All the Water I've Seen Is Running

by Elias Rodriques

  What’d you find them doing way out in Espanola? Egypt asks Jess.

  They was rolling around in the dirt, playing grab-ass with Brandon, Jess says.

  Man, I done told you to leave well enough alone, Twig says.

  Ain’t nothing happen, I say. Ain’t that right, Jess?

  They was fine, she says. I mean, they was arguing with Brandon, but they was fine. Ain’t nothing get out of hand.

  What you out here chasing Brandon down for? Twig says. You and Aubrey dated like seven, eight, damn near ten years ago now.

  Date? Jess says. They ain’t date.

  I flinch, as if someone’s going to hit me.

  Even though Junior beat me when I was younger, he also kept me fed. After Junior started picking me up from school, when we got home, he always made us a snack. Sometimes he made boxed macaroni and cheese. If we had cold cuts, he made sandwiches. After Mom lost her job, he made the instant noodles that she bought by the dozen or bread and margarine. Even when it seemed like there was nothing in the house, he kept us full.

  Sometimes Mom had to stay late at work, so Junior made dinner. She always called and gave brief instructions. When Mom was planning on making Jamaican food, her instructions were inscrutable because she had been cooking those meals for so long. Half of a palmful of flour and a little bit of water for dumplings. Enough allspice that you get the flavor but not so much that it’s all you can taste for other dishes. The meals were usually disasters. But by the time they reached my plate, even if he had hit me hard enough in the day that I was still angry at and afraid of him, I made sure to eat as much as I could. He beat me, but he kept me alive.

  Putting my elbow on the table and my hand on my chin, I look away. When I exhale, my body feels deflated. Sitting at the head of the table, Jess crosses her arms, thin lips squeezed tight. Twig leans forward, his eyebrows arched up. Opposite him, Desmond’s body is still, but he strokes the stubble on his chin as he chews the inside of his lip. Egypt doesn’t move, but she’s watching for my response too. I breathe deep but the nerves stay. I open my mouth to speak and then close it.

  Where do I start? I can tell them what happened, but I can’t capture everything Aubrey and I said, everything I thought but didn’t say. We spent so much time together that I’m not sure what the main scenes are or how to describe all the hours we talked about nothing at lunch. How can I tell them what she meant to me then and has meant to me since, in a way that they can hear?

  What she mean y’all ain’t date? Twig asks.

  They continue to watch, waiting for their answer. Their stares cast my eyes down. I inspect the glass table. Someone has nicked the edges so thin white scratches run along the otherwise clear glass.

  Daniel, Desmond says.

  I hear you, I say, resting my heavy arms on the table. From cruising yesterday through seeing Grandma and the fight with Brandon to now, I’m fatigued. I feel like a wet rag wrung out. In my exhaustion, the voices in my head quiet and I become aware of a weight that I’m carrying. I’m not sure what it is, but I hope I will let it go when I say, Truth is, ain’t nothing ever happen between us.

  Nothing? Twig says.

  For a moment, the silence hovers in the air. Then I feel relief when I say, Nothing. As bad as I wanted it to, nothing ever happened.

  This motherfucker, Desmond says, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. He isn’t facing me, so I can’t read his face for his response. Egypt rolls her eyes. Twig and Jess keep looking at me.

  She wanted it too, Jess says.

  She ain’t never tell me, I say.

  You ain’t never tell her neither, Jess says, raising her voice.

  But everybody knew, I say, leaning back into the chair so hard the legs rock beneath me. When they wobble, I grab the chair and my body seizes. Desmond laughs and Egypt slaps his arm lightly. The fear of falling passes, the chair feels solid, and I continue, Everyone could see it. Teachers teased me about it. Sometimes they teased me when I was with Aubrey. Talked about how I was always following her around.

  How she supposed to know? Jess says. Mrs. Reynolds say so and she just supposed to believe it?

  I tried to tell her, I say. Told her she was pretty. Shit, I even wrote her a poem.

