by Paul Hina
that I wouldn't have known what to do with the information.
"I spent the next few days on the beach near her house, looking out at the water, trying to make sense of what had happened. I had never been to the ocean before, and it was so vast, so wild, and, to me, it looked so cruel. I couldn't stop wondering what she was thinking as she struggled to escape that vastness. The panic. The fear. The desperation.
"Of course, there is no sense to be made of the senseless. This girl, this beautiful girl that I had loved so thoroughly and completely, this girl that I had so much more to learn about, and a lifetime left to learn it, was gone. As I watched those waves, it was the clarity of this cruelty that helped me understand that I had been handed a fate that would hold me forever in flux. I knew, even then, that my love for her would always exist in a vacuum. I also knew that it would be years before I could return to some semblance of a reality without regret.
"I knew life would never be the same."
"So, you never found out what happened?"
"I did. When I finally got back to campus, I had a message from one of Melissa's sisters. She had left a number where I could reach her. She told me that Melissa had told her and her other sister all about me, and that Melissa was fully prepared to tell Mark and their parents once they arrived in La Jolla. Their flight wasn't to arrive until the following morning. But that night, they drank. That was the night I talked to her on the phone, the last time I ever heard her voice...," he trails off here, feeling his voice crack. He takes a moment and turns to look out the window, away from Joelle.
"The three of them went swimming. Joelle drifted out too far. Both sisters heard her call out for help, but by the time they got to her, she was already gone. It was just one of those inexplicable accidents where an experienced swimmer drifts too far, and realizes too late that their in over their head. Once a swimmer, no matter how good or strong they are, begins to struggle and panic that far out in the ocean, they're gone."
"God, how terrible," she says.
"Yeah."
"So, her parents never knew about you?"
"No. Not as far as I know."
"You never met them."
"Outside of that phone call, I never spoke to any of them again."
"So, her parents thought she was still engaged to Mark. He, even, probably always believed that he was still going to marry Melissa."
"That's alright. It would've only hurt them to know the truth after she was gone. It would've done no one any good."
"So, how long before you started Imeros?"
"I was still months from Imeros," Jacob says. "Needless to say, it was a very dark spring and summer for me. They were the longest, most devastating months of my life. But I can remember going on walks near the end of that summer—late night walks—and having these words, these lines, come to me like they were being whispered through the night's quiet. I started writing it all down, and I think I worked like that pretty steadily for about three or four months. The poems pretty much came like a flood. It was effortless."
Joelle stands, leans down, and kisses him. "Do you think I could've ever given you such beautiful poems?"
"I think you will."
She looks at him and her eyes are glistening with almost tears. "I'll never forget this time we've had."
"I won't either. I wouldn't dream of it."
She stands and goes to the door, and then turns to him. "If I do inspire poems in you, and if you ever need a muse again, I'll be happy to play the part."
"I might take you up on that."
"I hope you do," she says. Then she's gone.
The water moves against his naked body in a cool rush of memory and foam. The sky is black but for the moon, which floats above the water like some giant white eye. It drops its milky light onto the surface, and the light moves like a million silvery snakes dancing against the otherwise dark current. Jacob looks around as if he is lost, and growing more frightened by the second. Other than the moon and its light, there is nothing else in sight but the water—so deep and vast that his head is all that is exposed.
"Jacob?"
He turns. It is Joelle. Suddenly, he can feel the ground beneath his feet and he walks to her. Her naked body is glimmering in the milky moonlight, and they embrace. He holds her for what seems like a long time, swaying back and forth in the water as if they were moving with the rhythm of the waves, which have calmed now.
"Jacob?" another voice says in the distance.
"Melissa," he says, stopping and turning from Joelle. "It's Melissa."
"It's alright. You can go," Joelle says, and he turns back to her. Her eyes are full of love and he kisses her softly.
"Jacob!" It's Melissa again.
"Go," Joelle says, staring into his eyes. "It's alright. I'm alright."
