Swept Away (3 page)

I decide to go running again. I didn’t since that day when
he
was there, but decided to take a chance—hell, I was already taking chances—going out with Alejandro. I shower after—which doesn’t help to wash away the memories of
him
and how
he
makes me feel. Water is mystical. It can help and it can hurt.               

After breakfast, I organize my room, clean up here and there, and gather my school supplies. My backpack is packed and ready to go—if only I could be as ready. I dread seeing Frankie. I dread seeing Vicki. Camilla can only travel with me for so far—there’ll come a point when the path divides, she going her way, and me, mine. I push that sorrow out of my mind.
Think happy thoughts.
   

Camilla calls. She already knows about my “date.” She wishes me luck, adding, “Don’t screw this up!” I curse at her in Spanish. She gasps, and then throws it back at me. We say “I love you,” and hang up. I don’t know what I’d do without her.  

The doorbell rings. It’s time. My heart is about to burst from my chest. I make my way downstairs, hearing voices. My parents are talking to Alejandro. I stop and hide. My dad is doing most of the talking, asking (interrogating) Alejandro questions about his plans today: bowling and lunch. That’s it.             

I enter the kitchen. Alejandro smiles at me, looking relieved. I get the “be back by your curfew” talk, and then we’re allowed to leave. My heart has yet to stop racing. I wonder if I’ll die before we get to the bowling alley.

When Alejandro turns away from Santa Maria Circle, he says, “I have something to tell you.” He seems nervous.

“Your name’s not really Alejandro Aznar? It’s Pablo Escobar and you’re running a drug cartel?” I tease.             

He breaks at a red light, turns to me, and gasps. “How’d you know?”

I wave my hand. “I’m psychic.”

“What number am I thinking about?”

“Seven,” I say.

“Damn, you’re good.” The light turns green and he accelerates. “No, really, I wanted to tell you that I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time.”

“Oh? Since when?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Ninth grade,” he says.

“Oh, well, I guess you couldn’t say anything—with me—and Frankie.”

“Yeah, but now…”

“Now…”

We fall silent and I’m glad. I don’t know what else to say.
Now
—the word reverberates in my mind, bouncing madly:
now, now, now, now.
             

We arrive at Teddy’s, the only bowling alley in Old Spanish Town. Alejandro opens the car door for me.

“Thanks,” I say, bewildered.

He furrows his brow. “What?”

I shrug. “It’s just that I’ve never had a guy open a door for me, that’s all.”

“Yeah, not with Frankie, I bet—only thinking of himself,” he says, in a disgruntled tone.

He loved me, I think he did.

“Yeah,” I agree, refraining from voicing my thoughts.

“I’m a gentleman, Daria,” says Alejandro.

“I can see that,” I say, smiling.

He opens the door to the bowling alley for me too. The inside is crowded—a birthday party. We play on the other side, away from the celebrations.

“I didn’t realize you’re a size twelve,” I say, watching him put on his bowling shoes.

He looks up at me and smirks. “Didn’t know I’m that big, huh?”

I blush and look down, acting as if my shoes need adjustment. Soon, we’re ready to bowl. I pick a hot pink ball and Alejandro stands behind me, in training. He’s pressed against me, his arm against mine, his hand cupping mine, swinging to and fro, letting me feel the weight of the ball, the motion, the angle, until—I release on his command—strike!

I turn around in his arms, smiling. Alejandro presses me against him and kisses me, hard and fast. He releases me. I stare at him, open-mouthed.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, and backs away. “I’m sorry, Daria, I just…”

“It’s okay,” I say, finding my voice. “I just didn’t expect it, is all.”

He smiles. “Oh, well, then…” 

He moves to take me again, but I deny him the pleasure—as I fall to my knees, weak and—under pressure.
He
’s here. I’m drowning. Water stings my eyes, fills my throat, drags me down to the darkness below—I’m gone. 

I hear my name being called, faint, echoes through the water. Hands are pulling me up, up, up, and above the surface. I can breathe. I see Alejandro, staring at me: confused, concerned, horrified. 

“It’s okay,” I say. “I just need to go outside I think—out in the sun.”

Alejandro leads me outside. I sit on a bench. He sits next to me. I soak in the sun, welcoming its warmth. 

“Daria,” says Alejandro. “What just happened? Should we go to the hospital, call your parents?”