  Daniel, she wasn’t nice to nobody in high school but you. Laughed at your corny jokes. Took you gigging. And the bass tattoo, Jess says, turning to everyone else. Check this out. The minute Aubrey turns sixteen, she gets a tattoo on her hip. First thing she does Monday is run go tell Daniel. But is telling him good enough? No. She pulls her shirt up and her pants down. Damn near flashes the whole hallway just to show this boy her tattoo. I had to grab this girl’s jeans to keep her from showing her ass. Wasn’t for me, I swear to God, Aubrey would’ve pulled her pants down to her knees.

  Egypt laughs and runs her hand down her face, Desmond hasn’t stopped chuckling, and the rest of us join in. Our shared sound grows and, for a moment, I can’t tell the difference between my laughter and anyone else’s. When we quiet, I say, Egypt, don’t listen to her. Wasn’t nothing like that.

  Maybe not, Jess says, but she damn sure showed you enough that you should’ve known.

  I ain’t saying I shouldn’t have known, I say. But I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe, but I wasn’t sure.

  My eyes feel like smoke singes them. I feel the water coming, cold against the edges of my eyelids. I blink fast. My throat feels scratchy and sore as though swollen.

  I didn’t trust it, I say. Didn’t think she dated Black folk.

  She drove you back to her house, Jess says, and sat you on her bed. She told you. You just wasn’t listening.

  For a moment, we’re quiet. I rest my forehead in the crook between my thumb and my index finger. I can’t believe I was so worried that Aubrey wouldn’t like me back that I overlooked the times she scowled at other people but smiled at me. The times she leaned in close enough that I caught her scent. The times she hugged me and her touch lingered. The memories come rushing all at once. I breathe deep, hoping to push them away, but they won’t go. I can still see the fluorescent school lights catching her pale brown eyes, feel her soft shirts against her prodding collarbone when she hugged me, smell the sea salt on her.

  I close my eyes to dam the tears. Aubrey spoke a lot, but I didn’t know how to listen. When I open my eyes, I rub the moisture away. I knew her so little, even though we spent so much time together.

  Desmond’s knife scrapes against his plate. Twig chuckles first, then Egypt and Jess, and finally I join them. When I look up, we’re smiling. Then the laughter ends.

  Heard y’all made out in her bed that day, Twig says. Matter of fact, I heard that from you.

  That ain’t what I heard, Desmond says. I heard y’all ain’t do nothing that day, but you beat like a week later.

  So what happened? Egypt asks.

  She sits back against her chair, one arm on the table and the other on her lap. Her brown eyes shine in the light as she gazes at me. Desmond still looks down as he works on a third pork chop. Twig leans forward, and Jess, arms over chest, leans back and watches me.

  I first saw her at lunchtime. On my first day of school, I sat alone at a table in the courtyard just outside our crowded cafeteria. When I returned the next day, Aubrey was sitting there. I asked if I could join her. She shrugged. I ate quietly and Aubrey did too, then popped her hairbands against her wrist and doodled in a notebook. As we waited for the period to end, I noticed her big, dark eyes. I must have been staring because she looked up at me. For a moment, neither of us looked away. Then I took my Styrofoam tray of food to the trash can.

  On the third day, as we ate, I asked her name and she told me. Then I introduced myself.

  Why ain’t you sitting with your friends? she asked.

  Guess I don’t got none, I say. Just moved here. You?

  I’d tell you, Aubrey said, but if you told anyone, I’d have to kill you.

  I look like a snitch to you?

  Don’t know what you look like.<
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  Later, I learned that she fought Jess, who was her best friend at the time, for dating her ex, Brandon, on the first day of school, so she didn’t want to sit with their friends anymore. At the time, though, I didn’t wonder too much about why she was there. Instead, we spent the rest of the period sharing the occasional word, and I tried and failed to make her laugh. As the days went on and we got to know each other better, we talked more, mostly about the shows we watched, the fights we saw at school, and other happenings in the hallways. Aubrey often made fun of people walking by and the teachers she hated. When my hair started getting long, she made fun of me too.

  You looking real homeless, she said.

  Ain’t got a barber, I replied.

