Secret Lucidity(17)

“Whatever,” I mumble beneath my breath, irked with her secrecy as she walks out the door and leaves me alone in a house with too many ghosts.

With nowhere to go, I wander out into the back yard. My bare feet lead me over to the pool’s edge. The water glows wildly against the night, throwing its reflection against me in wavy veins of brightness.

I’ve been so conflicted with missing my dad. I’ve spent the past three months hiding from that which reminds me of him, all the while longing to be close to him. It’s a contradictory labyrinth I’ve found myself in, and I know I must choose a path, because standing still is starting to hurt worse than what I predict moving would feel like.

I miss my dad.

I miss everything about him: his smell, his warmth, his infectious smile, his love. I was his girl, and he made sure everyone knew it with his constant boasting of me. His affections mammothed far beyond the other dads, and I long to be held in the safety only his arms provide. All others fall short to his.

Why am I fighting this? Fighting against the same thing I’m so desperate for?

Without effort or thought, something bigger than this universe takes hold of my ankle, lifts it up, and stretches it out in front of me. The first touch of water to my toes sends electric currents through my bones. I pull in a lungful of air as the water sucks me into its grasp. Submerged in paternal holiness, I absorb its embrace, as if it were a gift from above. It holds me tightly; a much needed assuagement.

When my body pleads for oxygen, I kick off the bottom of the pool and break through the surface. I suck a deep breath into my starved lungs, craning my head up to the heavens that house the man it stole from me. My muscles relax and I allow the water to lift me. I float on my back as beads of water roll down the sides of my face, and I smile. I smile a smile I never thought I’d find again.

I did it.

I’m in the water.

And in the moment, it cleanses and alleviates.

My clothes cling to my body the same way I cling to self-preservation. Whether I’m doing it the right way or the wrong way, I do what I can to protect myself from the beast of agony. I know my suffering could be worse, which is why I fight every day to temper it the best I can.

So, in this moment of temporary relief, I float on the lifeline that connects me to him until I’m nothing but pruned skin and sleepy eyes.

Somehow, I find my way up to my room and eventually into my bed, where I pick up the Post-it lying on my nightstand that Coach Andrews wrote his cell phone number on the other day at the pool. A thrum chords through me when I read his name. To see he wrote it instead of Coach Andrews or even Mr. Andrews makes him seem more like a person than an authority figure. More approachable, as if he gave me his first name as a way of telling me it was okay for me to lean on him.

David

Just his first name is all he wrote.

I punch his number into my phone and add him as a new contact before opening up a new text screen. He told me a couple weeks ago that he had been thinking about texting me but never did. And with the high of accomplishment running through me for finally getting back in the water, I push through the doubt and insecurity and message him.

Me: Hey, it’s Cam. I got back into the water tonight. I had to tell someone, and since I doubt anyone else would understand, I figured I’d tell you.

I hit send and hold my breath, wondering if I should even be texting him. Suddenly, all that doubt I shoved away comes crashing down on me. I’m nearly blue in the face when my phone vibrates in my hands and I finally take in a breath.

David: I’m glad it was me you told. Tell me how it felt.

Me: Amazing. But also sad. It was a strange feeling, wanting to smile and cry at the same time.

David: You say you wanted to, but did you? Did you smile and cry?

Me: No.

David: Why?

I roll onto my side, the glow on the phone is the only light in my darkened bedroom, and I finally open myself up to seek comfort.

Me: Because I’m scared to cry. I’m not strong enough to feel that type of pain.

David: You’re stronger than what you think, you know?

Me: We’ll see.

David: What does that mean?

Me: Tomorrow.

David: First days are always stressful, no matter who you are. Are you worried?

I pause before responding, wanting to lie and tell him no, but then I’d be misleading him the way I do with everyone else. I don’t want him to be like everyone else though, so I go against my instinct and give him more truths.

Me: Yes.

David: What is it that you’re afraid of?

Me: Everything.

I slink farther down into the bed and curl into a ball.

David: Everything except fourth period.

Me: What’s fourth period?

David: You have me.

My lips pull into a smile, reassured that I won’t be so alone tomorrow. That in the midst of friends that I feel so disconnected from, there is a connection to be had with him.

David: Good night, Cam. I’m proud of you for facing one of your fears tonight.

With my heart in tingles, I tuck my phone against my chest and fall deeply into dreams that are really memories of the past reminding me just how lucky I was to have my dad. But when I wake, I’m dumped back into melancholy and reminded just how sad I am not to have him around anymore.

The weight that was suspended last night is bearing down on me again.

With apprehension in the air, I roll out of bed, weary to face those I wish to avoid. After a long shower, I meet my reflection in the mirror. I know they’re all going to stare in disgust at the scar that reminds us all of the horror of that day. The evidence that it wasn’t just a nightmare, but that it really happened is etched across my face. It’s the gory truth no one can hide from—not even me.