“No!” I say, grasping his arm. “No,” I repeat, softer. “I’m fine, really. I was just…overwhelmed, I guess.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“No, it’s okay. It was…nice,” I say, smiling. “A bit rushed, but nice.”

He’s blushing. “Yeah, I just…went for it. If you give me the chance to try again, I’ll go slower.”

He leans in for his second chance, but I gently refuse him. “Another time—I’m still out of it.”

He nods. “Okay, Daria, no rush.”

We sit in silence. The drowning sensation has left me, but I feel
him
. I scan the parking lot and almost scream. I see
him
. He’s far away, staring at me. He’s wearing more clothes this time, and his aviators are gone. I don’t know how I know, but I just do: his eyes are blue—blue like the ocean I’ve been drowning in ever since his arrival. 
Who are you?
I fly off my seat, ready to demand answers, but come to a halt, as he turns away, casually, as if he has no knowledge of my existence, and walks away.

Why are you making me feel this way? Do you even know what you’re doing to me? Do you even care?

Alejandro is beside me. “What is it, Daria?” His arm is around my waist, securing me to his side.

I lean into him. “Nothing, Alejandro, it’s nothing.”
It’s no one.
  

My mood brightens during lunch. We’re at Libertad. The vibrant Cajun music, the cigar smoke, and the genial atmosphere has cured me, for a little while.                             

“You ever smoked a cigar?” I ask him, when we’re leaving.

He turns onto the road, shaking his head. “Yeah, it wasn’t for me. You?” he inquires.

“No, and I don’t like cigarettes, either.”

“How did you tolerate Frankie, then? He’s like a walking ashtray.”

I shake my head. “Who knows?” I wave my hand. “Let’s not talk about him.” I take Alejandro’s free hand, stroking my thumb against his skin.

I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is I want to forget—Frankie, Him, everything.

“I thought you wanted to go slow,” he says. His voice is husky, his eyes staring straight ahead, distracted, but trying to maintain focus and not wreck the car—and kill us.

I place my hand on the inside of his thigh, stroking. “We can still go slowly,” I say.

He swallows, loudly. “Where?” he asks, scanning.

“Park the car.”

He finds a deserted road and undoes his seatbelt. I follow and straddle his lap. We kiss, we fondle. A song is playing on the radio, I don’t know what. I move to unzip his jeans. He stops me.

“I don’t have a condom, Daria.”

I kiss him fiercely. I’m not giving up. “It’s okay,” I say. I whisper in his ear, of what we
can
do. I feel his heart racing against my chest. 

“Daria,” he breathes into my ear, and then trails kisses down my neck.

I shift away and show him what I’m capable of, what Frankie always wanted, and what I always gave him, knowing I had him wrapped around my finger, and afterward, he’d do anything for me, even commit murder.   

All I can hear is “Daria, Daria, Daria,” over the music on the radio. He hums and curses in pleasure. After, I take a swig of bottled water that’s lying on the floor.  Alejandro, to my surprise, isn’t spent, and reciprocates, pleasuring me. I want to say his name, but I can’t quite speak. It’s a good thing too, for all I can think of is
him
.

I lie awake that night, recollecting the events of the day, replacing Alejandro with
him
. I fall asleep, drifting into madness, into my watery dreamscape, and awaken the next morning, breaking above the surface.

He was in my dream. “The answer is in the fountain,” he said, before letting me drown. 

Was it a dream? I don’t even know anymore.

Camilla screams at me, excited. “It’s senior year, chica!” she yells.

We’re standing outside Old Spanish Town High School. A painted angel with wings is welcoming me inside.   

“Yay,” I say, not in the mood.

“What? What’s up? You and Alejandro on the outs?” she asks.

“What? What did you hear?”

I haven’t told her about…well, what happened in the car. I hope Alejandro didn’t tell Tony. 

Camilla gives me a look. “I’ve heard nothing and it’s killing me!” 

I shrug. “Well, nothing happened.”

“You are such a little liar. I hate you. When are you going to tell me?”

“We fooled around, no big deal,” I confess. 

“Are you two…together?”

I shrug. “We haven’t discussed it. Although, I’m sure he wants to be a couple.”

“Well, what’s holding you back? You can fool around, but you can’t commit?”

“Exactly,” I say. 

Camilla prays for me in Spanish and we enter the school, the angel looking at me in reproach.

A banner flaps above: WELCOME BACK, STUDENTS! GO ANGELS!

Go, indeed.

“There’s my baby,” says a familiar voice.

I turn to see Tony embracing Camilla. They kiss. 

