Breathing Underwater

by Alex Flinn

  I kissed her again. “Don’t be.”

  “I am. And my father’s no better.” Remembering she was talking to me, Caitlin backed up. “I mean, he’s not like your father. He doesn’t hit me. He doesn’t have the time to even look at me. My mother says it shouldn’t matter as long as his massive monthly support payments keep coming. I know she’s right....”

  “But you want more?”

  “Is that selfish?” When I shook my head, she said, “I’ll never get it. He has his new and improved family. I’m just this fat girl he sees at Christmas. Some Christmases.”

  I whispered, “You’re not fat, Caitlin. God, don’t you know you’re beautiful?” I held her hand to my face, kissing her fingers, taking them, one by one, into my mouth, loving even the taste of salt sand under her fingernails. Caitlin drew closer, and only when she eased her body practically on top of mine did I pull away.

  “Screw them,” I said. “Think of them as sperm donors, they’ve done a lot for us, right?”

  Caitlin looked at me, stunned. Then, a whisper of a smile crossed her lips. “Right.” She put her head on my shoulder. “I love you, Nicky.”

  I didn’t say anything, just stood and sprinted to the seawall. The evening breeze was cool against my face. I jumped, then treaded water. “Come with me!” I yelled to Caitlin, who was still onshore.

  “Where?” she said, shocked, but laughing too.

  “Key West, Cuba, New York. I don’t care!”

  Caitlin laughed and yelled that I was crazy. Her mother would kill her, and I said, “Forget her.” I started to swim farther out. My jeans slowed my progress, and something else. The thought that she wouldn’t follow. Still, I kept going until my legs ached and my eyes stung with salt water. I turned.

  Cat yelled for me to wait. Then she was in the water, paddling toward me. I watched her slow progress from shore. When she reached me, she was gasping for breath. I embraced her, kissing her until we both sank beneath the surface. She struggled a moment. When she stopped, I held her there as long as my air held out. Then, seconds longer. Finally, I let go. She surfaced, sputtering and lunged for me. But I was too fast. I swam back to shore with her chasing me. When we reached the rocks, I embraced her again.

  “We’re two of a kind,” I whispered.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I think I always knew that.”

  We clung to the rocks and each other until the clouds crossed the sky and kissed the moon. I drove her home, three hours late and soaking wet.

  She forgave me that time.

  FEBRUARY 28

  * * *

  Texaco off Rickenbacker Causeway

  It’s Saturday afternoon. I’m kicking the curb at Texaco, wondering why Leo hasn’t been in class and watching the chimpanzee in his HELLO, MY NAME IS WILLY jumpsuit lube my father’s Land Rover, when a familiar car pulls into self-serve. Saint’s old white Mercury Cougar. Saint doesn’t acknowledge me, but a second later, a girl in a skirt and a pink T-shirt comes out of the mini-mart and runs to where he’s pumping gas.

  “Missed you,” she says.

  Saint sets the pump on automatic and musses her hair. Then, he pulls her toward him. “When were we supposed to meet them?”

  “An hour ago.”

  “Then there’s no time—?”

  Her kiss interrupts his question. I feel her soft lips, her fingers in his hair as though his flesh was mine. “They’ll wait,” she says.

  The pump snaps off, and he walks her to the passenger door. Her eyes follow him to the driver’s side, meeting mine in the middle. She looks away.

  “’Scuse me, man. How you wanna pay for this?” Willy grins and displays an array of changed-out filters. I hand him my father’s Optima card and watch Saint pull away. My neck prickles from the heat, and my head pounds. I sign the slip Willy shoves at me and somehow drive away.

  The girl in Saint’s wreck was Caitlin.

  My room, ten minutes later

  I hate O’Connor. I hate him. Even when we were supposedly friends, he looked for ways to get to me. Being with Cat now is just one more way. I take out my pen—Caitlin’s pen with the teeth marks. Funny. Just holding it makes me feel better. And the fury inside me lessens as I begin to write.

