Someone Else's Ocean(9)

Offended but too terrified to be alone in the water, I shrieked when the next wave got the best of me. I was too far out in the surf and I knew I was about to get in trouble for it.

“I’ll have tits one day,” I promised, unable to think of anything else to say. Ian rolled his eyes as he pulled me by my floaties closer to shore. Choking, I pushed my hair out of my face. “I know you aren’t a pervert.” I smiled the way my mother did when she wanted her way. “I was just joking too.”

Ian squinted at me as if he was trying to decide if I was being truthful.

“I want to be your friend. I’m sorry, Ian. Please don’t leave me out here.”

He grabbed hold of me then and pulled me to where I could safely stand.

“It’s okay, little puffer fish.” He lined my mask up for me. “All right. You can do this. I know you can. But,” he looked behind his shoulder and then back to me, “no one said you had to.”

“I asked for the mask and flippers for my birthday. I’m gonna be seven next week. I’m not afraid.” I was lying. And he knew it.

“Are you scared of what you’ll see under, then? Give them here.” He took the mask from me and peeked underwater before he pulled up and shook his head. “Nothing to see but a few fish.”

“Okay.” Taking the mask from him, I pulled it over my eyes and nose and he became harder to see when the lens fogged up.

“No big deal.” He knuckled the top of my head and I glared at him before I went under. Within seconds, a needle nose fish swam a centimeter from my mask and I began choking as I surfaced. “Holy shit!”

“Koti!” My mother shrieked from shore. She had the ears of a Doberman.

“Sorry, Mom, there was a fish!”

She stood in a bright red bikini and I saw Ian’s eyes float her way with interest. My mother had ‘tits’ in abundance and a whole lot of everything else. Curves from head to foot, I could see Ian deduce she was the ultimate miss. Even as a retired supermodel she commanded the eyes of everyone she sauntered past. “Young lady, I better not hear that language again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I could feel the blood rush to my face. Ian shook his head and nudged his chin forward.

“Try again.”

Embarrassed, I shrugged. “I don’t want to.”

“Mad? Humiliated? Scared? That’s when you should do things anyway. It will always piss the other guy off.” He grinned at me with pencil point freckles dotting his nose. “Have fun anyway, Koti. I’ll keep a lookout for you.”

I knew a little about the boy inside the man I watched. The boy who had put together my first s’more, laughed with his whole body at the surprise in my eyes when I tasted the toasted marshmallow, a product from a fire which he, himself had built. While Ian was allowed freedoms like that, I was allowed very little sugar and spent an hour bubbling marshmallows and smashing them between graham crackers and melted chocolate. I could still remember Ian’s amused reaction as I gorged. He was a firecracker then, about to turn fourteen, but he took me under his wing that summer.

There wasn’t a trace of that boy in the man who stood in a puddle at the edge of the sea.

Life was funny like that. For a moment in time, a few weeks in the summer when we were both just a couple of na?ve kids, I called Ian Kemp a friend. Earlier that day he had treated me as a stranger. It was the summers after that turned us into nothing more than a few memories.

But those few memories turned significant.

Ian Kemp had introduced me to my comfort food. He’d also given me the confidence to smile to spite my mother when she got the best of me.

And for those memories, I felt a little indebted. A little bit more familiar to the stranger on the beach.

I made my way back to my house, my gaze fixed on Ian until I was forced to unload my sand-filled panties. A hot shower and a loofah scrub down later, I poured another glass of wine from my already corked bottle and took residence on my porch chair overlooking the calm sea. In an attempt not to screw up my routine, a routine I carefully followed to the letter on most days, I lit my hurricane candles on my porch as Novo Amor’s “Faux” drifted through my speakers and out to sea.

I learned much too late, ambiance was the key for me. Music, wine, and candles created my safe haven. These little things made me feel like I was in the midst of something, instead of looking forward to something else. I had spent way too much of my life looking forward to things.

Those things rarely ever came the way I’d imagined them.

Certainties were pap smears, head colds, and flat tires. But the feeling you got wrapped up in a good book, the perfect song, surrounded by candlelight could be repeated over and over.

Endless self-made memories that no one could screw up? Yes, please.

Because when you date yourself, there is no one to disappoint you. Jasmine didn’t get it. But me and my hesitant libido understood. I’d gone through an entire year without missing men. I’d go through another if I felt like it. But it wasn’t about setting restrictions on my life. It was about the way I felt about myself.

I’d come to the island anxiety-ridden and the blue water was my prescription. I’d set goals to forget my old ones and shed my skin for a better fit. One that bled life without calculations and bred alternate possibilities. I basked in the smell of the ocean—a new necessity—and marveled at the swirl of different shades of blue that hit the slightly rocky shore.