Reclaiming the Sand

by A. Meredith Walters

  And for the first time in six years I identified and felt someone else’s feelings as if they were my own.

  It scared me shitless.

  Flynn’s eyes that had been shadowed and dark flickered my way and met mine for an instant. A flash of understanding arched out between us. Awareness that I had thought dead and buried under the mountain of our past.

  “Thanks,” Flynn responded, his voice cracking on the one, simple word.

  We stood silent. Locked in place by the weight of a thousand memories and words unspoken.

  I wasn’t quite sober enough for the heaviness of the moment. It was overwhelming me. I thought I would suffocate in the tension.

  “Did you do the work on the house?” I asked him, not knowing what else to say. I should probably just leave but for some reason, I couldn’t make my feet travel back the way they had come.

  I didn’t want to go backwards.

  Flynn nodded and looked back up at the house. I remembered that the shutters had once been yellow. I recalled flowerbeds overrun with blossoms and an apple tree laden down with fruit. His mother’s banana bread and hot cider on a cold fall night.

  These memories slammed into me with the force of a wrecking ball. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about any of this in years.

  But being here, with Flynn, it came flooding back whether I wanted it to or not.

  “Do you want to come inside?” Flynn asked me and I shook my head. I couldn’t go in there. Definitely not now.

  Taking my refusal at face value, Flynn didn’t argue, he didn’t even comment. Instead he sat down on a small bench and watched me while I raged internally.

  There was always something so easy about being with Flynn. Even as I was embroiled in resentment and age-old bitterness, I couldn’t deny the effortlessness in which we were together.

  An ocean of time separated us from the kids we once were together, yet I was surprised to find those people still there, beneath the surface.

  “I planted some flowers. The ones you liked are there. The yellow ones with the black center,” Flynn said suddenly, breaking the quiet. I blinked in confusion.

  What was he talking about?

  “You used to pick them on the way home. They grew by the road near the bridge. You would wrap the stems together and then throw them in the water. You said they were too pretty. They were your favorites.” He seemed to be reciting from a book, his sentences monotone and fluid.

  How the hell did he remember all this shit about me? Whereas I had made a conscientious effort to forget, it seemed Flynn’s memories were as vivid as ever. I didn’t know what to do with that.

  “Black Eyed Susans,” I said softly, rubbing my temples, my head throbbing.

  “That’s a stupid name,” Flynn replied.

  I barked out a laugh. I couldn’t help it.

  “Yeah, it’s a stupid fucking name,” I agreed tiredly.

  “You shouldn’t cuss like that,” he admonished. He had always hated when I swore. Yet another ridiculous detail that had gotten stuck in my head.

  Flynn got up and disappeared around the side of the building and I wondered if he had gone back inside. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had left me without another word. Flynn wasn’t one for things like closure. He was abrupt and final.

  But he came back a few minutes later with a handful of yellow flowers. He held them out toward me. “Here. These are for you,” he said, handing me the bouquet an impatient shake.

  I slowly reached out and took them from him. Our fingers brushed briefly and I recognized his instant recoil. His hands clasped together in front of him and I watched as he started to methodically rub them together.

  “Thanks,” I said, holding the flowers limply. I knew never to be surprised by what life threw at you, but I was shocked as hell by the direction my evening had taken. I hadn’t expected to find an odd sense of comfort in the presence of the person I hoped to never see again.

  “Are you going to come by the art studio?” Flynn asked abruptly.

  I remembered our conversation days before and how rudely I had turned him down. I had been hateful and mean. Clearly that hadn’t deterred him. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him where to shove it in the most inelegant way possible, but there was something in the air that made rejecting him seem impossible.

  Maybe it was this place that had inexplicably always felt like a home. Maybe it was standing here, with Flynn, being reminded of a time when things made a perfect sort of sense.

  Maybe it was the fact that I was still slightly inebriated and not in my right mind.

  Whatever it was, my inhibitions were gone.

