Spring Tide (21 page)

Sunshine filled the room. I sat straight up and remembered.
It was only a dream.
Except I was wearing shorts, my bed was sandy, and my footprints were embedded from the patio to the ocean. Sipping coffee, I retraced the path I’d taken in the middle of the night. There were piles of seaweed, washed up fish, and a few dead birds scattered up and down the beach. Where the tide met the shore my footsteps had been erased, but the memory hadn’t. The sun was up, the ocean breathed, and birds soared above despite the storm.

I still didn’t know what to do.

I didn’t get home from work until after ten, overjoyed that my chores for the day had been more interesting than quartering lemons. Toward the end of my shift, I’d nicked the side of my hand with the filet knife. It was more like an inch-long gash that bled like a hydrant, but nothing a few Band-Aids couldn’t handle and then a few more.

Downloading newly released music to my digital tunes, I pulled on my ear. I couldn’t believe I’d overlooked the obvious solution to my problem. I wasn’t sure I wanted to test the theory, but had to end the conflict brewing inside of me. At midnight, I locked the house and walked down the beach. Stalking the deck, I went to the exterior door that led to his room. As I approached, I pulled out the loudest, fastest heavy metal song I could think of and let it scream in my mind. It wasn’t four seconds and the door flew open. He stared at me with wild eyes. I stopped the music. He took his hands from his ears, fell back onto the bed, one arm extending to switch on the lamp before he sat up and rubbed his face.

Standing at the threshold, I held his gaze. “I love you.”
God help me.

His back bowed and he dropped his elbows onto his knees. “I loved you the first time I saw you.”

Hearing the words, our connection blossomed and I held onto the beautiful stirrings it gave me. “For the last six weeks, I’ve revisited every waking hour we’ve spent together and can’t find anything that suggests you want to possess my soul and—”

He stood.

“Don’t.” I sliced the twine of our link, refusing him. “It’s been so hard separating the you that I love from the you that I don’t understand, the you that whispered to me, the you that scares me. And the only explanation I can figure for you hearing the music is that it’s a defense against you. That if you are doing something to me, making me love you the way I do, making me suffer when we’re apart, the music is how I can protect myself.”

He sat and looked to corner of the room. “It’s not a weapon because I would never hurt you and your soul means more to me than my life.”

“You’re not listening. My problem is that there are two of you.”

“I
am
listening. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said about how I make you feel spellbound. You make me feel the same way. Your voice, your touch, almost everything about you makes me want to do anything you ask. Your hold on me is as strong—”

“But my eyes don’t light up. When I kiss you, your mind doesn’t fill with water.” I touched his arm, the static shock crackling. “And there’s this, the difference in our electrical makeup. We’re not compatible.”

“But we are.” He put two fingers to his temple. “I’m … you and I … this is hard.” He dropped his hand to his lap. “Yes, we’re different but it’s temporary. The effect I have on you physically is temporary. What’s happening between us is like … the chemicals or scents that animals use to attract a mate. What’re they called?”

“Pheromones.”

“My effect on you is like very powerful pheromones. A time’ll come when everything between us will be in balance. We’re not incompatible. If we were there’d be no connection, no spark when we touch. It’s just a matter of time.”

I shook my head. “You’re not telling me anything, just talking around the subject. I’m still over here, sitting in the dark with a wet matchbook, trying to strike a flame that’s not gonna happen.”

“Take the music thing. It’s part of our connection. You transmit to me. It’s not me picking up your brainwaves, or
believe me
, I would turn it off. I have no control. Do you have any idea how unhinged I felt when it started? I didn’t know where the sound was coming from. And then I realized pretty quickly that it was you. It’s the same thing as how you’re affected by what you call ‘my calm.’ I practice building that calm for myself but you react to it.”

“All the more reason we shouldn’t be together, connection or not.”

“I don’t see it that way at all.”

“Why did you,” I put my fingers up like quotation marks, “whisper to me?”