  Football practice after school. It was the kind of day when your face feels like something’s about to explode. Not one cloud in the sky, and the turf reflected heat like asphalt. Saint was our side’s quarterback in the scrimmage. Coach Lowery was prepping him to start next year, and I envied his size and gunlike arm. We came from our huddle, and Saint swaggered into position. Dane Ziegler snapped the ball, and I faded left like I was supposed to. Saint ran down the center. The defense bore down. Saint had to pass. He looked right, then left. His eyes locked onto an open receiver. Me. Tom came at Saint like a freight train, and everyone else was covered. There was no defense in sight. I waited for the ball to come spiraling through the blue. It would be a perfect pass. Now, all I had to do was catch it. I was praying, Please, please let me catch it this once. Better yet, don’t pass it to me. I’d rather have had the certainty of not being humiliated than the possibility of greatness. Still, my legs carried me toward the end zone. Across the forty, the thirty-five, the thirty. Saint raised his arm.

  He threw it away.

  Lowery’s whistle shrilled. Intentional grounding! Ten yard penalty, loss of down! His voice boomed over everything, even my heartbeat. “Shoot, O’Connor, why didn’t you pass to your open receiver?” He jutted a thumb at me.

  O’Connor said he hadn’t seen me, and Lowery tore the whistle from his mouth. “Does this look like a pacifier? Was I born yesterday? You was looking right at him, boy!” Lowery’s fists flailed like rudders for his boat-shaped frame. He knew Saint had taken the penalty rather than risk losing possession if I fumbled. My initial relief vanished. I glanced at Tom to see if he was looking. He turned like he hadn’t noticed. God, I’d screwed up without even the chance to screw up. Lowery finished yelling. Practice was over, and I trudged toward the showers.

  Lowery’s voice followed me. “And you, Andreas. Push in that lip! Be a man for once in your pathetic life.”

  “Yes, sir.” I grinned and moved forward.

  Saint walked next to me, smiling. As on the field, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Sorry, Nick. Didn’t see you.”

  Yeah, right.

  O’Connor asked me if Caitlin and I were going to Zack’s Thanksgiving weekend. I said I was thinking about it, then slowed to a crawl, until finally he passed. When we got to the locker room, I stripped naked and stepped under the stinging shower spray.

  Communal showers are the most bizarre experience in the life of an American male. You’re naked, wet, with twenty other naked guys, any one of whom would take a whiz on your feet soon as look at you. The whole time, you’re trying to stare at anything except the obvious. Impossible, because deep down, you want to look. Just as a frame of reference, you know. I mean, I knew I was one of the smallest guys on the team, but was I also the smallest? Did height equal size? In other words, was I a runt in more ways than one? And could you even get a fair idea in the shower with the warm water gone? No answers here. I was too afraid of the word queer to look.

  Tom stepped out, wringing his hair with both hands. He said we needed to talk. I nodded and started to rinse off.

  The reason I’d been considering the subject of height equals size was Caitlin. We’d been going further lately, first in the front, then the backseat of the Mustang. I was pushing for the home run, as Tom called it. It would be my first time, and Cat said she was a virgin too. She said she was scared, but I knew I could talk her into it. Zack had invited the group to spend Thanksgiving at his parents’ place in Key West. I’d make my move then. But could I come through when the time came?

  I threw a towel around my waist and headed for my locker. Tom waited, naked as Shaquille O’Neal’s head.

  The big guy had no qualms about nudity. He stood, staring at the ab “six-pack” he’d worked so har
d for. I looked everywhere but down. “Oh Tommy,” I said breathily. “We have to stop meeting like this. Those lips! Those eyes! You’re feeding my latent homosexual desires.”

  “More like your inferiority complex, little man.” Tom flexed, then took his clothes from his locker. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  I said we talked a lot. I saw more of him than his parents did. I winced at his still-naked butt. “Much more.”

  “You think you’re funny. Serious, Nick. It’s about Caitlin.”

  “You still don’t like her?”

  He looked surprised then said, “I like her fine. It’s you, Nick.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You’re acting weird.”

