From the Blue

by Mark Stephens

  She existed there in that peaceful place for a few moments until the quiet was rudely interrupted by a husky, melodic voice that was both strange and familiar to her.

  “Hey there.”

  The young woman jumped, almost out of her skin, and yelped at the sudden intrusion into her silence. She jerked her head around to see who was speaking to her, her expression full of anger and annoyance at the interruption. What was it with people sneaking up on her today?

  She never got an answer to her question because her face froze in shock. By the dim light of the moon, she recognized the crop of unruly hair and angular jawline that had haunted her all day. His skin glistened wetly and water dripped from his arms and hands. And, although it was night, the moon was bright enough to produce a sheen on the intruder’s eyes and reveal the mystic she remembered so vividly.

  It was him!

  Her heart leapt into her throat.

  Dylan Roberts had never been one to believe in coincidence or fate. She was a modern woman of logic and intelligence. She put no stock or faith in things she couldn’t see or hear or touch. Yet, at this moment, it was difficult to dispel the notion of a higher power guiding her to this place and time. There was just no logical explanation for what was happening right now, no reason for him to have found her after she had just been looking for him.

  Several seconds passed before she realized she must look the fool, sitting there and gawking at Jaron’s sudden appearance without saying a word.

  “Oh, hey.”

  Her voice cracked from disuse, betraying her surprise and elation.

  “You’re Jordan’s friend, Dylan, right? We met earlier. I’m Jaron.”

  Her head swam when she nodded, only partly from the lingering alcohol. “I remember.”

  He flashed a smile at her, teeth gleaming in the pale light. “May I join you?”

  The young man who hadn’t left her thoughts all day motioned towards the empty spot on the towel next to her. Once again, her words seem to have fled the building and she was barely able to muster out a low ‘Sure’.

  Jaron settled into the sand beside her, close enough that she could feel the coolness of his skin radiating off of him. He joined her in looking out over the waves into the vast blackness of the ocean. From the corner of her eye, she watched him, hardly believing that he was actually here and not a figment of her imagination.

  Both sat in silence for a few minutes, just watching, but with none of the uncomfortable that should exist between two strangers. Dylan felt no harm or danger from the boy beside her, even though she knew the cliché: a girl alone, in the dark, stranger next to her. She should be hearing a thousand warning klaxons ringing in her head. Instead, she only felt the ease, the feeling of coming home after a long vacation as she had when she had first laid eyes on him.

  She felt safer with this boy than she did in her own bed. It was that feeling that erased everything else she felt, much as the tide had washed away the detritus of the day. With that, she finally disturbed the quiet and asked, “So, what brings you all the way out here?”

  He turned his head slightly towards her and answered, “I like swimming at night. There’s something alluring about the stars overhead and the cool water that relaxes me. Plus, this social gathering is fun, but not quite my scene. Some of those girls are a little too…forward for my tastes.”

  Dylan hummed her agreement softly, desperately wanting to pinch herself in case she was dreaming or even maybe pinching him to make she wasn’t. A brief image of her reaching over and tweaking his arm almost sent her into a bout of laughter, which she only suppressed by turning her head away from him.

  Once she had herself under control, she glanced back over her shoulder and caught him staring at her intently, making her a bit uncomfortable but excited at the same time.

  “What?”

  “You look very beautiful in the moonlight.”

  He lifted his finger and collected a strand of hair that had fallen from her ear and tucked it back. When he touched her, she felt the smooth cold skin of his fingertips brush against her cheek, bringing with them an electric tingle on contact. Dylan could sense the rush of hotness to her face beyond the effects of the alcohol and said a silent prayer of thanks that it was dark outside. As he pulled his hand away, she silently wished more of her hair would fall back down.

  “My turn.” He announced as his hand fell away from her. “What is your reason for being out here, away from your friends and your boyfriend?”

  “My boyfriend?” she asked him back, exasperation in her voice.

  “Yes. Jordan. I saw the two of you dancing back there.”

  He was watching her!?! The thought elated her.

  There was a hard undercurrent to his tone, almost jealousy, but it wasn’t that that caused her to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s one of my best friends and the dancing was what happens when you mix Dylan and drinking. One shot of tequila equals lewd and inappropriate dancing.” Although she tried to make herself sound genuinely amused by the implication, she still felt a twinge of regret from her actions and bemusement that Jaron had been watching her.

  But, there was no way she was going to tell a strange boy about her growing sexual frustration and her impropriety or whatever it was that was going on with her. “As for your earlier question, I also had to get away from all the merriment. I had a couple of drinks and wanted to get rid of my buzz before I made an even bigger ass of myself.”

  “Hmm, yes.” He chuckled melodically, but without condemnation. “How do you say it? Been there, done that.”

  “Well, it’s not something I make a habit of.” She explained. She really didn’t want to find the boy and have him think she was a lush. “Just had a lot on my mind today and, when Jordan gave it to me, I drank it. No big. It is a party. I’m not driving. I’m not drooling. It’s all five by five.”

