Rewind to You

by Laura Johnston

  Austin sucks in a breath. “Wow.”

  “I know. Sorry to bore you.”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  I give him a little nudge. “What, then?”

  He scratches his head, each muscle along his arm flexing as he does. “I’m just starting to think I’m not good enough for you, Sienna.”

  “Yeah right,” I say, hating my big blabbering mouth more than ever. “Well, I think you’re amazing.”

  “Yeah, well that makes one of us.”

  Although his statement bothers me, I try to imagine what my mom would think of Austin. He’s a boy from the hood, working retail with no plans for the future. Although I disagree, a lot of people, including my mom, would think Austin doesn’t measure up. He knows it. I know it.

  He grabs my hand and starts pulling me along at a jog. “C’mon.”

  I laugh, barely keeping up as he picks up his pace. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting wet!”

  He runs into the ocean, pulling me in. Water laps at my feet, and I stop. Austin’s hand slips out of mine as he jogs into the waves.

  “C’mon,” he calls out again, but something about the water on my feet keeps me rooted in the sand. I smile tentatively and take a few steps forward until the water covers my ankles. Then my knees. My thighs.

  “I’ll be out in a second,” I call to him and smile as though I’m enjoying myself. But something about Austin’s hand slipping away from mine and the water on my skin sent my nerves crawling.

  Austin glances back and smiles. Then he puts his hands together and dives beneath the surface. I take a quick breath, feel myself holding it in. A memory flashes through me, grasping a sick feeling buried inside and drawing it out.

  I swallow hard, waiting for Austin to resurface. The image of him diving underwater replays in my mind, and time seems to stretch. I tell myself to relax.

  Breathe.

  I wait half a minute. I start counting slowly from one to ten. Surely he’ll surface by ten. As I scan the restless surface of the ocean my heart makes its presence known, hammering in my chest, my throat, my ears. Eight, nine, ten. Eleven.

  Twelve.

  Thirteen.

  “Austin?” I say at first. I raise my voice. “Austin?”

  I bend closer to the water to see if I can spot him, thinking this isn’t funny. But another chunk of time passes and still no Austin. What’s it been, one, two minutes? More?

  Strangling fear takes hold as the rowdy noises of the beach dissipate, replaced by the sound of water caving in through the windshield.

  Cold water encompassed me, biting my skin. Rising up my legs, up my arms and chest. Ever rising. The river determined to pull me under. I gasped for my last breath, feeling my dad’s hand at my side as he released my seat belt. He pushed me out and our hands slipped apart. I surfaced. He didn’t.

  “Austin?” I scream and dive under to look for him, like I dove under to find my dad that night.

  I held my breath and went under for my dad, swimming blindly through the dark river in search of the Jeep I couldn’t find, my lungs screaming for air. Swimming to the surface, I took another deep breath and dove under again, feeling my way until I finally reached something hard and rubber . . . a tire!

  I felt my way along the car, frantic. I forced myself not to surface again for air. Time was running out, and time did run out. I never reached my dad.

  My head swims as terror seizes every nerve in my body. I swim to the surface of the ocean and gasp for air. The water glistening in the sunshine comes in and out of focus. Cold sweat beads on my skin. It’s happening—again.

  Don’t faint. Don’t faint.

  I try to picture Austin here, try to pull myself together. I need his arms to catch me. Need him now.

  But he needs me, too.

  I’m about to dive under again, but it’s coming fast. Can’t stop it.

  Don’t fall. Don’t fall.

  Veins swelling with adrenaline, I whirl around toward dry land, my legs slowly melting into numbness. A cold breeze sweeps over me and a bright light shrouds my vision. Can’t see a thing. I take one shaky step, then two, fighting to get back to the beach before I faint.

  But I don’t make it in time.

  CHAPTER 17

  Austin

  I swim along the ocean floor, more alive than ever. That’s how it always feels around Sienna.