  I know a couple.

  Probably can’t cut hair like mine.

  The next week, I came to school with a new, but bad, haircut.

  Eventually, I joined the track team and made other friends that I could sit with, but I kept eating lunch with Aubrey. She had run out of people to make fun of and fights at school to discuss, so she started talking about skipping school to go to the beach and about going to parties with her sister where she drank and smoked. Even when she repeated the same story, I laughed at the punch lines and leaned in during moments of suspense. I envied her social life; I spent all my free time doing homework or at track meets. I never had any stories to share, so I always asked for more details, which made her stories wilder and her voice more animated, all of which now makes me wonder how often she lied. But at the time, I was content to listen and to sit with the feeling stirring my stomach as she spoke, even in winter, when the days dipped into the thirties and we wore our jackets as we ate.

  The day after Junior got locked up, I met Aubrey at lunch. It was February, so the weather was in the forties; Aubrey was wearing a camo hoodie and I wore a Sherpa-lined XL hoodie. She talked like everything was normal, but sooner or later she got quiet. She must have noticed something was off. When she asked what was wrong, though I hadn’t told anyone else, I explained.

  Can’t believe he was so stupid, I said. Swear he’s the dumbest person on the face of the earth. Can’t keep his grades up in college. Can’t stay out of trouble. Calls my mom asking her to post bail with money we ain’t got. Don’t know what he good for.

  You talking real mad, she said, but you look real sad.

  I ain’t about to cry, Aubrey. I’m pissed.

  Aubrey nodded and put a hand on my shoulder. I turned away.

  I get it, she said. You know my daddy’s locked up.

  Then Aubrey started talking about her father. He got arrested when she was ten. She kind of understood what was going on, but not entirely. When they talked on the phone, he never told her much about what it was like on the inside. She didn’t hear about how hard it was until she got older and her mom shared more. When he got out, things looked okay for a while. Then he violated parole and now he was sitting in the county jail again.

  When I was a kid, I used to love talking to him on the phone, she said. Now I hate when he calls. Every time we get off the phone, I get so mad. Can’t tell if I’m mad at him or mad he ain’t here.

  Had no idea.

  Ain’t the most fun thing to talk about. Besides, folks hear that your dad’s in prison and they get to thinking all kinds of stuff about you. Start whispering things they don’t think you hear. Look at you different. They ain’t get it. But I get it, Daniel.

  I nodded. I wanted to say more, but the bell rang and people started filing out of the cafeteria. Lunch was over. Aubrey gathered her things and walked away.

  We didn’t talk much more about her father or Junior. When they called or when something important happened on the inside, we shared details, but other than that, we talked about all the normal things. Still, our conversations felt different from then on. She kept making fun of me, but she smiled at me more, too, and offered little compliments, sometimes about a haircut or a shirt I wore. I tried to repay the favor—to tell her she was pretty or that I liked her hair when it was up—but she always deflected.

  Eventually, Brandon and Jess broke up. Jess reconciled with Aubrey and joined us for lunch. We talked about Junior and Aubrey’s father less, and in general I was quieter, but I liked Jess. When they recounted their adventures together, Jess made me laugh.

  Aubrey made me feel something different. When I saw her, I wanted to smile; when we made eye contact, I wanted to stare. I tried to impress her and avoided saying things that I thought would annoy her. After school, I kept thinking about her. I thought about her so much that eventually I realized I had feelings for her.

  Sooner or later, Aubrey and Jess invited me to hang out after school. I never could because I had practice and homework. Then, when I complained about lugging all my books and track gear around because I never paid to rent a locker, Aubrey gave me the combination to hers and I kept my stuff there. Each morning, after I deposited my books, I hung around, pretending to look for something until either Aubrey walked in or it got so late that I assumed she was skipping school. A few weeks later, Mom bought me a Virgin Mobile phone with limited minutes for emergencies. Aubrey and I texted until I ran out, at which point Mom yelled at me for wasting her money. I apologized and, in time, she added more minutes to my phone. The cycle repeated. Luckily, I had minutes when the hurricane hit.

