home
all writing
about me
contact
guestbook
links
NOTE: A continuation of the snippet of flashback from the previous chapter. Told from Jonny's POV.
The sky is a gray dome stretched tight across the horizons, and the wind is tinged with bitter cold. It's nearly November, but we hadn't had a cold day until today. The seaside streets are empty; the air is thick with the smell of salt and sand.
Chris was like a vision, running barefoot down the deserted streets, his curls bouncing around his head and his laughter trailing behind him. I'm running after him, though it seems as if the harder I run the farther away I get. The story of my life. I'm laughing too, but only because he is.
If only I could get close to him, all of this running might have a purpose. My hard work would have a reward. But he keeps getting farther and farther away.
We skid to a stop in the sand of the long scar of beach, our chests heaving and our pulses beating in our ears. Chris does a cartwheel but tumbles to the ground before he's made a full circle, laughing breathlessly. "Jonny..." he gasps. "My ribs hurt!"
I fall to my knees next to him, but he's up again in a flash, kicking up sand and wriggling out of his clothes. His shirt catches the wind and flies a few feet, then flutters to the ground near me. I cup a handful of sand and let it run through my fingers, watching Chris's half-naked form race down the sand and splash into the water. He's an unstoppable bundle of energy: always moving, always speaking, and always thinking. His eyes dance with laughter every time I look into them, bright and alert and a thousand different tumultuous colors.
Chris shouts my name, and it carries on the damp wind back to me. I brush sand from my palms and stand, smiling despite the fact that Chris is too far away to see me.
He cries my name again, splashing eddies up around himself with gleeful laughter. "The water's great!" The clouds peel back and the sun shines white for a moment and glitters on the water. Chris looks like an angel, shrouded in white purity.
I kick off my shoes and stuff my socks into them, shedding my sweatshirt and jogging down the fine sand until I reach the edge of the water. It surges forward with an airy sound, bubbling up over my toes in a cold rush, then retreats back. I glance up at Chris. The water is a thick green blue, dark in some spots like the world stretches on forever underneath the murk. He had waded out farther, and the water is licking at the tanned curves of his hips. I watch him, breathing in deep through my mouth.
"Come on already," he calls tauntingly. "You gonna stand there all day like a bloody idiot or what?"
And then I dive in, the water enveloping me, chilling my whole body. I kick for the surface and take a deep breath.
"It's freezing!" I shriek indignantly. Chris laughs and glides through the choppy water towards me. Water runs in droplets down his face, drip off the tip of his nose, trickle through the creases of his lips, and plaster the mop of curls to his head. I splash water at him, shivering. He rises like a vision from the water, the freckles on his chest and shoulders standing out against his skin paled by the cold.
He points to a blurry spot on the far end of the horizon. "Look," he breathes. I squint.
"What's that?"
"Lighthouse."
"What's so great about a lighthouse?"
Chris looks at me, his lips molded into a childish frown. "I dunno."
I roll my eyes and splash him again. He laughs and staggers backwards.
"Oh, Chris, come here," I say. He comes closer and I hold my arms open. He leans into me and I wrap them around his waist and lift him like a baby nearly out of the water. He yelps in surprise and then laughs. His body is hot and wet. He throws back his head and goes limp in my arms. He is as light as a child.
I laugh and drop him back into the water. He comes up spluttering, yelling curses. I duck out of the way in case he tries to smack me, but instead he turns in one fluid motion and kicks through the water back to shore. I follow him at a much slower pace, my eyes on him as he rises out of the water, shakes off like a dog, and tumbles onto the sand. His chest rises and falls with chilled breaths, his arms splayed out on either side of his body.
The air is a shock as I collapse onto the sand next to Chris, our bodies pressed as close as we dare. It's silent for a few moments as we catch our breath, and Chris draws shapes in the sand. It's so soft I barely notice it, but he's humming "Hallelujah." Like a tribute to the beauty of the moment.
I smile into the air. Chris rolls over onto his back in the soft sand.
"Don't you wish this could last forever?" he asks me quietly. It wasn't a surprising thing for speak in profound snatches, but it was unusual for me to have an answer.
"Of course I do," I whisper. "All the time."
He smiles and trails sand through his fingers. It drops in a waterfall of grains onto the back of my hand. I watch them fall. I am at peace. And yet as I stare into the tumultuous depths of his eyes, framed by thick lashes, my mind is racing.
~
Back in present time, sitting beside Chris's bed as he slept, I wondered how long I had lied to myself. I wondered how long I had denied myself.
In the light of the setting sun on the clear April day, I told Chris I loved him.