Beside him, Andrea bobs her head in agreement. “You’re gonna be on your feet soon, I bet,” she says.
Up the shore, I hear the staccato sound of firecrackers popping. In a little while, the sun will sink below the horizon and the sky will begin to light up. It seems a celebration choreographed just for me. I’ve lived with fear for so long, it’s become like breathing—not always easy, but impossible to shake.
But today—if only for today—I know that it’s gone because I can breathe. Easy, effortless, exactly like it should be.
Hours later, and everyone’s gone to their respective rooms, collapsing in bed after a full day in the sun. Beside me Andrea’s nestled close, her body warm in contrast to the chilly air conditioning in Casey’s house. But unlike Andie, I can’t sleep despite my exhaustion; I keep replaying the events of the past twenty-four hours in my mind.
A muffled sound from the living room startles me: the television set. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s after midnight; seems someone else is battling insomnia tonight. Crawling out of bed, careful not to wake Andrea, I decide to investigate. Maybe I’ll get a glass of water while I’m up.
Stepping into the hallway, there’s the sound of laughter and familiar voices, all coming from the TV. I stop and listen. I hear Michael and Casey and someone else’s—a man’s voice that I don’t immediately recognize. Then Marti’s laughter. Moving stealthily, I peer around the corner, and see them all on the television screen: it’s a home video playing. Michael sits on the floor in front of the TV, remote in hand, rapt. He reminds me of Andrea watching cartoons or Disney, he’s that absorbed.
I discovered a mound of these home videos earlier today while trying to locate The Princess Diaries for Andrea. They were stacked beside the VCR, with labels like Huntington and July Fourth and various dates from the past few years. At the time, I burned with curiosity, knowing Alex must be on several of the tapes.
Although he has plenty of videos at home, ones populated with Alex and their shared memories, I think I understand what propelled him to watch these particular videos right now, in secret while the rest of us are asleep. Because he betrayed Alex last night. By making love to me, he betrayed his real partner.
In the video, Alex stands on the beach, laughing with Marti. It’s unsettling to see him “live”. I’m accustomed to his pictures, to his arresting blue eyes, but seeing him on screen, watching his movements and facial expressions, my mental portrait of him becomes more complex. I get a better fix on his lanky size—that he’s even taller than Michael, and simply towers over small Marti.
He would have towered over me too. It’s an unsettling thought, imagining him alive and beside me. Steadying myself against the wall, I begin to shake: if Alex had lived, there’d be no right now. I wouldn’t be here at all because he and Michael would be together.
They stand on the beach, blabbering about something indistinct, something I can’t hear. Watching the way the group circles together I understand another thing I could never have fathomed from a simple photograph. Alex drew attention and energy from everyone near him. Like their sun, the others orbited around him. But what he took, he obviously gave back unselfishly; there’s an electricity in their group interactions that I haven’t noticed in his absence. A fire.
“Hey, Michael,” Alex calls out, pointing at something on his tall surfboard, clutched within his hands. “Check this out.” I hadn’t thought his voice would sound so deep. The warmth I had anticipated, but not the deep fullness of its resonance.
Michael enters the frame and their voices grow quieter; he frowns about something, touching the board as they discuss it. The camera cuts away to a group of surfers down the beach, and I see that there’s some kind of amateur surf contest going on. Camera cuts back to Alex; for the first time I notice a number on his forearm, grease-penciled onto it. He must have been competing.
Alex touches Michael on the arm, and I shiver in reaction, as if he’d just touched me. It isn’t a sexual or provocative touch. His hand has simply brushed unselfconsciously against Michael’s arm as they were talking. It’s the relaxed familiarity of longtime lovers. As they step apart, Alex gives him a warm smile, a smile that speaks endless volumes about what they shared.
My chest tightens painfully, the familiar swell of anxiety rushing through my body. What a fool I’ve been. I can’t possibly compete with that, I think, retreating into the dark hallway. Obscured in the darkness, I listen to the voices on the tape, to the laughter and camaraderie they all shared back then. I hear Michael’s voice. Alex, baby, you’re gonna win out there today.
Michael’s voice echoes down the hallway. Knock ‘em dead, baby!