  I spot some cool yellow and black fish. Start to feel the burn in my lungs. I turn toward the sunlight and break through the surface. I shake the water from my hair, wiping my eyes in time to see it happen: Sienna goes limp and sinks beneath the surface.

  As her body folds into a wave, I bolt into action. A nanosecond. A quick breath. I dive under, doing exactly what I was trained to do as a lifeguard. But this time, the person I’m saving means something to me, and it leaves my stomach tied in knots.

  CHAPTER 18

  Sienna

  Everything clears before my eyes, and I see him. Again. I feel a tug at my heartstrings as I look at my dad once more, but mainly I feel baffled. The garden. The boots. The gouge in my shin. Everything is exactly as it was before. Like déjà vu.

  My dad eyes my shin and asks if I’m okay. This time I simply nod, trying to remember exactly what happened last time. I smell the apple juice and watch as he takes a long drink. He offers the glass to me. I reach to accept it, but curiosity creeps in. I start to speculate, and I get an idea. Last time, I accepted the glass. That juice was so good, I’m tempted to drink again.

  “No thanks,” I say.

  My dad smiles and takes another drink. He shifts his gaze toward the sunset. “You know, Sienna, there aren’t too many moments quite like this.”

  My heart begins to race. The sunset. Fresh apple juice. The dirt on my tongue. The pain in my leg. Although logic fights against it, I’m almost certain: I’m not only standing in this garden, I’m standing in a prior time. I’m reliving a moment that’s already passed.

  How could this be? My body is in Savannah. Now I’m in Virginia? And this moment happened a year ago, the day of the accident. I’ve graduated high school, and above all, my dad is dead. I’ve always believed in heaven, but not like this. Heaven shouldn’t be this painful. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m not dead. I’ve seen him like this twice now and woken up both times.

  What is this then? A vision? Am I insane? Going crazy? Very possible, but . . .

  No.

  It’s clear to me now, even though it doesn’t make sense. I’m here, really here.

  And I have the power to say whatever I want.

  “Let’s make a pact,” Dad says, and I recall what’s coming next. “Let’s remember it, okay? This moment. And when times get rough, we can rewind to this moment—”

  Rewind to this moment. That’s exactly what we’ve done. “Dad,” I cut him off, feeling the sting of tears behind my eyes. Don’t let me drive the Jeep. Don’t let us take the Powhite Parkway Bridge! Skip the fireworks altogether . . . I’m desperate to tell him, to warn him. Anything that will keep him from that crash!

  But white specks flitter across my vision, and my dad becomes a blur before I get a chance. I fight against it, aching to change the past.

  Don’t let me drive that Jeep! The words scream over and over in my mind, rattling in my brain. I’m so sorry, Dad. I think the words I ache to say. So, so sorry. I feel myself being swept away, left only with that unbearable hole in my heart I fear will never heal.

  CHAPTER 19

  Austin

  I surface when I reach her and lift her body. She twitches, her body convulsing before going limp. I carry her to dry land, my heart racing. I feel for a pulse, for breathing, and begin CPR. Chest compressions.

  Sienna coughs a half a breath later. Beautiful sound. Best thing I’ve ever heard. I help her onto her side as she coughs out water. Only now do I realize we’ve attracted a small crowd. Some have drawn out cell phones to call paramedics, but they see Sienna sitting up. Hopefully no one’s
YouTubing this. Don’t think Sienna would like that much. Turbo dances around us, wound up by the action. A few people clap. I can tell Sienna is mortified by the applause. But she’s okay, and that’s all that matters.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, pulling her into my arms as the small crowd separates.

  Sienna breathes in and out, gaining composure. “When have I heard that before?”

  I smile, remembering a similar scenario one week ago on River Street. Then her hand flies up and slaps my face.

  “What the—” I touch my cheek where her hand most likely left a mark.

  If she didn’t look so hot with her hair wet, her eyes glaring holes through me, I might actually draw away.

  She points a finger at me, still catching her breath. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “What?”

  She points to the ocean as the crowd scatters. “That! Staying under there like you’re some guppy fish.”

