The Best Week That Never Happened

by Dallas Woodburn

  I swim for a handle on the far corner of the raft, as far away from the boat as possible. This way, it will be easy for me to be the last one out here. No one will notice if I am the last one back to the boat. Or rather, if I never make it back to the boat.

  That’s not true, of course. Kai will notice. But I push the thought away. This is my life. This is my choice, no one else’s. He’ll read my letter, and he’ll understand.

  Kai swims over and grabs the handle beside mine. He grins and gives me a thumbs-up before fitting his snorkel tube into his mouth.

  Will he understand? I picture him up on the deck of the boat, alone, waiting for me. I imagine his face when he realizes that I’m not coming back. No, no. Don’t think of that. I push the thoughts away, all of them, and duck my face into the water.

  It takes my eyes a few moments to adjust. Columns of bright-blue light beam down into the dark ocean. Silvery fish dart everywhere, going after the dots of plankton, thousands of plankton, illuminated by the lights.

  There are no mantas, and there are no mantas, and there are no mantas, and I’m worried they might not come after all. What if the mantas don’t show up? How will I ever find the strength to let go of this handle and drift down into the deep, alone? I need the mantas to be here. I need them to catch me, to cradle me. To rock me to sleep for the last time.

  Suddenly, they arrive. Gliding through the water, dark giants with graceful wings. They spin toward us, upside down, swooping and swallowing the plankton. Their white bellies shine in the light. They are beautiful. Elegant dancers spinning a magical ballet. I could watch them for hours. I could stay here, just like this, forever. Oh, how I wish I could.

  The mantas come so close, we could reach out and pet them. Once, twice, their rubbery skin brushes against my arm in a gentle gesture of hello.

  Hello, hello! I think. The beams shine down into the water. My entire being fills with light. I think of Kai’s wood carving. The girl and the manta rays. The mantas and the girl. Homecoming. After all these years. It’s nice to see you again too.

  I’m not sure how long it’s been. A few minutes. An hour. An eternity. I’m not sure how long it’s been, but it’s almost time.

  Around us, the other snorkelers begin to break away from the raft and swim back to the boat. Kai touches my arm, asking without words if I’m ready. I turn toward him under the water. I can’t see his eyes, only the outline of his snorkel mask.

  I hold out my hand. Five more minutes.

  Soon it will be time.

  Last year …

  “Tegan,” Kai said that night on the phone. “You know how I feel about you. And I think you might feel the same way about me. What if we gave this a shot?”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” Even though I did.

  “Listen, I know the situation’s not ideal. I know we live far apart. But I’m crazy about you, T. I lo—”

  My heart pounded, out of control. “Kai, you’re my best friend. You know me better than anyone else in the world. I can’t—I can’t afford to lose you.”

  “That could never happen, T. I promise.”

  “You’re saying that to be nice, but you don’t know what will happen. No one stays friends after they break up.”

  “Who’s to say we’d break up?”

  “Oh, Kai. What’s so wrong with keeping things the way they are?”

  “Because we could be so great together. Because I can’t stand it when you talk about other guys. Because I go to sleep every night thinking about you. Because I’ve fall—”

  “Stop. I’m sorry, Kai. I just—I can’t. It’s risking too much.”

  He was silent.

  “You want to know the truth? I’m scared.”

  No response.

  “Kai, are you still there? Please say something.”

  “Tegan Rossi, you surprise me. I thought you weren’t afraid of anything. And suddenly, you’re letting fear rule your life.”

  We rise above the water’s surface. We are the last two out here on the raft. Everyone else has returned to the boat.

  I spit out my snorkel tube. “Go on,” I tell Kai. “I’ll follow right behind you.”

  Kai takes out his snorkel tube. He leans in and gives me a kiss. He tastes of salt water. If I were crying right now, he would taste like my tears.

  I pull away. He hesitates. Does he know what I’m about to do? Will he try to stop me?

  But then he jams his snorkel tube into his mouth and dives into the water.

  Goodbye, Kai, I say in my head. I love you. Thank you for the Best Week of My Life.

