Shark Out of Water (Grab Your Pole, #3) Page 2

  We all value our time in some way and we frequently make statements like, “That’s a waste of my time,” but regardless of how a person uses it, we all lose track of time, as it is intangible and unable to be grasped, making it sometimes difficult for even the most organized and conscientious of people to mark, and, foolishly, we even knowingly waste it. But, time is a precious gift to be appreciated and savored as it cannot ever be retrieved once it passes. A great many wondrous and extraordinary things, however, take time to become reality and to be witnessed as the miracle they happen to be; like the Grand Canyon for instance, or the growth of a fetus into a life that can sustain itself outside of its mother. It takes time for emotional and physical wounds to heal—this I’m personally very familiar with—and it takes time to learn from mistakes, and most often, allowing yourself or another person the time required to do any of those things properly is usually for the best. Although, there are those instances when the passing of even a short amount of unchecked time can have catastrophic repercussions.

  Yes, time is a fickle thing indeed, and no one aside from God knows exactly how much of it any of us has, which can leave us questioning our priorities and wondering whether we’re using our time on what’s truly most important…

  Not Waving but Drowning

  A poem by Stevie Smith

  Nobody heard him, the dead man,

  But still he lay moaning:

  I was much further out than you thought

  And not waving but drowning.

  Poor chap, he always loved larking

  And now he's dead

  It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,

  They said.

  Oh, no no no, it was too cold always

  (Still the dead one lay moaning)

  I was much too far out all my life

  And not waving but drowning.

  Chapter one

  Sunday thru Tuesday maybe? (I dunno. It’s kind of a blur.) Week one

  I think I’m having a crisis but I’m not sure ~ Tristan

  By definition, guilt is a noun, being the fact or state of having committed an offense, crime, violation, or wrong, especially against moral or penal law. It is also a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong etc., whether real or imagined. (Imagined…if only.)

  And I am drowning in it.

  Well, that and alcohol…

  Actually that’s pretty fuckin’ ironic if you ask me. Alcohol is what caused all this bullshit in the first place and three days ago, I was wholly prepared to give it up entirely. In fact, I was honestly about to request that my girlfriend (girlfriend, ex-girlfriend…whatever.)(No, fuck that. She’s still my girlfriend.) and I both quit when she hit me and the words, “I want to…well, I think we should, both of us that is, quit drinking,” died on my tongue and with them, so did the truth.

  What I got out was, “I want to…well, I think we should, b—” and that was when she slapped me across the face and with real hate in her eyes, she began railing at me for breaking up with her.

  You might wonder why I didn’t correct Camie’s misunderstanding right then and there, but I’ll tell you something; when she slapped me, I was fucking pissed. But I also knew I deserved it. I was already agonizing over how I was to amend for the unspeakable atrocity of the night before, but when she made the erroneous assumption that I was breaking up with her and started to scream about what a bastard I was for doing it on her birthday and for not having sex with me? Well, I shut down. Fuck, it was like she plunged a serrated dagger straight into my heart and twisted the hilt. I saw it in her eyes. She honestly believed that was what I was doing. Not only that, but the simple fact that she believed I even would do that after all that happened last night and over the last week made me wanna strangle her and then throw her down on the wet grass, finishing what’d started last night, which would only prove to her what a monster I really am. I’ll admit I had to exert a lot of control to not retaliate during any part of her outburst and emotionally, that feat cost me.

  Then, like the proverbial ton of bricks, it hit me.

  She didn’t remember shit about last night and all this anger she’s entitled to was being misdirected to say the least, but it also meant she didn’t know the truth of what really happened. So…I let her believe the lie. Because honestly, the truth is worse and when you get right down to it, I’m a fucking coward.

  Even though I was broken and still reeling from what she believed to be the truth, I couldn’t bring myself to go through it again and hurt her that way, so I made my decision, spineless as it is, and ran away. Ran as in turned my back to her and walked away without a word or a look back. Then I went home, threw a bunch of my shit in the bus and got the fuck out of Dodge. My intention was to leave town entirely…go to my grandparents’ for a while, figure shit out or maybe stay until I could look at myself in the mirror again, which meant I would have to enroll in school up there and possibly look into cemeteries, because I just have a feeling being able to look at my ignoble reflection is gonna take some time. But barely part way up the coast, that dagger in my chest forced me to stop my flight. I had to stop thinking. If I could stop doing that, I could stop the pain. It’s over and done with and there’s no going back.

  At least that’s what I told myself.

  The only way I’ve ever known how to stop thinking, though, is to demolish myself with alcohol, so I got a campsite on the South Carlsbad State Beach, but before I even parked and with my bare hands, I ripped my stereo straight out of the dash when the radio station it was on decided it was a good idea to follow up Five For Fighting’s “Superman” with Limp Bizkit’s cover of “Behind Blue Eyes,” and then once the engine was shut off, I proceeded to ransack the cupboards of the bus. Everything we didn’t drink at the desert over Thanksgiving was still in there, and believe me, we packed heavy for that trip. Jeff might’ve forgotten his toothpaste, but vodka and rum he did not, so, what was left would be enough to do a fairly decent job of despoiling the dark thoughts swirling around in my head for a couple of days at least. I grabbed a bottle of Malibu, unscrewed the cap, and then wielding the bottle like a wrecking ball, I poured its contents down my throat. Thus began my boozy self-demolition. The problem was those swirling dark thoughts were replaced by a malignancy.