  Suddenly, Tom was all into getting dressed. He pulled on his pants and fished in his locker for shoes. A bunch of other people joined us, and I knew he wouldn’t talk now. “Gotta go,” I said. “I’m meeting Caitlin by the chorus room.”

  Tom’s voice stopped me. “Well, that explains that.”

  “What explains what?”

  “This is the first practice in two weeks she didn’t text you at three-fifteen. It’s like she’s got a curfew and she’s reporting in. Today, she had rehearsal, so you knew where she was.”

  “Yeah, Tom. Kmart was fresh out of chastity belts.”

  “It’s not funny, Nick, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

  I headed for the door. My clothes felt heavy with wet heat. Saint stood talking to Dane. As I passed, I heard Saint whisper, “He always takes everything so damn personal.”

  Tom followed me out. “Would you wait? I don’t want to get on your case. God, you’re my best friend, but you’re not acting normal. I mean, that was rotten, throwing her necklace out the window. You call her names too, probably don’t know you’re doing it, but it’s cruel.”

  “I’m cruel, now? You think I beat her up or something?”

  “I didn’t say…” Tom kicked a stray asphalt pebble. “You don’t, do you?” I glared at him until he added, “Nah, I know you don’t. But you should act nicer to her.”

  A crowd headed toward the activities bus. Some were from chorus, but Caitlin wasn’t there. Where was she? And with whom? I’d said I’d pick her up, but she should have come out. I turned to Tom.

  “Guess we should be like you and Liana?” I said. “What a symbiotic relationship that is. When you have to piss, Liana unzips her pants.”

  Tom shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “I’ll take the bus. You go find your girlfriend.”

  He jogged toward the chorus group and, in a second, he was one with the crowd.

  MARCH 1

  * * *

  Main Highway, Coconut Grove

  I am not following Caitlin. I’m not bicycling through Coconut Grove, past the trendy shops on Saturday afternoon, searching for yellow hair among the rickshaws, tourists, and Dalmatians. I can’t hear her voice over the birds or the noise spilling from ghetto blasters. And the crowd drinking spiked Slurpees on the balcony at Fat Tuesday doesn’t see me seeing her.

  Finally, I lose her. Next turn, I’m staring at the steroid-enhanced arm of the law.

  “Need some help, son?” the cop asks. Caitlin and Elsa stand on the corner. Elsa smiles and waves. Then a skater blocks my view.

  “No, sir.” I emphasize the sir slightly. Way to deal with cops is give them the respect they think they deserve.

  “Might I ask what you’re doing here?”

  You might. With probable cause. But I shrug. “Waiting for someone.”

  “These ladies say you’re bothering them.”

  “Don’t believe I spoke to them, sir.”

  His cop eyes meet mine. It feels like an hour. Spots of perspiration appear on his uniform, and I see wheels turning. He knows there’s a restraining order, knows I’m on the same planet as Caitlin. He’s trying to put two and two together to make a legal violation so he can haul me off and get out of this heat. It would take a miracle to get me out of this. Then I get one.

  Leo steps from behind a line of cars. He holds aviator sunglasses in one hand, fingers in the other, fingers that, incidentally, are attached to this tiny, pretty brunet who’s gazing adoringly at him.

  “Nick, what it is!” he says, looking from me to the cop and Caitlin, then back at me. He doesn’t acknowledge Elsa. “Been waiting long?”

  “Long enough,” I fake it. “Where were you?”

  Mr. Cool smiles and leans against a rack of Spanish newspapers. “Picked Neysa up from a school-related function…” (Smile at the cop) “And all the nuns need something done. Tote that barge. Lift that bale—that kinda stuff.”

  “A Christian martyr,” I say. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  The cop looks from the pet store on the right (which sells only Akitas) to the tattoo parlor on the left and, possibly, sees his air-conditioned squad car fade to memory. “You were meeting here?”

  “I always wanted a dog,” Neysa says, straight-faced.

  On the corner, Elsa rolls her eyes. Leo must decide the cop needs more convincing. “Hey, you know Ray DeLeon?” he asks, identifying Ray from our family violence class. “He’s with the city police. He’s my cousin, knows Nick too. Ask him.”