  He nodded back at her a bit quizzically and turned his gaze back to the rolling waters, changing the subject. “The ocean is very soothing tonight. When I’m home, I love to sit and watch the sea. A hurricane can disrupt it. The pull of the heavens can influence it, but it never changes course. It is as constant as the sun, as steady as the moon.”

  “Where is home again?” She followed his eyes to the rolling waves, not missing what he was telling her. He was the most eloquent boy that she’d ever had the occasion to speak with.

  “A tiny, tiny little island in the south Caribbean. Most people have never heard of it.”

  “Still, you’re the prince there, right?”

  He laughed out loud at the question, scaring off a gull that had landed near them and was scavenging for a late night snack. “Yes, technically I am a prince, but, with my brothers, there are four of us. It is more a customary title than anything else. I have no wish to rule our nation. And even if I did, my brother would be the first in line to succession and I would have to bow to him and swear allegiance when the time came.”

  “But that makes your father the king, right? What’s it like being royalty? It must be interesting.” She asked, the scholar in her genuinely intrigued by him.

  “Not as exciting as you might think. As I was telling the others, my father, King Augustin, he is the king of our land, but it is a small island with only about 80,000 people live there, barely a small city in the States. He is a wise regent, but it is still politics, much like here. He has many advisors to assist him and many people to answer to. My mother is simply that, my mother. She holds no place within our government, except as wife. She is known as Lady Elizabeth and, as archaic as it may seem in America, her primary duty is to maintain my father’s household.”

  “And you said four brothers? Wow. You mother must’ve had her hands full when you were growing up.”

  Dylan watched Jaron’s face and saw it literally light up as he spoke about his family. “That she did and still does. My youngest brother, Daniel, is only eight and does a pretty good job at keep
ing her on her toes. Edward is a few years younger than me, but he’s at the age where the one girl he doesn’t want around is his mother.”

  “And you have an older brother? The one who will be king?”

  “Yes. His name is Julien.” She immediately noticed the dark edge that crept into his voice.

  “Do you and he not get along?”

  “No, yes, I mean, we were inseparable as kids, best friends as well as brothers, but in the past few years, he’s changed a lot.”

  He was saddened as he spoke, a pall over his words that Dylan could hear easily. It weirded her out a little. She didn’t know him that well, but in that short time, he had always seemed so…positive. It was both a relief and disconcerting for her to see that characteristic become marred.

  “Julien has always been Father’s opposite number. Father upheld the traditions that have guided us for so long, while Julien chafed under the restraints of custom.”

  “Well, it’s not uncommon for fathers and sons to disagree like that.” She interjected. “Sons like to find their own place in the world outside of the shadows cast by their fathers. And your father is a king. He probably has a pretty long shadow to escape from. But I wouldn’t worry. It’s a part of growing up.” She had been witness to Jordan and his father fighting loudly more than once, only to make amends and be best friends later.

  Jaron grinned wanly and continued. “I know, but for Julien and my father, it is different. It goes deeper than straining under the yoke of ancestors and patriarchs and tradition. Sometimes, when they argued, there was such deep anger and hatred from Julien that I feared they would come to blows. Our home would echo with their rage. My brothers would hide from him. Mother’s eyes blurred with her sadness.”

  Jaron sighed deeply as if dredging up all those old memories was tiring.

  “When it came time for Julien to leave for university, I was happy to see him go. His poison went with him and our home returned to normal.” The words sliced through the air like they were a sword.

  “So your brother’s here in the States too?”

  “No, he chose Oxford for university.” Jaron answered tersely.

  “Well, Oxford’s a good school. It’s so rich in history. All those castles, the royal family, the cathedrals, the literature, your brother must’ve loved it there.”

  Jaron turned his head and flashed that perfect smile at her. “Not as much as you would have, I see, but I don’t think my brother found it as…fascinating. He left after a few semesters. Father fervently hoped that college would soothe the flames of rebellion within him, prayed that the education and foreign culture would tame Julien’s more adverse tendencies, but it appears that it didn’t. Instead, it only seemed to stoke the fires even brighter and hotter.”

  “His first year done, Julien returned home, even more adversarial than when he left. The arguments began anew, more hostile, more spiteful than they had ever been. The weeks he was at home passed as slowly as molasses through a pinhole.”

  Jaron paused, like he was collecting his thoughts or deciding how much more to say. Dylan studied him intently in the interim, seeing the slight slump of his shoulders and the furrowed brow on his forehead. Just as his previous exuberance had been transparent on his face and in his body language, his despondency was just as clearly evident.

  “It must’ve been hard to see your brother and father go at it like that.” She mustered and touched his forearm gingerly.

  “It did tax my allegiances, at least until that last summer. By then, I had grown enough to listen and understand what they were fighting about.”

  He turned his head and looked into Dylan’s eyes. “It was as if the scales of worship had fallen off of my eyes. I saw my brother finally as what he had become, not the older sibling who I looked up to and idolized. He had become ambitious, greedy for power, almost dangerously so. More than once, he threatened to take the throne from Father by any means necessary and end, what he called, ‘the pitiful policies of a man who cowered from ascension to greatness.’”

  Dylan was dumbstruck, feeling the tension and sadness Jaron felt through her touch.