  I force myself to take a deep breath. Then another. Then I close my eyes and dive down into the frigid water.

  And with a flash of insight, I remember the actual first time we met.

  Ten years ago …

  I sat wedged between my parents, the boat rocking gently beneath us. We were still tied to the dock as more people boarded the boat, their shoes clomping on the deck.

  “Are you scared?” my dad asked, bending down. “You seem quiet.”

  I shook my head no. I was never scared.

  But actually, deep in my belly, fear unfolded its snaking tendrils.

  “Your mom and I will be right beside you,” Dad said. “No reason to worry.” Then he and Mom began to talk over my head about some grown-up thing.

  Across the deck, a boy around my age passed out snorkel masks. My eyes trailed him as he moved around the boat. When he approached us, I looked away and pretended like I hadn’t been watching him.

  “Hi,” he said, handing me a mask. “I’m Kai.” His dark hair flopped down into his eyes, and he brushed it away.

  “I’m Tegan.” I took the mask from him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” A warm smile spread slowly across his face.

  I smiled back. The sparks of anxiety inside me died down. I wasn’t afraid anymore.

  Darkness. Cold. The mantas dance around me. They are so beautiful, so graceful. Their smooth flippers brush against my skin. Up above, plankton glitter in the light beaming down from the raft. It’s mesmerizing.

  I thought I would be filled with a sense of peace, but I find myself wishing for Kai. Wishing he could see this.

  I push the thought away and let myself sink lower, deeper. Into the cold. Into the darkness.

  What if everything had unfolded differently? What if I had made a different choice, that long-ago night in the lava tubes?

  “We could still do it,” Kai said. “Run away.” His eyes met mine in the lamplight. I could see a question in his expression—I knew what he was asking. And I knew what I wanted to answer. But it was beyond terrifying, letting yourself go. Relinquishing control.

  Kai’s eyes were so kind, so strikingly familiar and new at once. He leaned toward me.

  And this time, I didn’t give in to my fear.

  This time, I didn’t turn away.

  Two sides of the same coin. Two hermit crabs sharing one shell.

  I leaned toward him, and gently, softly, our lips met.

  I’m underwater, so far down below the surface that no light reaches me here. I’m freezing. My whole body aches. I look around for the mantas, but I don’t see them. I don’t see anyone or anything. I’m alone. Forever. My chest constricts in panic. Wait. I don’t want this. I—

  Suddenly, a hand grabs my ankle. I’m yanked backward. Arms close in around my torso. Upward, upward. The mantas surround me, waving their flippers. Goodbye-for-now. It’s not time yet.

  Kai’s mouth on mine. Breathing into me. A heavy pressure on my chest. Then I’m coughing, sputtering. Shivering. I’m cold. So cold. The boat rocks beneath us. I’m aware of people crowding around, someone on a walkie-talkie. I close my eyes. I’m so tired. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this tired.

  Kai pulls me to him, wraps his arms around me. He is an anchor. Strong, steady. He hugs me so tightly, like he can change destiny with s
heer physical will. Like he can split infinity, like he can arm wrestle time and win. Like this, right here, right now—me and him, him and me—like we can go on and on and on.

  “I love you,” he whispers fiercely in my ear. Water drips from his hair onto my cheek. “I love you, Tegan. Listen to me. This wasn’t the Best Week of Your Life. It wasn’t. Not even close. Okay? This week never happened. The Best Week of Your Life is yet to come. Listen to me.”

  I try to listen, but I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. I’m sorry, I want to tell him. I love you too. But I’m so tired.

  I feel myself drifting off, and then everything fades away.

  TODAY

  It takes an enormous effort to lift open my eyelids. The room is bright. So bright. I have a pounding headache, and my mouth is dry.

  “Hi there, Teacup,” a voice says.

  Slowly, my eyes adjust, and the blurry figure sitting on my bed becomes clear. Curly brown hair, round cheeks, warm eyes filled with tears.

