by Jamie Kain
I slide my cold, bare feet down until they are wedged under her hip, using her to warm them, something I haven’t done in more years than I can count. She says nothing about this selfish, little intimacy I’ve offered, only closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, as if she’s settling in for a nap.
I stare out the window into the darkness, at the shadow of a tree branch swaying in the wind. I can’t see stars from this angle, only the darkened hillside and the horizon just above it, which is shadowed by clouds that reflect moonlight.
This reminds me of the last time I looked at the sky, in the early morning with Krishna, the sun rising and me a weak, slithery thing only wanting darkness. But Krishna is the opposite of darkness, I understand now. He is light, kindness, hope. It sounds dumb, but it’s true.
“Have you ever met someone who seemed too good for the world?” I ask Asha.
“Sarah,” she says without a moment’s hesitation.
I think of the car wreck, the dead guy, Sarah’s secret, but I know in the end, Asha is right. Sarah had a goodness in her that maybe started getting rubbed away by all the world’s rough edges, but it was there, blinding sometimes and often more than this younger sister could bear.
And Krishna, coming into my life just as Sarah left it—I wonder if it has something to do with my universe trying to find a new balance. Trying to fill the dark corner left by Sarah’s absence.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet sometime,” I say. “He kind of reminds me of Sarah. I think you’ll like him.”
Asha looks over at me, frowning a little. “Who is it?”
“Just a friend.” The phrase feels strange on my lips. “He teaches meditation at the Buddhist center.”
“Oh.”
“I’m not dating him,” I say, thinking this will lend weight to his relevance in our lives.
“Where did you meet him?”
“Outside the coffee shop after work one day.”
The way he arrived in my life, I almost wonder if Sarah put him there to save me from myself, but I don’t say this out loud. Crazy to think, but nothing anymore is what I used to think it was, so why not?
“I even went to the meditation center with him.” I want to make it clear to Asha that I’m not as predictable as I used to be, that maybe some part of me is worth believing in.
“To meditate?” I can tell she’s trying not to sound too disbelieving.
“Yeah. It was kind of … cool, I guess. I should probably go more—I mean, I will go. If you ever want to go with me…”
“To meditate?” she says more carefully, as if talking to a crazy person who might stab her with a fork if she makes the wrong move.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Half her mouth curves into a smile, as if she finally accepts that I’m serious and not deranged. “Why not.”
I wonder where Krishna is, what he’s doing, what he will say if I tell him about my suicide attempt.
No, not if.
When I tell him.
I will definitely tell him, not for sympathy, but for some sense of light. It will be like shining a light in the dark places, making that slithery, hidden part of myself retreat, maybe for good.
“I’m sorry we shut you out,” Asha says into the quiet.
“Who shut me out?”
“Me and Sarah. I mean, if we ever did, I’m sorry. I think sometimes we were just this whole world, the two of us, and you were left on the outside.”
I blink at this. Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing? Hadn’t I just been thinking about how I’d shut out Asha for all these years?
“I just … Sometimes I think you got kind of forgotten by everyone, and it wasn’t fair, you know?”
This idea, what is and isn’t fair, almost makes me laugh. Since when was anything fair, aside from cookies divided equally among kindergartners?
I open my mouth and say the first thing I can think of. “Sarah would have wanted us to forget about all that, don’t you think? She would want us to get over it and try to, like, get along, right?”
“Yeah,” Asha whispers. “She’d like that.”
So I think that’s what I will do. I will get over it, whatever it is, and I’ll try to lead the life Sarah should have been alive to see.
Hope, a feeling I barely know, creeps up on tiny mouse feet.
Forty-Two
Asha
Big changes are afoot in the Kinsey household. Instead of us giving up our childhood home, Ravi has decided to move in with us. He says it’s past time he started taking a more active role in our lives, and for once I believe he means it. Well, I believed it when he started moving his stuff in and sleeping in Lena’s old bedroom as of last week. He’s even talking to the owner of the house about us buying it after all these years of us paying rent and pretending we’re above responsibilities like home ownership.
Lena has moved most of her stuff out and into Ron’s house, where she is living now, and other than the awkwardness of the situation, I think this is an improvement.
No more fights with Lena, and Ravi has instituted family dinner nights. He also doesn’t allow me to sleep at Sin’s house, so all of a sudden I’m home at dinnertime and required to cook two nights a week. After much eye rolling from me and Rachel both, we are getting used to the routine. I am learning to cook, and I make the two things I now know how to make—pasta primavera and spaghetti carbonara. Ravi talks to us about our days, and because he’s home all the time with his consulting work and isn’t out dating anyone, there is no getting anything past him.
Rachel is still Rachel, but I think she is trying to be better. Three weeks since she OD’d, and she has been ridiculously nice to me, considering. Ravi bought her an old beater Honda that she can drive to and from work, since she’s taken a job at a Buddhist meditation center, of all places. The car has gone a long way toward winning her over, and I think being around all those Buddhists is mellowing her out a bit.