  I was lying there, almost in a completely comatose bliss, contemplating what it felt like to drown. It’s not easy. Especially without water. Then I had the bright idea that, hey! There’s water close by…a whole fuckin’ ocean of it! I don’t know how the fuck I managed it, but I made it from the campsite above, down the rickety and creaking wood steps to the beach, and beyond that, to the second most beautiful thing in the world. It never even occurred to me that what I was about to do was, in fact, suicide. I just knew what I’d been doing wasn’t working; the pain was still there and trying to drown myself without water was a fuckin’ waste of time.

  I was so close.

  So close to being able to experience the utter freedom that being in water gives me. I don’t know how he found me or even how he got me out of the water, that would’ve in all honesty for the first time in my life not given me freedom at all, but a watery grave instead. And later when I sobered up enough to realize what he’d done for me, I was able to thank him, however, at the time, having him stop my progress down the Green Mile wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

  Two

  Tuesday, Week One

  Friends no more ~ Jeff

  “I can’t fuckin’ believe that guy! I swear to God, I’m gonna kill him…” I’m pissed about what he did to Camie, but I’m more pissed about him not even having the guts to tell me about it in person. I feel betrayed.

  Instead of being reassured in her moment of pain and weakness though, Camie ended up consoling me. Sort of.

  “You know what, Jeff? I appreciate the thought and all, but don’t go out of your way on my account. I’m over it,” she said with not a trace of a tear in her eyes.

  “You�
�re over it?! It or him?” Katy asked her with her eyes wide. I’m just as surprised. No way is Camie over Tristan. Shit, I’m probably not gonna get over Tristan.

  “Both actually,” she answered so nonchalantly that I started to believe maybe she was over him and everything he put her through—on her birthday no less. Fucking asshole.

  “You can’t be serious. How is that possible?”

  “Kate, I’ve been crying about him for two and a half days and I’m done. Pete stopped by Sunday afternoon and ended up having to stay the night because Tristan took off and never came back even after Pete sent him countless texts and tried calling. So I figure if he doesn’t care enough to even let us know we needed to get someone to stay with us for the last night my parents were gone, why should I waste any more time feeling like crap about him, you know?”

  “But you love him…and he loves you,” Katy said and clearly, her new doubt about both of those things was written in her expression.

  “Yeah, well, that’s where he had us all fooled, isn’t it? And as far as me loving him? Well, I’ve been thinking about that…yes, I did. But really, I need to just get over the fact that he didn’t love me, be grateful that I didn’t have sex with him, and move on. I just hope it’s as easy for me to do as it was for him…I mean, he literally just turned around and without a single word or any emotion at all, he walked away.”

  “Camie, I’m so sorry…really, I just don’t know what to say. I can’t believe he broke up with you for that.”

  “Neither can I,” Jillian said out of the blue. Seriously, the chick scares the shit out of me. She’s like the rabbit in a magician’s hat. First she’s not there and then abracadabra…POOF! She is. It’s fuckin’ freaky.

  “Well I can,” I blurted. All three girls turned to stare at me but not before I caught the glare Camie threw at her sister. I don’t know what that’s about, but it’s time I clue them in to what a prick Tristan is. “Tristan told me last week he was running out of patience with waiting for you and stuff, and he thought about breaking up with you when you guys were having that fight. I blew it off, but now…I’m sorry, Camie, I should’ve taken him more seriously. I could’ve talked to him about it or something before he went off the deep end, and I know you’re not asking, but I can’t let him get away with this shit! Tristan Daniels is a dead man.”

  “Babe, are you seriously talking about beating up your best friend?” Katy asked me with her big and beautiful, green eyes brimming with tears. And I know she’s probably more concerned for me and another fuckin’ devastating loss, but this isn’t like losing our baby. I’ve known Tristan my whole goddamned life…almost eighteen fuckin’ years…

  “He’s not my best friend anymore, Katy…I don’t even know who the fuck he is. And when I find him, he’s in for a world of hurt with the shitstorm I’m gonna bring down on him. Fuckin’ coward.”

  No. Not like losing our little peanut at all. More like losing myself.

  The clock is ticking ~ Pete

  To the untrained eye—that is, if the untrained eye could even see her in the first place—she floated into the library and sat down across from me looking like she had not a care in the world. But I know different. She’s very upset.

  “Have you heard from him yet?” Jillian asked me during the break. When I just shook my head “No,” her voice turned imploring. “You have to find him.”

  She’s right, but that’s easier said than done.

  I sighed, “I know.”

  “Jeff’s on the rampage and Kate’s backing him.”

  “Aw shit, you’re kidding…how’d that happen?” I asked, wondering if maybe she and I talked to Jeff and Kate then maybe this wouldn’t become the clusterfuck it’s headed to be.