He turns and dives into the water, swims awhile. The water is breathing in his ears, and the rush of the water from his stroking arms fills his mind with the chaos of uncertainty. He comes up for air. He looks. No Melissa.
He looks back. No Joelle.
"Jacob!"
"Melissa!" Nothing. "Melissa!"
He dives back down, but he's tired and feels as though he can hardly move his arms at all. His legs become heavier. He lets his body rise to the surface.
"Melissa!" he says, taking a breath. "Melissa!" He sinks back down into the water and moves his arms as much as he can, but he has no strength. He tries to come up again, but feels as though he is too deep.
And then he can see Melissa, under the water, struggling with him. His whole body jumps at the sight of her. His arms are too heavy with exhaustion to move to her, and, yet, something pushes her nearer. He reaches out his hand to her. She reaches for him. Their hands touch. He feels the electricity of that touch as the light washes over them. The light swallows their bodies in its whiteness. He tries to pull her closer, but a rush of water pulls him back like someone had let the water out of some massive drain, and he watches helplessly as she gets pulled away from him. He tries to shout her name, but he is submerged. He flails as much as his tired body will allow until there is nothing left but the terror in his bones— that creaking sound of a mind coming uncracked—and when the rush of the pull finally stops, all that's left is the muffled sound of the depths.
His feet rub against the bottom's sand. He stands up.
He takes a breath and calls out, "Melissa! Melissa!" He walks to the shore and listens, but there is no sound. Just him, the beach, and the moon.
He sits down, looks around, and realizes that he's alone, completely alone. There is no one. Melissa is gone. Joelle is gone. The water comes in and goes out. The foam touches his feet. It goes out again. It comes in, touches his feet, goes out again. It comes in. Touches. Goes out again.
"Rachael," he says, standing up, running down the beach. "Rachael! Rachael!"
"Jacob! Wake up," she says. "Jacob!"
He opens his eyes. "What?"
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah, what happened?"
"I don't know. You were calling my name."
"I was?"
"You were."
"Sorry."
"It's alright. I'm just glad you're OK. You scared me."
He turns toward her. She turns back for sleep. He puts his arm over her body, presses against her, and lies under the weight of the moonlight falling through the window.
Like everyone else in the English Department, Jacob got an invitation to Joelle and Brad's wedding. Of course, he decided immediately not to go. Not just because, when he received the invitation weeks ago, Joelle had asked him not to come, but because he knew he couldn't sit there and watch her commit herself to another man.
It's not as if he regrets his decision to end things with her, though he does wonder if he may have made a mistake by ending things prematurely. He could have spent the past three weeks with her. But, no, he recognizes that having those three weeks would have made today—Joelle's wedding day—even more difficult that it is already.
He'
s sitting on a bench on the edge of campus facing the university's chapel. They're inside right now, probably exchanging their vows of love and commitment, and yet he knows that her love for him is still very much alive.
She didn't attend a single lecture of his these past weeks, dropping off her two final essays in his faculty mail box. And though her lack of attendance would've, under normal circumstances, reflected poorly on her grade, he did not consider these normal circumstances. He was upset not to see her, but pleased to be free of the burden of his heartbreak for at least those few hours in a day when he could just put his mind on a subject other than her.
On the few occasions they did see each other on campus, he could see the pain in her face. The wanting between them was evident, and it was excruciating to just pass by and not exchange words. He had forgotten how much hope she gave to his days. Even recently, he would still wake up hoping to see her that day, but, when he did, it was deflating because there was no exchange other than the pain of self-restraint. Then there was nothing left to carry the rest of the day. No hope. Nothing but the empty space that remained.
And the few times they did allow themselves to communicate, usually looking at each other from their windows—safely separated by the street between them—were the only moments where almost words were exchanged. These were the only moments where they could really reach out to each other safely, and without the risk of succumbing to regret.
Jacob can hear the distant conversation of people and looks to the chapel. A group has congregated outside the church. He sits and