School is out as of yesterday. I somehow made it to the end of the semester without failing any of my classes. I got straight courtesy D’s, but whatever. I guess I’m grateful.
Lately, I’m starting to think the thing we should all be trying to be isn’t happy or entertained or excited or whatever. It’s grateful. For everything.
Summertime, and the living is easy.
Not exactly, but Sin has planned a beach day for us, and we are best friends again. Just like before.
Sort of.
We have just pulled Jess’s van into a parking spot in front of the tennis courts in Bolinas, and Sin is rummaging around in the back gathering a picnic basket and blanket and stuff while I stare out at the sea. It no longer looks as ominous to me as it did a month ago. Now it’s just the Pacific again, as dangerous and beautiful as it ever was.
Same as it ever was.
This is my first time here since visiting the spot where Sarah died, and I am beginning to feel a nagging sense of … something.
A little bit of truth trying to work its way into my consciousness.
“Hold this,” Sin says, snapping me back into the real world.
I turn my attention to him and he is handing me a large beach towel. I’m not sure we’ve ever gone anywhere so well equipped as we are today.
I take the towel and he shuts the van.
He is looking at me so strangely, I start to feel panic rising in my chest. He’s going to tell me something awful.
“What?”
He frowns but says nothing, a line forming between his eyebrows that I’ve never noticed before.
“Nothing, just … Let’s find a spot so we can put all this crap down.”
We trudge toward the beach access, down a concrete ramp with graffiti-covered walls, and out into the sand. To the left, the beach is dotted with couples and families who’ve staked out spaces, and after about fifty feet of walking south, we find a suitable spot and plop all the stuff down.
I struggle to spread out the blanket so we can sit on it, but the wind ha
s other ideas. Finally Sin intervenes and puts the basket on one end so we can pin down the other corners with ourselves and a pair of shoes.
“Okay, that’s about all I’ve got in me. I need a nap now.” I lie back on the blanket and cover my face with my arms, letting the sound of the crashing waves fill my head. For a few minutes, I think of nothing else.
Then Sin nudges me with his foot.
I peek at him from under my forearm. “What?”
He gives me that weird look again, like he has something to say.
It’s been weeks now since I’ve given any thought to Tristan, I realize. He’s just faded away, like a craving for some junk food I no longer like once I’ve had my fill. So I don’t think Sin could possibly be mad at me about Tristan anymore.
“Let’s walk,” Sin finally says.
Oh, God. Not the walk. Anything but the walk.
“Is something wrong?”
Instead of looking at me, he looks out at the horizon, that place where ocean meets sky. A ship, mysterious and unreachable in the distance, is the only object visible besides the sky and the ocean.
“Not exactly.” He takes my hand in his.
He pulls me forward, toward Bolinas Lagoon and the view of Stinson Beach that always makes me feel like I’m looking across at another reality. Bolinas is the hidden beach, the hippie beach, the grungy, graffiti-tagged, naked-surfing beach, while Stinson is the clean, perfect Marin County getaway for city people looking to escape the fog and have a day in the sun. The two are separated by a narrow channel of water and yet are worlds apart.
I let him lead me, and then I catch up so that we are walking side by side, hand in hand. This is not the first time we’ve held hands, but this time it feels different.
This time, I know my feelings for Sin aren’t as simple as they are for any other friend.
My eyes well up with tears that are in no way due to the light wind buffeting us. Pampas grass juts out from the hillside, swaying and looking far prettier than the destructive invasive species it is. I sometimes wish I hadn’t taken science classes so that I could just look at things and think they’re pretty and that’s it. Sort of how I feel about my relationship with Sin. I wish I could just not understand it. Just think it’s great and that’s it. No complications, no deeper veins of complicated emotion.
Up ahead, someone has built a sort of tepee out of driftwood bleached almost white from the sun. It is set back near the hillside, protected from the surf and the high tide. Sin leads me to it, and we crawl inside. The pieces of wood that form the walls leave gaps, but it is still a cozy little place with a view straight out to the sea from its doorway.
We sit cross-legged inside and say nothing for a minute.
Then Sin says, “Do you remember when we met?”
Of course I do. Freshman year, first day of school. “Ms. Godby’s class,” I say. “You were sitting in the aisle across from me, and you told me you liked my shoes.”
“I wasn’t exactly being honest.”
“You didn’t like my shoes?”
“Not really. I just wanted to have something to say to you.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I liked the way you sat there writing in your journal, not noticing anybody around you.”
“I noticed people. I was just too scared to look up.”
I am staring at a little pile of rocks and shells someone has made near the entrance of the tepee. I reach over and pick up a tiny crab exoskeleton, entirely intact somehow, its delicate legs and claws unbroken. I hold it in the palm of my hand and marvel at its beauty.
“You were so pretty,” Sin says.
My stomach leaps. He’s never complimented me like that before. Never commented on my appearance at all, other than to critique my outfits.
He picks up the crab from my open palm and studies it. “Do you ever think maybe Sarah’s been reincarnated as something else by now? Like maybe she’s a crab, or a seagull or a new baby somewhere.”