  The time she took me to her house after school was a few months after that. Based on what she said at school, I thought she was more experienced than me, so I assumed she would make a move if she wanted me. She didn’t. When I went home, I thought she didn’t like me.

  Then she took me gigging. I thought something might happen when we were on the water. We watched each other without saying anything for a little, but she didn’t kiss me. Maybe she never would, maybe she just thought of us as friends. When we got tired, we let the current carry us. I had never spent those hours of the night with a girl. As we faced away from each other, Aubrey started talking about how mad she was at her father. Then I told her about my father beating me when I was young. She said she was sorry and ran her hand through my hair as I cried. When I finished, we didn’t say much. After a few minutes, we turned the boat around and returned to Bing’s Landing. We disembarked the boat quietly as the river slapped against the cement. Something wet coated my forehead and hers, and I didn’t know if it was sweat or the river’s oily waters. While connecting the boat to the truck, our hands touched and she looked at me.

  Feel so good and tired right now, I said as I pulled my hand back. If I lied down and never got up, I wouldn’t be mad.

  You talking about dying on me? Boy we just got off the river. Night’s young. We young. Ain’t no parents checking for us. Reckon we got some time to kill.

  I agreed and got in the truck. We towed the boat, parked the car, and went to a bench overlooking the Intracoastal. In the quiet, Aubrey threw a rock into the river and lit a cigarette.

  You sure talk about death a lot, she said.

  You don’t ever think about it?

  I do, she said. How I’m going to go. What’s going to happen after. But I don’t tell nobody about it and I don’t let myself keep thinking about it.

  So what you think about instead?

  All the life I’m going to live, she said.

  Oh, you got big plans, huh?

  You ain’t the only one with dreams, Daniel.

  What you dream then?

  We sat on a bench at Bing’s Landing and kept talking, but still nothing happened between us. I told stories I had not shared with anyone before and the stories she shared seemed to be the same, but I didn’t know if that meant anything, if the way she comforted me earlier in the night was the action of a friend or a girlfriend.

  The next time Jess and I were alone, I asked if Aubrey liked anyone. Jess said Aubrey was thinking about getting back with Brandon. That afternoon, at practice, I asked out Ghost, the white hurdler on the track team who I knew liked me.

  When Ghost and I started dating, I stopped
eating lunch with Aubrey. I spent my time between classes and at lunch flanked by the track team, hoping to avoid her. But my stomach still fluttered whenever I bumped into her, even when I pretended not to see her. I thought the feelings would go away, but after two months, I broke up with Ghost.

  The next day, I returned to our table for lunch. Jess asked where I had been, but Aubrey didn’t say anything. I changed the subject. That Friday, Aubrey drove me to Saint Augustine and crashed her car. On Monday, at our locker, I told her all I could think about was what would have happened if I died. What my funeral would have looked like. What my mom would look like. Who would miss me. She stared at me as I spoke, mascara clumped on her lashes, eyelids hanging low. I asked what she would have done if I died. She said she would’ve cried. Then the bell rang and I said I had to go to class. Aubrey hugged me and walked away.

  The next day, I waited for her at our locker again. She walked in with her hair in a ponytail, clutching a textbook to her chest. When she got close, I joked about expecting her to skip school. She said she thought she might. When our chuckles stopped, I looked at her. Her eyeliner made her brown eyes even larger, but I couldn’t read them. I chewed my bottom lip. Finally, Aubrey asked what was on my mind.

  Aubrey, I broke up with Ghost because I still like you.

  Figured as much, she said.

  You like me? I asked.

  I used to, she said.

  What you mean, used to?

  Aubrey shifted her mouth so that her left cheek plumped. Then she looked around. The hallway was empty. She leaned her back against the wall, half facing me and half facing away. She swayed from one side to the other, looking down at her feet. I repeated my question.

  Used to, she said. In the past.

  If you felt that way once, I said.

  Things’re different now.

  How’re things different? You’re still you and I’m still me, right?

  They just are, she said. I seen you with someone else. Don’t know how else to explain it.