treat us like that." She held Skye awkwardly, wiping away her tears.

Jane felt sympathetic. Yet, she also couldn't help but feel a twinge fo pride, for Skye and Raymond had proved her right. That is, keeping your high school sweetheart wasn't really worth the amount of trouble it was, and that she herself had made the right choice in breaking up with her boyfriend the summer they left for college.

A few hours later, at 2 AM, Raymond called. And he apologized. And she apologized. And they both sat in the hallway of their dorm, 500 miles apart, laughing at old memories and the new memories each had made without each other. They were physically distant. But it felt as if they had never left the boat. It was the same feeling of being under endless skies that melted into the deep blue ocean, next to the person you love.

It was like ironing out wrinkles in the fabric of their relationship, they told each other. Like all the arguments they had ever had (and the fights there were yet to come), they felt more connected.

This very night was Raymond and Skye's last childhood adventure together before they both began new chapters in their lives as adults. It was as if they were giving a proper send-off. They no longer needed the boat to prove they were in love.

"This is brain food," he had said earlier that day, as they lazed around inside the boat, feet dangling, submerged in water. "You'll be so smart, even Musk will have to bow down before you."

She rolled her eyes, but still propped her elbows against the wood floors, as he threw a mini M&M at her, and she caught it in her mouth.

"Damn, Skye. Still got it," he gave her a wink.

"How about one M&M for every mile we're going to be apart?"

He smiled, "I like the way you think," and threw ten. Somehow, she caught them all.

They couldn't help but break out into laughter, the silliness of it all. Somehow, they had done the impossible. Managed to survive a long-distance relationship, and come out stronger than before. And now they would be in the same city, only ten miles apart from each other. The city of angels and stars. Tomorrow, they would board the same plane, end up in different apartments, but close enough that they could still explore LACMA, and hike the Hollywood sign, and eat ice cream at Salt and Straw, and a hundred and million other little things...

Raymond now pulled a blanket from the boat, and Skye and Raymond sat down on the cool sand, resting their bodies against the smooth skin of the palm tree.

Her head rested against his, the space between his shoulders familiar and sweet.

She glanced up at the stars above. It was like an artist had sprinkled a million fireflies in thick blue paint. Or how the water sparkled under the sun, surrounding them in crystals and diamonds of a personal kingdom they ruled over. Or of the lights of the city of their hometown. They had hiked to the top of the hills in what seemed like an infinity ago, when they were still friends, and they both had wanted to kiss each other, but were both too afraid, the world a hazy blur beneath them.

The stars brought up memories in both their hearts. Beautiful memories that weren't the same, because they tended (and wanted) to see the world differently. But those stars reminded her of him, and him of her. And suddenly, the stars weren't just stars, but of individual adventures, kisses, fights, all the good and bad that made the stars shine so beautifully that night...