  The cop considers. “Well, if you’re friends of Ray’s.”

  “Don’t forget to say hello to his girlfriend, Diana,” I add. Ray would say anything to change the subject away from how he knows us.

  The officer strolls to where they’re standing. “Sorry, ladies. Can’t arrest someone just for being in the Grove.”

  “He was following us,” Elsa whines.

  “That’s fine.” Caitlin grabs Elsa’s arm. “Let’s go.” Elsa protests, but Caitlin’s feet are in motion. I watch her go. When the cop leaves too, Leo faces me.

  “In a spot of trouble, eh?” he says in his best James Bond impression.

  “And you, my truant friend?” I say in the same accent. “Missed you in class today, chap. Last week too.”

  “Poor, dear Nick.” Leo tut-tuts, still British. “That ugly chapter is behind me, my boy.” He gestures, by way of explanation, to the brunet. “This is Neysa. We’re back together.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She holds out the hand not in Leo’s.

  I take it. It feels like a warm bird, and I watch Leo’s grip on her other hand tighten until, finally, she releases mine.

  “Hot girl,” Leo says, his eyes following Caitlin down Main Highway. “Stick with me, I’ll help you get her back.”

  I felt like someone had tightened the lug nuts on my face. Caitlin should have been in the group that came out before. Was she making me wait on purpose? Had she already left? I didn’t need this on top of Tom’s sermon. I stalked the suddenly empty halls, not exactly sure where the chorus room was, but finding it by the sound of Caitlin’s voice.

  “Rejoice! Rejoice!”

  Why was she singing while I waited? She’d rather sing than be with me now? I turned the doorknob slowly, soundlessly, and slipped through. I stood frozen, watching.

  Two figures were by the piano. Caitlin and the guy playing. I knew him. Derek Wayne. We’d pretty much quit calling him “Wayne the Brain” last year. She stood so close, their bodies would touch if she inhaled too much air. Her fingertips grazed his shoulder. She leaned to turn the page, her blond hair brushing his pale face. My fists clenched. She shouldn’t touch another guy like that. She continued singing, every high and low note hitting like ice through my eye. Then, in the hardest section, she missed a note. Caitlin collapsed in a fit of giggles onto the piano bench.

  “Oh, God. I’ll never get this.”

  Derek stopped playing. “I won’t listen to you put yourself down, Caitlin McCourt. You’re just fishing for compliments.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You know you have the best voice around.”

  “Oh, sure.” But she returned his smile, encouraging him, like she’d take on anyone who’d have her. Slut. They could probably hear
my heart by then, so I did the stupid, clichéd thing. I cleared my throat. Cat jumped. Both turned and looked at me.

  “Nick,” Cat said. “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Guess not.” She thought I was stupid.

  She came over and tried to lead me toward Derek. I wouldn’t budge.

  “You two know each other?” she asked.

  Derek eyed me. “We’ve met.” He turned to Caitlin. “I didn’t know you and Nick … dated?”

  “Now you do,” I said. Without another word, I pulled Caitlin out the door, and we walked to the car in silence. It was closing in on five, and the parking lot was empty. Caitlin took my hand. I jerked it away. In my mind, I saw her touching Derek’s shoulder, her hair against his face. Our footsteps were loud as a marching band in the motionless parking lot. I stopped beside my car. I felt so weak, so used. She was making a fool of me, and I couldn’t stop it. Finally, the words built up to the point where they exploded from me. “Why didn’t you throw him down and screw him right there?”

  Caitlin stopped, backed away. “What?”

  “You know what. The way you were coming on to him.”

  “Are you crazy?” she said. “It was Derek.”

  The air was thick, heavy. “That’s it. I’m crazy. I saw you. I saw you flirting with him, touching him. I saw him looking at you.” I raised an arm. It was a gesture. I wasn’t going to hit her, was I? But she flinched. I knew I was yelling, but I didn’t stop, like that fat, hot air made me yell, made me say, “Slut! I can’t let you out of my sight, can I? You can’t be trusted, you bitch!”

  Caitlin turned to me. “You can trust me. How can you say this?”