He ran his hand over his mouth. “Because part of our connection is the dream. You know the one I’m talking about. I didn’t want you to be affected by it. I want you to sleep as you should until we’re in balance. Okay?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. When I told you to go, you said it was for the best. Why?”

“Because of what our differences are doing to you. I don’t want you to be afraid. Look, I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t kiss you. I won’t touch you, won’t sleep with you or whisper to you ever again. I just want to be with you. You make the rules and I’ll keep them. Kris, there are so many things I want to tell you but I don’t have the words. If I tried to explain myself, you wouldn’t believe me anymore than Sarah would believe you if you told her my eyes glow.” He put his hands on his chest. “It’s not for me to tell.”

“It’s for me to tell?”

His eyes flicked to mine, relaying that the question was significant. But like the moonlit night after the storm, I was sleepwalking through my part in the scene.
For me to tell?
That if I trusted him, restored our connection, the differences between us would be resolved? He would normalize? How?
Could someone please hit me on the head with a two-by-four?

“Have you always been as you are? Were you born that way?” I asked.

“No.”

“Why do you need me? Why does my soul mean so much to you?”

He stared at me for a moment. “Because you’re my happiness.”

“J, how do I know you really love me?”

“I don’t know. All I can do is tell you that I love you and show you that I love you, and I thought I did that when we were together.”

“If you want me to trust you, then you’re gonna have to talk to me, give me something more, anything to explain yourself. I’m not asking for in-depth discussion and I won’t badger you with questions, but you have to meet me halfway.”

“I’ve been trying.”

“Try harder. And J, if I get the slightest hint that you’re lying, the music will be your worst nightmare. I hate threatening you but that’s how serious I am.”

His shoulders fell. “You really think that of me?”

“No, but the thought’s there and it scares the hell out of me.”

“The thought’s there … I see.” His gaze dropped to the floor and then rose to my face. “Why do you love me?”

My brain went flatline.

“Why do you love me?” He asked again. “I can’t go forward without knowing.”

“When I see you, my breath still—”

“I don’t wanna know about anything physical. Why do you love me? It’s not a hard question.”

It’s not an easy question.

“I love you,” he said, “because you don’t care about appearances or status or fairness—you move through life without that stress. I love you because you look for the best in people. I love you because of your groove.”

“Ah God—”

“Let me finish. I’ve felt better now than I have for a real long time and a lot of that is seeing you groove. It shows how much you enjoy life and are part of it. That’s why I love you. Your soul has such purity, such beauty I could never love anyone else. But why do you love me?”

“You let me be who I am. I love my friends, but take Sarah for example. She thinks I can’t comprehend romantic feelings ’cause I never cared that much about having a guy. I’d love to see her try to figure you out. And then there’s Derek. I was accepted to Stanford. Did you know that? I didn’t feel it was the right place for me. Derek did. He almost talked me into a second visit. See, Derek wants me to have the best but confuses that with understanding what’s best for me. You let me be who I am.” I tipped my head. “And this is dumb, but you let me read in peace.”

I revived our connection, and as I did, my mind silenced the voice that repeated he would wrong me. Maybe I was making an enormous mistake by being here with him, but looking into his eyes, I didn’t believe that was true. All I could see was him waiting for me, watching me as he always had, with hope or love or concern. I nodded to him and he stood.

He gently swept my hair from my face. “When you lose faith in us, you make me bleed. You can’t put me through that ever again.”

I put my arms around his waist, the static shock the most pleasant sensation. “It wasn’t to hurt you.”

“I know.” He inclined his face to mine, but then pulled away.

“I want you to.”

His mouth skimmed over my ear and cheekbone before tentatively kissing me twice. His lips parted and it all came rushing back: the depth of his touch, the feeling of the rise and fall of the ocean on my skin, the slowing of my breathing and heart. My hands ran through his hair and down his back. He kissed me deeply, said my name, the smell and the taste of him capsizing reality and taking me out to sea. I didn’t care.

But before the descent became too great, I pressed my hand against his chest. “I’m going home. It’s late and I don’t wanna come out of your room tomorrow and see Julia and Donovan. She’ll be giggly, Donovan’ll be Donovan, and I’m not up for it.”