  I grimace. “Guppy fish? Come on. What about shark? Swordfish? Something manly.”

  She gives me a reluctant smile. “Guppy.”

  “I was a lifeguard every summer through high school. Swam a lot.”

  Sienna shakes her head. “Oh, okay. You’re a lifeguard, too. Is there a job you haven’t had?”

  My grin fades. “You fainted again, didn’t you?”

  She shifts her gaze to the ocean, quiet.

  “Look, you don’t have to talk about it. This has happened twice, though, and—”

  “Three times,” she interrupts. She puts her index finger in the sand, gliding it around like the motion is therapeutic. “It’s happened three times.”

  I nod, waiting. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. But . . .” Still, I watch her, willing her to go on.

  Her finger continues to drag in circular motions, cutting deeper lines in the sand. Over and over. She looks like she’s about to jump off a high dive. Scared. Vulnerable. Shallow breaths. Shaky hands. She closes her eyes and swallows like her throat hurts. “Last summer, my dad and I were in my Jeep. It was the Fourth of July, my favorite holiday. Usually we spent it here in Savannah, but my team got the chance to dance at a festival in Virginia.”

  Sienna looks to the horizon. I can’t read her thoughts. Wish I could. Her eyes are sad but she smiles, like she’s glimpsing a memory that’s bittersweet. “I remember the look on my dad’s face like it was yesterday. We were both laughing about something, on our way to meet up with the rest of our family for the Dogwood Dell fireworks. The first one was purple, one of those huge fireworks with sparks draping down.”

  She runs her fingers through her wet hair and lets out a frustrated breath. Shakes her head. “Of all the things to remember from that night, I remember the color of that stupid firework. I just stared at it—stared and stared—as I drove over the bridge.

  “Life couldn’t get any better, you know? Right then. We’d already spent a month here on Tybee and we were back in Virginia for the rest of the summer. I was ready for my senior year. My performance that night was awesome. Things were never perfect between my mom and Spencer, but all in all, it was a great day. I was with my dad, on our way to celebrate. Everything seemed just right.”

  A scar on Sienna’s forehead catches my eye. I’ve noticed it before but never asked. My stomach twists. I have a good idea what happened next.

  “It was my fault,” she says, her voice catching. “It was my fault we were late to the fireworks. My fault we were even in Richmond in the first place. I heard the motorcycles coming up fast behind us. Left lane. I didn’t pay them much attention. Until the red motorcycle swerved in front of me.”

  Sienna pauses, her eyebrows drawing together. “I couldn’t remember the color of that motorcycle until now.” She’s silent for a minute, like she’s off in another place. “It all happened so fast. I was so freaked out, I didn’t even realize I had swerved. Then I overcorrected. Suddenly we were spinning out of control. I could hardly scream, I was so scared. It didn’t feel real. It still doesn’t.

  “But it was real. Our Jeep tipped. They say we rolled one and a half times, hitting the barricade on the top of the second roll. That’s when I must have hit my head and blacked out. Next thing I knew, water was filling our car. We’d flipped over the edge of the bridge into the James.”

  “The river?”

  She nods once.

  My gut does a weird lurch, feeling sick as I imagine Sienna in that car.

  “The windshield caved in. I felt my dad’s hand at my side, unlatching my seat belt.

  “That’s when it hit me, when I was suddenly swimming for air: We were going to die. But I didn’t. That first breath of air when I reached the top felt like a miracle. And Dad was right behind me, I just knew it. I waited on the surface for what felt like forever, though, before I realized I was wrong. He was still trapped inside. My Jeep was totally under water.”

  Sienna closes her eyelids, her lips pulling into a painful wince. “I dove down twice. I couldn’t see a thing, only those fireworks flashing overhead, like they were setting my whole world on fire. The second time I went down I found the Jeep, but everything was so dark, so cold. I felt along the edge for the passenger door.”