  “Mom!” My voice sounds raspy and soft. “Mama!” My heart leaps. It seems like I haven’t seen her in years, like I thought I’d never see her again. I reach toward her, and she gently wraps her arms around me, and even though I pride myself on not being a Girl Who Cries, the tears flow down my cheeks. She smells like lavender shampoo and home. Mom.

  “Hey, sweetie,” a deep voice says.

  Mom pulls back, and I look behind her. Dad. I can’t believe he and my mom are here in the same room. Dad’s brow is creased in concern, and his smile is tentative, unsure. “How you feeling, my girl?”

  “Good. I’m good. I’m so happy to see you guys.”

  Dad sits down in the chair next to my bed. He reaches over and holds my hand.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. My throat is raw. “What am I doing here?”

  My parents exchange a look, but not of anger or frustration or annoyance. It’s something different. Like they’re together on the same team.

  “You were in an accident, sweetheart,” my mom says softly. “But everything is okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  Dad explains that we’ve had this conversation a few times already. I woke up for the first time in the early hours of the morning, but I keep falling back asleep and waking up again, and I don’t remember the previous conversations. The doctors say this is completely normal, similar to patients coming out of anesthesia.

  “Like my wisdom teeth?” I ask.

  “Yes, like that.” Dad smiles. After I got my wisdom teeth removed, Dad was with me in the recovery room, and I kept waking up and asking him if my jaw was supposed to hurt.

  “Can I get some water? My throat is on fire,” I say.

  Mom brings me ice chips and explains that I had a breathing tube. The nurses just recently took it out. My voice is raspy, and my throat aches.

  Later, after the doctors come in and run a bunch of tests, and after my parents make some phone calls to relatives, and after the doctors explain a little bit about what happened and ask me questions about what I remember, and I do my best to answer although my memory of the past few weeks is pretty hazy—after all of these things, everyone leaves the room except for Mom and Dad.

  “Are you hungry?” Mom asks. “Thirsty?”

  “Thirsty,” I say. Dad refills my paper cup with ice chips. Mom pulls some granola bars out of her purse and hands one to Dad.

  “Thanks, Marie,” he says. “You’re always so prepared.”

  Did my dad just give my mom a genuine compliment? What world is this?

  We sit there together, the three of us, a family. My parents stare at me, wonder shining in their eyes, like I’m a newborn baby and they can’t believe I’m theirs. I suck on my ice chips. The coolness soothes my throat. My parents chew their granola bars. I remember that restaurant in Hawaii where the stranger paid for our dinner. A really nice family, enjoying a meal together. That’s what we are.

  A small slip of ice falls from my fingers and melts against my neck. I reach up—I can feel something smooth against my skin, underneath my hospital gown. It’s …

  “My puka shell necklace! But I lost it! Where did you—how—”

  Dad smiles. “Your mom found it.”

  “I was packing a suitcase to bring for you here,” Mom explains. “Your necklace was in the pocket of your jeans.”

  “My jeans? Which ones?”

  “Your jean shorts. The new ones. They were already inside your suitcase, actually—with that cute red sundress. When did you buy that?”

  “A while ago.” Back before my fight with Kai. Back when I was planning to go to Hawaii this summer.

  Kai. I’m hit with a sharp pang of missing him. Does he know about the accident? Does he know where I am?

  I touch the smooth shell. “Thank you. I’m so glad you found it.”

  Dad squeezes my hand. Mom kisses my forehead. “We’re so glad you found your way back to us,” Mom says.

  “Now, why don’t you get some rest, sweetheart,” Dad suggests. “We’ll be right here if you need us.”

  We’re. We’ll. I forgot how much I missed my parents as a “we.”

  They both stand up, like one solid unit, and move to the chairs by the window. I drift off to the sound of them murmuring gently to each other. They sound like … friends.

  Everything is dark. The air is cold. I’m sitting on a boat in the middle of the limitless ocean. The sky is full of stars. My skin is damp, my hair wet. I’m enfolded snuggly in a soft towel. A warm body sits beside me. Kai. He wraps an arm around me. I snuggle closer and lean my head against his shoulder. I feel effortlessly, completely safe.