Tony turns to me. “Hey, Daria,” he says.

“Hey, Tony,” I greet back.

“Hey, Daria,” greets another familiar voice. Alejandro is standing behind me. 

I turn around and give him a smile. I’m glad to see him, yet I want him to go away. I think I’ll always be conflicted until I die.

“Ready for senior year?” he asks, as we navigate our way through the crowd.

“Ready to graduate,” I say, and he nods in agreement. 

“We have to apply to the same college,” says Camilla, overhearing. She and Tony are holding hands.

“Of course,” I say, smiling. “I can’t go to all those parties by myself.”

“I’ll be there,” says Alejandro, sounding left out.

“We should go on a double date,” Camilla suggests, nudging Tony.

“Yeah, cool,” he agrees, smiling.

“Yeah, cool,” I echo, but note that I sound ambivalent.

No one, especially Alejandro, seems to notice. He’s smiling warmly at me. He wraps his arm around my waist. I lean into him when I know I should push him away.  How can I, after what we did? I should have restrained myself. I’ve learned nothing from my tumultuous time with Frankie. I scan the crowd. My ex is nowhere to be found. I relax and Alejandro brushes his lips across my cheek.

The four of us walk casually, taking our time, our senior status evident as we navigate the halls like honored guests. I feel relaxed, happy—until I spot Frankie, his arm around Vicki’s waist. Emily stands close, ready to be included in the conversation.               

I walk by, hoping he doesn’t notice. 

“Hey, you’re not going to say anything to me?!”

I briefly close my eyes and try to remain calm. I feel a tug on my arm and turn to see Frankie, trying to pull me away. Alejandro advances, in Frankie’s face. 

“Back off,” he warns.             

Tony advances too, with Camilla. They form a protective barrier between me and Frankie.

“What the hell is this?” says Frankie, hands spread in confusion. “I just wanted to talk to Daria.”

“You’ve got something to say?” asks Alejandro, fuming.

“Yeah, I’ve got something to say,” says Frankie, in his face. He’s about to speak (possibly curse) when he’s prevented by the arrival of Vicki, with Emily trailing.

“You’re supposed to be with
me
,” she reminds him.   

Frankie turns and grabs Vicki’s arm. “I’ll talk to whoever I want to, when I want to.  You got that, Vic?”

Vicki’s face is red. She says nothing, submissive to Frankie’s will. I remember that all too well. Frankie was enamored with me, and I with him. Frankie loved me. He had a weird way of showing it, though. The pain isn’t so fresh and the bruises have faded, but sometimes, I still feel the slap of his hand against my face, or his fingers, digging into my arm, or him tying me up and gagging me, while he punished me with pleasure between my legs. “You’ve been a bad girl,” he would say, pounding away, and I believed him.

He turns back to me and smiles. “I can’t even get a hug?”

Alejandro grabs Frankie by his shirt. “Back off,” he growls.

“What are you going to do about it, spic?”

Alejandro lets go of Frankie’s shirt.

“That’s what I—“

He’s prevented from speaking. Alejandro has his hand closed around Frankie’s neck. Frankie is struggling, trying to pull Alejandro’s iron grip away. 

Tony intervenes and manages to separate the two, before the administration is called. He stands between them. 

“Get out of my face,” Tony says to Frankie, who promptly does, cursing as he goes.

Vicki follows Frankie, who pushes her away when she inquires if he’s all right.  Emily keeps her mouth closed. That’s probably best.

Alejandro makes a move to go after Frankie. Tony stops him. 

“He’s not worth it, man,” says Tony.

Alejandro curses in Spanish—listing all the horrible injuries he’d like to inflict upon Frankie. 

“Me too,” says Camilla. 

“No one’s doing anything,” I say. “He’s my problem, not yours.”

Camilla faces me. “I’m your best friend. Your problems are my problems, chica. Got that?”

I smile. “Got it.” 

Camilla and I kiss on the cheek, and then she departs, with Tony, on to class. They hold hands and kiss, along the way. I envy them.

I turn to Alejandro, who’s still fuming, staring after Frankie. “No,” I tell him. “No,” I repeat, firmer.

He’s still fuming. I kiss him, soft and sweet. “No,” I say again.

He’s distracted, staring into my eyes. Good. 

He kisses me back. “I’m crazy about you, Daria. I love you.” 

The bell rings. I’m saved. “C’mon,” I urge. “Let’s get to class.”