  “Sure,” I found myself saying. Even though Flynn wasn’t looking at me, I thought I could make out the edges of his smile.

  “Good,” he answered. He finally looked up at me and the ghost of a smile was still painted on his lips. “You look cold. You should dress better,” he said, indicating my bare legs and tiny top.

  I snorted. “I’m cool. But thanks for your opinion,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

  “You look cold. I’m going to get you a jacket,” he pressed and I shook my head.

  “Flynn, I’m fine,” I assured him firmly, knowing that once he was stuck on an idea he wouldn’t let it drop.

  “Why were you in the woods?” Flynn asked.

  “Uh, I was walking home from a party,” I answered.

  “A party,” he intoned in his oddly pleasing voice.

  “Yeah. It kind of sucked,” I said, surreptitiously rubbing my arms, not wanting to admit that I was in fact quite chilly.

  “Why did it suck?” Flynn’s eyes fell to where my arms were crossed over my chest. He stared long enough for me to know he was enjoying the view of my nipples poking through my shirt.

  “Dude, my eyes are up here,” I snapped, annoyed at the way I flushed under his gaze. Most guys would have had the decency to look embarrassed at being caught ogling. As I said many times, Flynn wasn’t most guys.

  “Why did it suck?” he asked me again.

  I shrugged. “Just the same ole’ same ole’, you know?” I said, not wanting to get into all the reasons I had left. Like it even mattered. I knew for a fact that it was most likely my friends hadn’t even noticed that I left.

  “I don’t know. I don’t go to parties,” he responded.

  I wasn’t entirely surprised by his confession. Flynn had always avoided social situations. When we were fifteen I thought he was ridiculous because he never went out. I had been in the midst of my own raging social life that involved delinquency and foolish decisions. But that was before I realized how hard it was for Flynn to be around other people. He struggled with daily interactions in a way the rest of us took for granted. And why would he choose to hang out with people who never once made him feel like he belonged?

  Myself included.

  “That’s not true. We went to a party once,” I said, before I could censor myself. My mouth fused shut and I wished I could take back my words. The last thing I wanted was to connect with him over that particular shared memory.

  Especially one that was so horrible.

  From the look on Flynn’s face I knew he was remembering that night all those years ago with perfect clarity. But unlike me, he wasn’t one to hold back what was on his mind.

  “Your friends put my head in the cooler and then made me leave,” he stated flatly. I winced. Even though I had convinced myself I had gotten over my Flynn laced guilt, I still felt it rearing its shameful head.

  I had taken him with me to a party at Stu’s, whose parents were out of town. Stu lived in a trailer park by the river and the drinking was primarily happening in his fenced in back yard.

  It was in a less savory side of town so the typical collection of high school dropouts, stoners and preppy kids trying to seem hard-core were there. I knew better than to take Flynn there. He had been adamant that he didn’t want to go.

  He had been anxious yet I had pushed him even knowing what kind of
reception he would be given. I don’t know why I had done that; what I had hoped to prove by dragging him there. I had known that my friends would gang up on him. So why hadn’t I listened when he had pleaded to stay at his house and watch television?

  Because I had always been selfish. I had always had a hard time thinking of anyone but myself. I had wanted to go. And that was the end of it.

  I had been working overtime to keep my friendship with Flynn a secret so I must have been experiencing some temporary insanity when I had made the suggestion.

  So we had gone to Stu’s party. And it had been a disaster. And I had done nothing to stop Flynn’s humiliation.

  I hadn’t stopped my friends as they tormented him. I had actually joined in as everyone started changing “Freaky Flynn” over and over again. Flynn had gotten violently angry, turning over a table and kicking over lawn chairs. He had clawed at their hands as they lifted him up and dunked him in the ice-cold beer cooler headfirst. I had forced myself to laugh through all of it, encouraging Shane and Dania as they tossed him out the back gate and locked it behind him.