  I open my eyes. A hospital room. I blink for a few moments, and then I remember: I was in an accident. But I’m going to be okay.

  The monitors beep steadily. The edges of my pain are sharp, but mostly my body aches in a diluted, blurry way. My room is empty. Mom’s book sits on the chair beside my bed, facedown to save her place. Maybe Mom and Dad slipped out to grab food. How long was I asleep?

  My attention is snagged by something hanging in the window. The blinds are open, and the light catches its smooth surface, casting diamond-shaped shadows onto the bedcovers.

  It’s a snowflake ornament, paper-thin and intricately carved. It tilts slightly, this way and that, as if waving hello. My throat tightens, and a surge of joy floods my chest. I’m not even sure why, but I’m thinking of Kai.

  And then, like I’ve magically summoned him, I sense a presence in the doorway. I glance over.

  His smile spreads slowly across his whole face, lighting him up.

  My heart quickens. The heart monitor beep, beep, beeps.

  Am I dreaming? Is this real?

  Reality is a matter of perception. You perceive this to be real, so yes, it is real. The words flit across my mind. I don’t know where they come from.

  “Hey,” he says softly. He approaches my bed tentatively. “You’re awake.”

  “Hi,” I say, reaching out for him. My best friend. My person. He sits down gingerly on the edge of the bed, taking my hand in his. His fingers are warm, and it is so natural, so right, to be holding his hand like this.

  “I missed you,” I say. “You’re really here?”

  “I had to come. I needed to see you.”

  My head is fuzzy. I know we had a fight, but I can’t remember the details. Which doesn’t even matter. I’m just relieved he isn’t mad at me anymore.

  It seems like I’ve been away for a long time, on a long journey. How long has it been since Kai and I last spoke?

  “How are you feeling?” he asks.

  “Okay. Sore. A little fuzzy-headed.” I look at our hands, holding each other. I notice something on my wrist—a thin red line, a scratch. I turn my hand over. The scratch encircles my wrist like a bracelet. Must be from the accident. I imagine this red scratch healing into a threadlike scar. A sense of calm washes over me. I’m going to be okay.

  I lean back ag
ainst the pillows. My mind is still reeling that Kai is actually in my hospital room. “I can’t believe you came all the way here.”

  “You better believe it. And I’m not going anywhere.” His smile is contagious.

  He tells me about a really tall waterfall in Hawaii, about how there are these little fish that literally climb up the waterfall using these suction fins on their bellies, or maybe their mouths, he isn’t really sure—but the point is that they climb all the way to the top of the waterfall, back to where they were born. Back to where they began.

  “I think that’s why I kept asking you to visit me in Hawaii,” Kai says. “I wanted to return to where we began. I thought if I could bring you back to the place we first met, then maybe you would feel the magic too. The magic I’ve always felt with you.”

  I squeeze his hand. “I feel it. I’ve always felt it. I was just … I was scared.”

  Kai looks down at the bedcovers. Around us, the monitors beep. Footsteps patter down the hall. Here, now, Kai and I are wading into uncharted territory. Uncharted, raw honesty. This is the topic we never broach: him and me. Us.

  And yet, somehow, it seems like we’ve already had this whole conversation before.

  “Why did you come here?” I ask. “I mean, I’m happy you’re here. So happy. But what made you decide to come all this way?”

  “You’re gonna think I’m weird.”

  “Kai, I’m your best friend. I already know how weird you are.”

  He grins. “Touché.”

  I nudge him with my foot. “Tell me.”

  “Well,” he begins, “the past week or so, I’ve been having these super vivid dreams about you, T. About us, in Hawaii, doing things together. A couple nights ago, I had a dream about hiking to Akaka Falls with you.”

  Akaka Falls. I can picture it—like a photograph flashing through my mind. A tall, thin stream of water flows down vibrant green cliffs. In the foreground, a couple is kissing. The guy is dipping the girl like something out of a movie, her hair a dark curtain, his arms wrapped solidly around her waist.