  “No. I’m not,” she replied and with a frown, she told me of the conversation she’d overheard and briefly took part in. Whereby explaining that Jeff is one hundred percent holding firm to the belief that Tristan broke up with Camie and he did it over sex, and that that belief is based on hearing Camie’s version of events and one small, misinterpreted conversation in the doorway of a classroom. “You have to find him,” she repeated.

  “I know.”

  This is not good news. If he’d only stuck around, everything might’ve been okay. Not great, but okay. I think I understand why he did it though. Even knowing something of the reason behind his disappearance, well, let’s just say him not being here looks bad and complicates things.

  “The battle lines are being drawn, Pete, and when Tristan comes back, he’s gonna be walking into the middle of a war that he’s not even aware he started let alone prepared to defend himself in, so you have to find him.”

  “I know!” Jesus, I know…but how do I find him and tell him his best friend is against him now too?

  “Alright. I’m sorry…I’m just stressed and I hate this gnawing feeling of impotency.”

  If that isn’t an understatement, I don’t know what is. Jillian is a take-charge kind of girl and right now there are things happening in her life that she has no control over and there’s really nothing she can do about any of it at the moment. It’s wearing on her. Not being able to do anything isn’t my idea of a good time either.

  “Jillian, you don’t have to apologize to me. I know.”

  That earned me a smile, which she meant to convey to me the gratitude she feels with not having to go through what she’s going through all on her own. Then taking a calming breath and transforming her features back into obscurity, she came back to the business at hand. “So, where do you think he might be?”

  “Hell if I know…it’s Tuesday, he could be anywhere in the world by now.” It’s the God’s honest truth too. Have money and passport, will travel. Throw in his parents being pilots for an international airline and presto! Tristan’s watching the sunset from the feet of the Sphinx or floating down the Ganges River…

  “Well then, without your sport-induced psychic network fully up and running, it looks like you have your work cut out for you…”

  I sighed again.

  “I know.”

  Back at square one.

  Sunday when he left and wouldn’t respond to any of the numerous attempts I’d made to reach him, I made a habit of driving by his house on my way to and from home, just to see if maybe on the off-chance he’d be there. When Tuesday rolled around and it became clear he’d literally vanished without a trace, I began looking for him in earnest. I ditched the rest of school with the hope that I’d get the jump on Jeff and have the edge, but coming up empty handed at Tristan’s house yet again, I’m not counting on it.

  Tristan’s parents weren’t home but his bus was still gone so that told me he’s on the road, not in the air. Just to be safe, I scoured the airport parking lots. It took me hours. I also thought maybe he’d been surfing each and every day since he bailed, but driving up and down the streets of Tristan’s favorite beaches got me zilch as well. Trekking out to the lake was my next step. Again, nada. So here I am, back at his house.

  I’d already checked his computer for clues as to where he might’ve taken off to, but there was nothing in the history that helped. The screen saver kicked back on, showing me countless pictures. One of the ten of us at the desert faded and was replaced by one of him and Jeff on a camping trip when they were kids. Jeff is gonna wanna kick his own ass when he realizes he’s throwing a lifelong friendship away over what is essentially, a misunderstanding.

  Unimaginably frustrated, I stood up and went to stare at his whiteboard again. There really wasn’t anything there either aside from a note from his dad dating back to Saturday. It looks like his mom and dad took an unscheduled flight and don’t even know their son is missing. My gaze shifted to the bulletin board and all the crap Tristan’s collected over the years. My eyes flitted over pictures, mostly of him and Jeff, many of Camie, cards, notes, certificates of achievement, Camie’s bra among them, and the occasional odd receipt or wrapper for something that only he knows the sentimental value of. I read
again the conversation about his and Camie’s tattoos, thinking to myself, if I were Tristan, where would I hole-up to lick my wounds?

  Tristan’s Mom: What’s this?

  Tristan: A sketch of my new mobile art.

  Tristan’s mom: Do I want to know what you mean by mobile?

  Tristan: Probably not. But look, there are waves and you know how I feel about the ocean!

  Tristan’s Mom: I know you love the water dear, but a tattoo? Didn’t it hurt? Oh never mind, I don’t want to know. It’s your body.

  Camie: If it makes you feel any better, I have one too and it didn’t hurt a bit!

  Tristan: It’s true, she does…it’s pretty hot.

  Camie: Back at ya. Oh, Mr. and Mrs. D? I’m not going to ask you to outright lie, but if you wouldn’t mind not mentioning this to my parents, I’d appreciate it. Thanks, you’re the best.

  God, I’m so pissed!

  I ground my teeth and threw my keys but when they took a nice-sized gouge out of the drywall of the vacant corner his surf boards are usually propped up in, I looked back at the detailed sketch he’d drawn of their contract tattoo and the conversation that pertains to it. There was a subliminal connection between all these things and even though I couldn’t pin down what it specifically was, it gave me an idea. I went back to the computer, but this time instead of looking for clues, I had a general destination in mind. Only it’s a very extensive area and for my search to be all-inclusive, I needed a crash course on the beaches of California. I ran my finger over the touchpad and the picture of Camie that Tristan took of her at the beach over the summer melted away.