  And I silently hated myself the whole time.

  I had remained at the party like a coward instead of going after him to make sure he was all right. I had been thanked by everyone for bringing the night’s entertainment and then I proceeded to get wasted.

  I had buried my guilt under a deep layer of alcohol and drugs.

  And Flynn had forgiven me, even when I couldn’t apologize. He always did. I wasn’t sure who was the bigger idiot. Flynn for accepting an apology I could never verbalize or me for not being brave enough to say it.

  “I waited out here all night for you to come by after I left that party. But you never came,” Flynn went on. His words were matter of fact. Not an accusation, just the simple truth. I could picture the Flynn Hendrick of years ago, huddled up on the bench, shivering in his wet clothes.

  “What’s the point in talking about shit that’s already happened, Flynn? What’s done is done,” I said harshly, my voice rough with emotions I was trying like hell to put a lid on.

  Flynn didn’t say anything at my outburst. He continued to look at the ground, refusing to meet my eyes. And perhaps that was for the best. Because the sight of the piercing green would undo me.

  “I’d better go.” It was long past time for me to leave. I had pushed beyond the reasonable limits for this less than pleasant walk down memory lane.

  “Okay,” Flynn said. Though a part of me wished he would stop me. But he had never asked me to stick around. Not even when we were friends a lifetime ago. He had always let me leave.

  I realized I was more than a little resentful about that.

  Because just once I’d like someone to ask me to stay. I needed to feel wanted. And the one person who had ever made me feel like that was incapable of verbalizing it when I needed so desperately to hear it.

  “I’ll see ya around,” I threw over my shoulder as I headed back across the darkened yard.

  Flynn stayed quiet. And his silence pierced the thick walls around my heart.

  -Flynn-

  Many years ago…

  I was alone.

  I was always alone.

  I don’t have friends.

  I don’t talk to anyone.

  I sit by myself at lunch. I eat my chicken salad sandwich really fast so no one can take it from me. I don’t like being hungry. And if Stu saw my lunch he’d eat it.

  I hate being alone. I want people to talk to me. I want them to like me. It makes me angry when I try to say something and people ignore me. Or worse they laugh.

  They call me names. Lots of names. Mean names.

  A girl named Dania started calling me Freaky Flynn a few months ago and now they all call me that. They yell it when I walk down the hall.

  Someone wrote it on my locker with black marker. I cried. I was so angry and everyone was laughing. They called me a pussy and someone shoved me into the wall.

  The mean girl, Dania, pushed me and called me a loser. I didn’t want her touching me. I yelled at her and threw my science book at her face. There was a guy named Shane standing next to her and he threw my book in the trash and told me to go get it.

  I didn’t want to. But he grabbed me and shoved me into the trashcan.

  It smelled bad. I threw up. And they just kept laughing and shoving me.

  Every day is the same. I hate going to school. I try to stay home but my mom makes me go. She says I can’t let them get to me. That I have to be strong. I don’t want to be strong.

  I want them to stop.

  The only thing I like about school is Ellie. I like seeing her. When she talks to me in class, it makes me happy.

  She is still mean sometimes but she is nicer now. She asks me about my drawings and she tells me she wishes she could draw too.

  I tell her I can teach her.

  She laughs and says she isn’t talented enough. I like her laugh. It makes my insides feel weird.

  I still get angry when she calls me Freaky Flynn. But it also makes me feel something else. Not mad, but worse. My new doctor says it is sadness. He helps me figure out the way I am feeling and how to tell what other people are feeling.

  I know when Ellie is frowning, she is mad. And when she is laughing, she is happy. But the other stuff is harder to figure out. I don’t understand when she looks at me sometimes and her mouth turns down. It makes me nervous.

  And I feel sad when Ellie is mean to me. When she is with her friends she is just as mean as they are.

  I want to cry when she calls me bad words. I don’t like it when she cusses. I told her that once and then she got mad and called me something even worse. Then she laughed with her friends and I felt bad.