“Please stay.”

“Come back with me.” The compression waves blurred as I said the words, the tone of my voice appearing strained, desperate.

“Kris? I don’t have to. It’s okay.”

I shook it off. “No, it’s fine. I just had some really heavy déjà vu.”

We walked back to the cottage and into my room, hand in hand.

“You’re okay?” He got under the sheets next to me.

“I’m having a hard time believing I have any power over you.”

“You do. Your mind is so busy that maybe it seems like I mess you up more because I’m a distraction to your thought processes, but you do.”

I turned onto my side and he ran his fingers through my hair and down my back. This topped the list of things I’d missed about him. That and the comb-outs.

“What changed your mind?” he said.

“I wanted to be with you but didn’t know what that meant. And there were a couple other things.”
A path in the water. That song, your song.

“Are you still afraid of me?”

“Fear is the heart of love.”

“It is.” He kissed my shoulder. “Say it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I don’t want the dream.”

“Sleep well.” He held me close like he would never let go.

It took a minute before I could get my eyes to see right. I snuggled back into the cocoon he’d made around me, trying to keep my mind quiet. But music was already there and he was awake.
Oh well.

I got up, twisting my waist left and right, hearing my back crack from sleeping too long and too hard.

He wiped the sleep from his eyes. “I’m not sure, but I think you have songs in your head when you dream.”

“I do. It might save us a lot of hassle if we didn’t slumber party.” I took my cutoffs that were folded at the foot of the bed and put them on.

“I’m getting used to it.”

He went into the bathroom and came out to see me picking at the Band-Aids on my hand. The cut had healed overnight.
I am indestructible.

“Get that on the job?” He pulled his shirt over his head and followed me into the kitchen. “How’s that goin’ anyway?”

“It’s goin’. The knives are wicked sweet.”

He stood behind me, his arms around my middle, his chin on my shoulder, immersing me in his calm. As the coffeemaker finished its cycle, I came out of the daze and noticed he was in a slow groove with me.

I gave him a mug. “You know I can’t control the music thing. It just happens.”

“You’ve got some weird stuff goin’ on in there sometimes.”

“Call it an eclectic mix. Your quiver has different boards for different conditions. My brain has different playlists for different activities that get shuffled and revamped. And I’m really into imports right now. Don’t be alarmed; it’ll pass. How long have you been tuned in?”

“Since the morning after we slept on the beach. It took a good month for my head to adjust to your intermittent surround sound, stopping and starting with no rhyme or reason, jumping from one song to the next.” He followed me out to the patio.

The sun was a billion megawatts, bringing us back to the land of the living while blinding me for thirty seconds.

He sat. “Music’s part of you.”

“Music was how I blocked out Dad. And my mom works at the music department at TU. I spent years listening to her piano, hearing her develop and structure her work. It’s how I escape the world, like you and surfing.” I traced the rim of my cup with my finger. “Umm, about my groove—do I look stupid?”

“No. It’s not like you’re all over the place or anything. And I really like it when you mouth the lyrics and beckon me with your fingers.”

Oh my Lord.
“But I don’t do it all that much, right?”

“Let me put it this way, Preston—”

“Who?”

“You know, the horny guy who loves to wear fluorescent colors, the one I run into all over the globe. Anyway, he saw you groovin’ at the drug store a while back and asked me if you got down like that on … never mind.”

The drug store? New topic.
“So, we go back to life as usual, pretend like everything’s the same as before.”

“Yeah, but I hope the next time you’re questioning me, you’ll give me a chance to—”

“Explain yourself? You didn’t explain anything last night.”

“I was going to say reassure you. Kris, it’s not so much about explaining as about accepting me. Can you?”

I tossed my head from my left shoulder to my right. “I’m struggling. You ask a lot for me to take you on faith. I need more. I don’t understand who or what you are. I know I made these big proclamations last night about not smackin’ you down with an endless stream of questions but—”