“A seagull? You think my sister came back as a seagull?”
He shrugs. “She always liked them.”
“She was crazy.”
“She just didn’t believe in speciesism.”
“What?”
“Like racism, but for animals.”
I laugh for the first time since we’ve set foot on this beach, and something hard and cold inside my chest melts. I start to relax.
“I don’t think I believe in reincarnation,” I say, because it’s impossible for me to imagine Sarah as anything but Sarah.
“I do, because I always feel this really strong sort of kinship whenever I see an alligator lizard. I think I used to be one in a past life.”
“So of all your past lives, the one and only that has stuck with you is the time you were an alligator lizard.”
“Yep.”
“You’re crazy too.”
“I try.”
I close my eyes and try to imagine where Sarah might be right now, if there are such things as souls or heaven or hell or reincarnation. I imagine her watching us now. I try to feel her presence in the crashing surf and the wind.
And for the first time, I think I do. I think maybe she is whatever and wherever I want her to be. She is inside of me, and around me, and she is the crab Sin is placing back in my palm now, and she is the grain of sand clinging to my skin. She is everything and nothing, just as we all always have been and always will be.
“I have something for you.” Sin takes a package out of his pocket, little, blue velvet bag. He hands it to me.
I set the baby crab aside, then tug at the drawstring to open the bag. Inside is a bracelet made of beautiful glass beads, some swirls of color, some spotted, some translucent.
“I made the beads in Jess’s glass studio.”
I look up at him, and I don’t understand the emotion I see in his eyes.
“It’s so pretty,” I say, then distract myself from the awkward moment by attempting to put the bracelet on, but my fingers fumble over the tiny clasp.
He stops me when I’m clearly not getting it right and secures the bracelet on my arm. When his fingertips graze the inside of my wrist, I feel it all the way in my core.
“The beads are good luck because I blew positive vibes into the glass.”
I laugh, but I stop when I see he’s serious.
I feel my cheeks get hot because he keeps looking at me like he has something big to say. Feeling foolish, I look back out at the ocean and watch a surfer, his black wet suit glimmering in the sun as he skims a small wave. I’ve never tried surfing because I hate the cold Northern California water and the idea of sharks lurking beneath the surf. Great whites actively hunt this part of the coast, and it’s not uncommon for surfers to be attacked, but there’s never been an attack at Bolinas Beach. For this reason alone, I will occasionally swim in the water here on the hottest summer days.
But this beach feels safe for other reasons too. It’s the beach of my happiest memories, the beach where Sin and I come when we’re bored, where we lie in the sand for hours reading to each other and talking about nothing and everything. I guess, now that I consider it, this has become our place.
“Asha?”
It’s rare for him to speak my actual name, and I look up, startled.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“About what?”
“The bracelet.”
“Oh! Sorry. I mean, thank you. It’s really cool.”
For a moment, his face darkens, and I know I’ve said something to hurt his feelings.
“I know we’re like best friends and all,” he says slowly. “But what if we weren’t?”
“I’d die. I can’t lose you and Sarah in the same year.”
“That’s not what I mean. What if we were, like, not just friends?”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs, and a pained look crosses his face. “When I said I wasn’t into girls anymore, I wasn’t exactly telling the truth.”
“You weren’t?”
“I was just, I don’t know, kind of confused.”
He’s stopped wearing dresses and other girlie stuff, I realize. I hadn’t noticed until now, but pretty much all he wears these days are normal guy clothes.
“Confused why?”
“Because you were so clearly into Tristan, and you were the only girl I wanted to be with.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and like I’m a fool for not knowing. And maybe I am.
I think of all those times we shared the same bed, all the countless hours we’ve spent together, and me clueless as I could possibly be about Sinclair Tyler.
I look at him, and for the first time I start to see him for who he is, and not who I need him to be.
“Say something!”
“I love you,” I say before my brain has even decided to speak the words. My heart has taken control of my lips, and there’s no stopping.
He looks stunned. “You do? Like a friend, you mean?”
“No. Yes. I mean, I love you like a friend, and I love you like I love you.”
He scoots over so that our legs are tangled together and our lips are only inches apart.
“You mean like this?” He kisses me.
It’s not a kiss like any I’ve ever felt before. It’s warm and slow, and it holds a question between us that I know I have to answer. I feel my whole self melt against him, and I can’t compare this feeling to anything in the history of my life. I am visiting a new world, embarking on I don’t know what.
When we stop kissing, he looks at me for a while, and this time it’s this sort of soft, blurry looking that I can’t turn away from. It’s like we’re seeing each other for the first time, but we already know all the details. He’s always been Sin to me, funny, weird, quirky Sin. My best friend. But now he’s this other guy. He’s the one I love, here with me all along but somehow brand-new.
“The reason I got so mad about Tristan is because of this.”
I don’t need him to explain that “this” is the feelings that have been growing inside of us, like a baby in the months before the mother’s belly is big. Still small and secret, but no less real.
“I know,” I whisper, and it’s true that some part of me did know before the thoughts had even formed.