Face Me at the River Ocean

My best friend’s older brother hates me, but you cannot tell by looking at him. Even now, as we cruise through the hills beyond the city, he makes no effort to be outwardly mean.

           “When is Jazz supposed to be back?”

           He fiddles with the radio. “Last day in August, I think.”

           “UGH.” The guttural sound sinks me deep into the Jeep’s front passenger seat. “Three months without the love of my life.” I squeeze my eyes shut at the thought.

           “Doubt.” His pretence to mask the word as a cough is lacklustre.

           “And what is that supposed to mean?” My spine straightens out. An eyebrow is quirked.

           “Nothing, nothing at all. By the way, are we still on the right track to River Ocean? The one that you are planning to clean by yourself over three months’ time?”

           Mimicking sounds and gestures overwhelm my better nature.

           “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

           “Whatever.”

           This simple back-and-forth decorates the rest of our journey until we speed right into a wall of stench.

           My stomach convulses upon impact. Moor’s eyes are watering. We come to a halt a few paces before the bank’s edge.

           “Are you sure that you want to do this?” His question is distinct in spite of his mask.

           I snap on a pair of gloves. “No? But how else am I supposed to impress future college representatives?”

           On cue, he lugs my luggage across the short distance. My heart pinches itself at the sight before us. River Ocean has always been a popular rendezvous location used by many, but belonging to no one. That much was true as evidenced by the many calls and in-person visits that had been required for a simple permission slip. I dig my heel into the dried mud, grateful for the visible sun amongst all that blue.

           “We should start with the litter and debris. It will make for an easier workspace.”

           “Yeah. That’s all you. Mom and Dad asked me to bring you and to take you back.”

           I focus on rummaging through the duffel bag. “Yes, in exchange for not following your little sister to boot camp where you belong.”

           “Allegedly.”

           “Truthfully,” I snap back at him, but he is almost by the Jeep.

***

Was I really that grateful for a shining ball of heat perched in a cloudless sky? Was I really? I swat away a puddle from my forehead, reaching for the next piece of trash. My shirt clings to me for relief. I tug on it for some space. My gloves are no better for making my fingers tread their own private pools. Half of the land has been cleared of man-made combustibles, but this fails in comparison to the recently ever-present noise pollution.

“Are you kidding me?” My strained vocals are no match for the pop songs blaring out of Moor’s compact vehicle. I wave in his direction, but he does not look up. My best friend’s older brother hates me, but you cannot tell by looking at him.

“Stupid Mordecai!” My skewer stabs another few scraps before dislodging them into my third garbage bag. Every item is one of his limbs. Why hadn’t Jazz listened to me that weekend? Between Moor and her, she was usually the more level-headed one. That was not saying much, but still. I continue to purge the land’s surface of its unsightly inhabitants. They were practically twins for growing up so close in age. My eyes shift over the Jeep once more. This time, he is looking, but the energy of yester-minute has evaded me. My back meets his gaze; my makeshift voodoo game is going strong.

A tremble in my step heralds dehydration, but I ignore it. This is more important. The trash resembles polka dots. Briefly, I find myself playing a variant of ‘Whack-A-Mole’ with a lot of false heads. This is not so bad. My skewer hits dirt more times than not, but the last item on my treasure hunt finds itself sacked. Was breathing always this arduous? Saline coats my pores. I swat away another puddle. The irony here is that I am standing next to a flowing river. Multifaceted with foreign jewellery left by its travellers, but flowing all the same. My throat churns saliva.

Again, I face the Jeep. We had left the cooler in the back of it. I had left the cooler in the back of it. Instead, I fish out the net for underwater rescues, pulling the catch-all bucket closer to my side. Gurgling folds of murky water kiss my rubber boots. I steady myself for what it is worth. I feel like swimming. The net is doing all of the work anyway. All my spine has to do is not bend too forward. Pick and fling. Pick and fling. Another game to keep me interested. Another game to keep me looking up. I waddle downstream.

***  

“Idiot.”

A fitting narration, but I do not care. The nectar of Eden itself, spilling freely from its cylindrical confines, traces my insides. The sun is not as high. Bright blues hold the door open for other hues. My oesophagus dances to the rhythm of my satisfaction. Evening air washes over me.

“Are you okay now?”

The bottle of water leaves my lips reluctantly. We are on the river bank, cushioned by the earth and Moor’s favourite travelling blanket. I lick my lips.

“What happened?”

“You fainted. One minute, up and about, and the other…”

“Down and drowning?” A chuckle betrays me.

“It’s not funny.”

My fingers prance along the patterns of our seating arrangement with my gaze in tow.

“Are you alright, Wynn?” The pads of his fingers scrape my forearm.

“No, but this is all me, right?” I extend upwards, foregoing any further chances for physical contact.

“Wynn, please!”

The rubber boots clad my pale feet once more as I steady myself to work again. Glittering riplets wink at me.

“What did you do?”

“I helped.”

A quick survey of our surroundings reveals that the catch-all bucket is indeed full.

“You’re welcome?”

Every breath is an inferno. “I didn’t ask you to.”

His jaw falls forward in contrast to his backward steps. “Are you serious right now?”

I shrug.  

Suddenly, he is beside me. “Say ‘Thank you’.”

“No!”

The water choruses our agitation.

“Say it!”

“No!”

The river tails our conversation.

“If I ever had to ask for your help, it wouldn’t be for this.”

“Oh, a special request?”

I blink tears. “I could have had her for three months! Why did she have to go, and not you?” My fingers jab each word into existence.

“This again?”

“You never answered the first time I asked all those weeks ago.”

“Because our parents were right there!”

The earth tilts.

“What?”

Defeat plagues his features. His shoulders hunch over his retreat from the stream.

The inferno has enveloped my face, my chest. I knock him over before I can register that my legs have moved. “What do your parents have to do with anything?”

He looks away.

Night continues its incremental descent.

Liquid fire scorches my tear ducts.

“Answer me!”

He pushes me off. “Nothing, alright?”

“Then, why couldn’t you answer me then?” Snot trickles along my crumpled features. My hand is a napkin.

He stands with a measured distance between us. “Wynn, just forget it, okay? Jazz will be back before you know it, and you can go back to doing ‘wifey’ things or whatever.”

Even his hands shrug these sentiments onto me. My best friend’s older brother hates me, but you cannot tell by looking at him.

Or so, I thought.

I swallow my ragged breath for courage. “What did she say to you?”

His green irises lock onto my blue. Hesitation makes him its certainty.

“If it’s not about Mr. and Mrs. Lewis, then she definitely had something up her sleeve. What was it?”

Rolling eyes. Twisting frame. Defeatist sighs.

“Moor, talk to me.”

He eyes the sky. “We should get packing. Mom and Dad still owe me for bringing you out here.”

“Yeah.” I slip my duffel bag up on my shoulder. “That’s all you.”

Thonk!

My scalp tingles with the impact of whatever that was, but I keep moving.

“She loves you.”

The duffel bag drops. “Wait, what?”

“She loves you.”

“As a friend.”

“As someone willing to give their older brother time enough to give his blessing.”

My arms fold against themselves. “You’ve known me since forever.”

He approaches. “True, and that’s probably just as long as Jazz’s had feelings.”

A step back. “No. I would have known.”

Squinted eyes mock my disbelief even as he commences clearing the workspace. “Doubt.”