I swallow it down, the beer and my sister’s words. “Yeah, she did. But she didn’t choose to do it that way.”
“True,” Veronica says, stretching her sandaled feet out in front of her.
We watch the band from a distance. Strings of white lights dangle above the dance floor. I think of the man who made both of us, how after a long silence, he’d finally speak. Patience isn’t just sitting back and waiting. It’s enduring. Finishing the thing.
“This kid would really have it rough,” I say. “His parents would be brother and sister.”
“Yeah, one gay, one straight, and both unmarried. It would be a total shitshow. It would be great.”
Above us, the black sky is crowded with stars. I could sail into outer space. But even stars, they leave a trace. The meaning of those lines has changed in the few weeks since I wrote them. At the time I was lamenting the fact that I’d never be free of Syd, the same way I had never really overcome the loss of my father. But there’s no escaping the memories. And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Actually, I’m thinking of Sydney right now, imagining what he would say about this crazy plan, the one he himself set in motion, and I have to say I feel just a tiny bit braver.
“Whatever you decide,” Veronica says, “I’m here.”
I can’t wait forever. It’s a mistake I’ve made before, thinking that the way things are at any given moment will be the way they are when I wake up in the morning. That’s why I tell her. “I love you.”
She turns to me, surprised.
“I just want you to know.”
She leans her head on my shoulder and I gaze up at the stars. Millions of them, long gone but still here. Reminders, reminders, reminders.
The black sky flexes out until it becomes one with the ocean. A wave emerges from the vanishing horizon and crashes onto the sand. “Let’s go swimming.”
“Now?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Now.”
Out of my sneakers and shirt, and into the water. I dive under a wave and feel the quick shock through my body. At once the world is black and empty and weightless.
I come back up and turn to shore. Veronica, dimly lit in bra and underwear, hesitates at the edge.
“Come on,” I shout. “Just jump in.”
She wades in until she’s just a face and blond hair. I go under and swim blindly toward her. When I surface, she shrieks and splashes water in my face.
“Go under,” I say.
“No. I’m freezing.”
“Freezing? It’s like a bathtub in here.”
I come for her.
“Stop! Gavin, I swear!” She swims away. “I’m going back.”
But I’m not ready yet. Not ready to walk on my own two feet. It feels good to be carried by the current.
“Be careful, Gavin.” Her voice is already distant. “Do you hear me? Don’t go too far out.”
She swims to shore, nearly disappearing in the night. Meanwhile, I’m increasing the distance between me and land. Deeper. Deeper. It’s peaceful out here, enveloped by nature’s quiet. I wonder if it wouldn’t be a fine way to go, while there’s a brief sense of calm, all my cards on the table, all the words spoken. Fall off into the endless sea, reunite with him, my best friend ever since that first blind date, still today, always will be. The one who kept me afloat. I’m trying to do it alone. I’m really trying. But I get so tired. This bracelet is too heavy.
A graze against my leg just now, something bristly rushing by. It jolts me to attention. I look down. Can’t see anything. The ocean is black. I hover in place, alert. Seconds pass. No sound but the rolling waves. No strange movements. My heart begins to settle. It was nothing, only my imagination. I’m all alone.
But not really. I look up. My sister waits on land, small as a dot. Hard to tell from here, but it looks like she’s waving. Just saying hello? Or is she calling me in?
Again, brushing my foot. This time it’s unmistakable: there’s something in the water.
I take off for shore, arms and legs knifing the surface. I lift my head, my sister so far away. I tempted fate just a moment ago, when everything was finally all right. How could I? I swim to her. I swim.
Again, clipping my foot, my toes. I turn, for some reason, I turn and there, breaching, a fin, a snout, a bump, and then gone, nothing. Back on shore, my sister waiting, but I can’t move. Another nudge from underneath. I kick everywhere, claiming my space.
The water breaks, again, the thing surfacing, holy massive. Perforated nose, whiskers, brown, craggy. Beaming in the darkness, two long fangs, white sabers. Not fangs—tusks. Of course, tusks. A walrus. The walrus. It can’t be.
It swoops down and under. I wait for it to resurface, scanning in every direction. All clear. Stillness. Then panic returns; I race to the shore.
I reach Veronica. She’s hugging herself, shivering. “I told you not to go out so far. You scared me.”
I struggle for breath. “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“Out there.”
“No,” Veronica says, searching my face rather than the water. “Are you okay?”
I turn to the sea. I look. I look. I look some more.
And then I tell her, and whoever else can hear me, “Yes. I’m okay.”
To: Gavin Winters
Subject: Top Ten Reasons
Dear Blackbird,
My mom told me you were scared to be a dad and I’m thinking that maybe it’s because you aren’t focusing on the right memories. Since you asked me to help you remember once before, I figured I could help you remember again. Also, I like to make lists.
Here are the Top Ten Reasons why you’d be a good father:
1. Because you remembered my name (Tuesday, July 9).
2. Because you said you liked my outfit (Wednesday, July 10).
3. Because you held my hand when we crossed the street and you helped me call my first taxi and you taught me how to do a change of scenery and you showed me that John Lennon didn’t just write songs, he also drank coffee and went to the pharmacy (Tuesday, July 16).
4. Because you bought me a plain bagel (Wednesday, July 10) and a soft pretzel (Tuesday, July 16) and French fries (Monday, July 22) and you made me try pizza (Tuesday, July 16).
5. Because you liked my drawing (Wednesday, July 10).
6. Because you always did your hand signal even when you had a headache and you couldn’t get out of bed (Tuesday, July 16).
7. Because you always told me the truth, like the time you said my song didn’t make you cry (Wednesday, July 10) and my lyrics were dissing generous (Thursday, July 11), and I probably wouldn’t win the contest (Thursday, July 25). You could be a little mean sometimes, but it felt okay because you treated me like a grown-up and you made my song better. And it’s because you were always honest with me that I could believe you when you told me that I was impressive and that you had never met anyone like me before (Tuesday, July 30).
8. Because you came to get me at The Mindy Love Show (Tuesday, July 30).
9. Because you taught me about the good kind of nervous (Tuesday, July 16) and I finally felt it (Tuesday, July 30).