  Surprisingly, Sienna’s eyes are dry, but her voice catches again as she continues. “But I ran out of air. I forced myself to stay down there so long, I was about to gulp in water. I barely made it back up. It’s all a blur now, how I got from there to the hospital. Firefighters. Medics. Flashing lights. At last, Search and Rescue.

  “The motorcyclists fled the scene, probably drunk. First responders came fast, but not fast enough. It was all too late. My dad was gone.”

  Sienna’s eyes lock in a frightening trance on the ocean. “I was the reason we were late to meet up with our family, Austin. It’s because of me that we were even in Richmond in the first place instead of here. I was driving.”

  I look away, feeling a sting in my own eyes.

  “I was watching those fireworks,” she continues. “I overcorrected. I survived.”

  Gently, I brush away a few hairs blowing across Sienna’s face, fishing for the right words but coming up empty.

  Her lip quivers. “If I could go back, I would. I’ll never forget the sight of him . . . afterward. His skin so pale. I did that.”

  A tear makes a run for it down my cheek before I can wipe it away. I wrap her in my arms. Anything I could say right now would sound trite, so I just hold her, hoping that’s best.

  A minute later, Sienna pulls back and looks up at me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. Lame, but it’s all I can come up with.

  She wipes the moisture from my cheek and gives me a sad smile. Something is wrong about this picture: her wiping tears from my eyes. What a baby.

  Sienna strips off her wet shirt and wrings out the water, abruptly cutting my train of thought. Swimsuit and shorts. That’s it. I try hard not to stare at the nice view she’s giving me. After spreading her shirt on the sand to dry, she shifts to her side and lies down, propping herself up on one elbow. I swallow hard and lie down facing her.

  “I bawled for a month,” she says. “My mom had a hard time talking about the accident; not that I blame her. Every time I brought it up, she closed down. I cried on her lap night after night. Then one night I wiped my last tear, tossed the tissue, and walked away. And I haven’t been able to cry since.” She gestures to her dry eyes with a resigned grin. “It’s better this way.”

  I place my hand on hers and squeeze.

  “You know, my dad came to every dance recital,” she says. “Every one.”

  I shift my gaze, thinking of all the games when I looked to the bleachers, waiting for the day my dad would show.

  My eyes drift to her swimming suit neckline. I look away. “Question,” I say, mostly to distract myself. “What does all of this have to do with you fainting?”

  She smiles. “Guess I haven’t answered that yet.”

  I place my finger on her forehead and trace the sc
ar. “Is it because you hit your head in the accident?”

  “No. The doc said my head is fine. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  She shrugs. “I have this idea. I think I might know what’s making me faint.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Austin, trust me, it’s silly. And a little insane.”

  “Nothing you say will make me think you’re insane.”

  She gives me a doubtful look.

  “Try me,” I say, memorizing the feel of her skin as I trace the outline of her jaw.

  “Every time I black out, I see my dad in the garden behind our house. I fainted the first time after seeing a picture of me and him, a photo we took on Tybee before he died. The second time, those fireworks on River Street set it off. Images of that night in the Jeep kept flashing in my mind, fireworks and all. The third time, you went under the water just now. When you didn’t surface, it reminded me of how my dad went under and never came up.”

  “Sorry about that,” I say. “So, you faint whenever something sparks a memory of the accident?”

  She nods, like the idea is still new. “Remember when you got lost as a kid?”

  I nod.

  “You know that feeling you get when you finally find your way again, like when Turbo led you home?”

  I glance over and spot Turbo sniffing at nothing in particular.

  “He was my Turbo,” Sienna says. “My dad. And I was stupid enough to think he’d be around forever.” She makes eye contact with a sad grin. “Thanks for listening.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s about all I did. That, and let you wipe away my tears.”

  She leans over and bumps our shoulders together with a coy smile.

  Her story doesn’t feel complete, maybe because I’ve always been one for happy endings. All the reasons we can’t be together—Sienna’s boyfriend and our different college plans—fizzle away when I’m with her. I want to hold her and tell her everything will be okay, kiss the unseen tears from her eyes. Or maybe just go straight for her lips.