  But she is nice to me in class and then I’m happy again.

  She is pretty. When I go home, I’ll draw her face. But I still hate the colors she puts in her hair.

  She came to school one day without any color in it and she looked really nice. I told her she was pretty and she smiled at me. And I felt weird inside again. It was like a tingling but better.

  My mom isn’t able to pick me up after school today and I am worried. She started a new job and she told me sometimes I would have to walk home. I didn’t want to walk home. It was really far. I would get lost.

  So Mom bought me a watch and told me it would take me eighteen minutes to walk home. Mom and I had walked back and forth from school to my house five times over the weekend so I knew where I was going.

  Mom was right. It took exactly eighteen minutes to get home. I knew which houses I’d see and how long it should take. Mom had written down the times so I could check my watch.

  But I am still nervous.

  My stomach feels tight as I start to walk down the road after school. What if Dania or Stu try to hurt me? What if they yell at me and call me names? That makes me worry. I rub my hands together. Up and down. Over and over again.

  “Hey!” I hear someone yell but I won’t look at them. I just have to keep walking. I am scared it is Dania or Stu.

  “Hey!” they call out again and I start to walk faster. I don’t want to be called names again. I don’t want to feel angry.

  “Flynn, stop!” A hand grabs my arm and I flinch back.

  “Don’t touch me!” I yell, pushing the hand away.

  Ellie holds up her hands and frowns. “Sorry! I didn’t mean anything. I just saw you walking and wondered where you were going,” she said and I don’t know if she is going to be mean or not. Her eyes are frowning but I can’t tell if she is angry.

  “Are you mad at me?” I ask.

  Ellie frowns again, her mouth turns down. “Why would I be mad at you?” she said.

  “You’re frowning and your mouth looks mean. I thought that meant you were mad,” I tell her.

  Ellie’s mouth isn’t turned down anymore. She is smiling. I know this means she is happy. And then she laughs and my stomach feels like bugs crawling around inside. I like her laugh. It makes me fe
el good.

  “You’re so fucking weird Freaky,” she said.

  She called me Freaky. I hate that name! It makes me worse than angry.

  “Don’t call me that!” I yell, wanting to hit her.

  She frowned again. Why was she frowning so much? I was the one that was mad.

  “Okay, I won’t,” she said and then she smiles. I smile too.

  I start walking again. I need to get home. I have been standing there too long. I only have twelve more minutes to get there. I haven’t even passed the red barn yet. I know I should have passed it two minutes ago.

  “Wait up, Flynn!” Ellie said, running to catch up with me.

  “I haven’t passed the barn yet,” I tell her.

  “What?” she asks.

  I point to the building ahead of me. I should have passed the barn when my watch said three forty-five. Now it is three forty-nine. This isn’t right. I feel anxious.

  “Okay, well let’s hurry up then,” Ellie said and starts to run down the road. I don’t like to run but it is already three forty-nine. I should have passed the red barn at three forty-five.

  I start to run. We pass the barn at three fifty.

  “Where to next?” Ellie asks after we have slowed down.

  “The stream with the four rocks. I’ll see it in four minutes,” I tell her, still walking.

  “Cool. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the stream with the four rocks,” she said, pushing her shoulder into mine. I move away from her when she touches me even though I kind of like it. Because she is still smiling. She is really pretty, even though her hair is blue now.

  “I hate the blue,” I said, pointing to her head.

  Ellie touches her hair and her mouth stops smiling. “Me too,” she said. I don’t understand. If she doesn’t like it, why did she make her hair that color?

  “Is that the stream?” she asks, pointing. I look down at my watch. It is only three fifty-three. We have gotten to the pond too early. It should have taken four minutes, not three. I start rubbing my hands. Up and down. Over and over again.

  “Hey, what is it?” Ellie asks.

  “It should have taken four minutes. Not three! Four!” I said, feeling upset.