  “That was almost two years ago.” He continued. “Julien left for his second year, but never started the term or resumed residence with his flat-mates. He completely dropped off the map. We haven’t had any word from him since. I’m ashamed to confess that I’m happy he is gone. He was…bad and I didn’t wish to remember him that way.”

  Jaron fell silent from the telling. In the faint shimmer of the moonlight, Dylan studied his face as they reached a temporary break in their conversation. His tousled hair had begun to dry in the wind and fell over his eyebrows, not quite touching the tops of his eyes. His face was soft around the edges, a leftover of boyhood, and seemed as animated as his speech, mercurial and changing with each and expression. Every line, every crease, every muscle twitch seemed to emphasize whatever he was speaking about.

  Dylan flushed a little when he turned and caught her staring at him, but he didn’t call her out on it. He simply asked her a question with a tiny creased grin across his mouth.

  “Enough about me and my sordid family drama, what about you? What’s it like here in Inlet Cove?” His tone became jovial again, sounding like the wind across the water. The sparkle returned to his cheeks and eyes as if he hadn’t just confessed something so deep and dark.

  “Other than making a huge idiot of myself in front of strangers, I’m a senior at Beach Side High starting in September.” Dylan didn’t mind answering questions about herself, but she really wanted to know more about this exotic boy from some faraway land. “So what is it that you’re doing in the States?

  “Ah, big college tour. I’ve turned 18 and, as with my brother, my father wants me to attend school here just as he did. So I’ve been visiting campuses since I arrived a few weeks ago. Have you thought about college?” he said with interest and with enough attention that she felt there was nothing more important to him than finding out about her.

  “Some. My aunt Paula keeps bugging me to ‘think about my future’, so I guess I’ll be looking over my options and applying soon.”

  “Your aunt?”

  “Oh, yeah. I live here with my aunt.”

  This was a part of her life that few people knew the whole truth about. Even she was fuzzy on some of it. The one thing she did know was that she didn’t like to talk about her absentee, deadbeat dad or her wayward mother, especially to strangers. Yet, inevitably, the next question would be just about that. It was always about that.

  “Where are your parents?”

  And there it was. Boom goes the dynamite. A sense of dread crept over her.

  Dylan squirmed a little next to him, feeling the sand squish beneath her shorts. He appeared to sense how uncomfortable she was and backed out of his previous question. “Oh, it’s OK if you don’t want to tell me. Everyone has some family stuff that they’d rather keep to themselves.”

  She knew that to be true and it wasn’t fair that he’d already told her his. Trying to decide what to say or do, she studied his face by the moonlight and saw the intense sincerity etched on his features as clear as a bell. Their faces were mere inches apart, their eyes felt even closer. She could feel the pull of them again. It was the same well of gravity that had captured her before, but she wasn’t frightened or unnerved by it this time. She didn’t fear losing herself in him. For some inexplicable reason, no matter how deeply she fell, she knew she’d be safe with him. She knew she could trust him. Implicitly.

  Looking away from him and seemingly studying something intently in the sand by her feet, she began her story.

  “From what I’ve been told, my father and mother met after a Nirvana concert over 20 years ago. They dated off and on for a few years and eventually moved in together. My aunt never really talks about him, but she swears he used to hit my mother before and after I was born. Both of them were heavy drug users, although my dad seemed to enjoy weed more than the harder stuff. My mother, on the
other hand, became a repeat offender. She used coke on a regular basis, but would take whatever she got her hands on.”

  “When she found out she was pregnant with me, she went straight for awhile. Just like that. No rehab or nothing. It seemed my father did too. He actually kept a job for more than a month and tried to provide a home for me and my mother. But it wouldn’t last for long. As soon as I was born, he split, leaving my mother with no job, in debt with hospital bills and unpaid rent and a newborn to take care of.”

  “So what happened to your mother after your father left?” Dylan couldn’t see much of his face in the darkness, but his voice had become softer, more somber.

  With a heavy sigh, she said, “My mother tried to take care of me for awhile on her own, but the stress or loneliness, I guess, forced her off the wagon. She began using again. Long story short, she dropped me off at my aunt’s during one of her lucid periods and then disappeared. I haven’t seen or heard from her since. That was 15 years ago.”

  “Can’t say I’d want to see them either. I look at my friends and classmates, see them with their mothers and fathers and I know I’m not like them. I’ll never have a mother-daughter relationship. I’ll never be Daddy’s little girl. Don’t get me wrong. My aunt is great. She’s sacrificed a lot to raise me, but it’s just not the same. Yet, at the same time, if they did show up, I don’t know what I would say or do.”

  She looked up and laughed uneasily. “I guess both of us are flawed with dysfunctional families. What a thing to have in common.”

  Dylan’s voice tumbled downward into melancholy and she sat there, her hands fidgeting in her lap. It surprised and embarrassed her to have opened up to a complete stranger even if he’d been brave enough to do the same thing. She didn’t feel brave. She felt stripped and exposed, raw from voicing what had remained buried, especially to a stranger. No matter what she sensed from the boy beside her, she still hardly knew him. Bearing her soul and telling her secrets had come easy, too easy for someone who kept such matters close to the vest.