I don’t know what to do. I know I should go home, tell him we can hang out another day. But I do the math. It would take us thirty minutes to get to Cocoa, thirty minutes back. We’d be gone for maybe two hours.
“All right,” I say.
“Great!” he says and smiles like I’ve just granted him a wish.
We head to my car, and when we’re one block away from it, Andy takes off running down the street, yelling and laughing. I start running too and we’re both running so fast that we actually run past my car which gets us both laughing even more.
“I don’t think I’ve run like that since elementary school,” Andy says, catching his breath.
“I don’t think I’ve run like that ever,” I say between gasps. My lungs are going to explode. The fresh air is too much for them to handle and I start choking on it, coughing like crazy. “Cigarettes,” I croak to Andy through gasps, as way of explanation. This only makes him laugh again and it takes us a full five minutes before we both settle down and finally get in the car. As I turn the key, the Vinyls’ song we were listening to on the way over here blasts back on.
“I love this song,” Andy yells.
“You like them?” I turn it down a little so I can hear him.
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know.” I smile. “You just don’t look like the type.”
“The type?”
“You know. You’re kind of,” I look for a word to describe Andy—a category I can fit him into, but nothing immediately comes to mind. “I don’t know,” I say. “I just didn’t peg you for this kind of music.”
“Well there’s a lot of things people wouldn’t peg me for,” he says. Another song comes on and Andy starts singing along, so I join in. Something about heading into the dark night, on mostly empty streets, with the music blaring, and singing with Andy Cooper, makes me feel incredibly giddy and full, and happy for this moment. Even though it doesn’t feel real, I know it is. Andy takes out his flask and toasts the air before drinking whatever is left. Then he grows quiet and I realize he’s fallen asleep. I wonder if maybe I should just turn around and head back. I wonder this through the next two songs, and then it seems dumb to turn back now, so I just keep going, heading to the ends of the earth with the Vinyls in the background and Andy Cooper asleep next to me.
The road to Cocoa is 520 and has parts where it becomes a two-lane highway with traffic going past each other in opposite directions fast as hell. The only separation between colliding head on is a bit of luck and a double yellow line. Cars and trucks speed past us and make my car shudder. With each pass, I think of how little it would take for a car to lose control, crash into us, and kill us. And while this scares me, somewhere, in the warpiest part of my brain, I think wouldn’t it be something if Andy and I died together tonight.
When we get to the beach, I shake Andy awake. And when he opens his eyes and sees my face, he grins and says, “We’re here?” and my heart soars with happiness at my decision not to turn back.
There’s a breeze in the air with the damp scent of sand, salt, and seaweed. I breathe in deeply, realizing how long I’ve avoided the beach. But right now, with only the light from the almost half moon and the orange glow of the back lights of the hotels along A1A, it’s perfect. It’s actually nice, and the roar of the ocean is soothing, even though they crash in a violent way.
“I haven’t been here in a long time,” I confess to Andy as we sit down on the sand, not far from the incoming tide.
“I come here all the time.”
“With?”
“By myself, mostly,” he says. Mostly. That’s what sticks with me and I can’t help but wonder, even as I feel I don’t really have a right to wonder, how many other girls Andy has brought to the beach. “At night,” he says. “Like this.” He looks out at the waves and then asks, “So, why don’t you come here?”
I can’t really see Andy’s face. Just his profile, which I’m studying. His question kind of catches me off guard and I blurt out, “Oh, uh, I almost drowned here when I was ten, at this exact beach actually.”
Andy stops making circles in the sand. “Really?”
I nod.
“What was it like?”
“Scary mostly,” I say. “I got caught in a rip current. You know how they tell you to swim along the shoreline and not against the current? Well I didn’t know that at the time. So I just kept trying to swim to shore. It seemed like forever, and I kept swallowing water while the waves kept crashing over me and pulling me out farther and farther.” I look out at the ocean, watching the waves. It’s so deceptive.
“Then this guy comes out from nowhere,” I continue, “and just scoops me up like some kind of giant and he gets me to shore. When I felt the sand under my feet, I just started walking, and then running.” The memory of that day flashes through my mind. “You know, the weird thing is, even now, I can see the brightness of that day. Man . . . it was so bright.” I close my eyes and the sun and the sea and every image from that day flashes behind my eyelids. “And the red swim trunks the guy was wearing. With white lines on the side. I remember all of that, but I don’t remember what he looked like. I think I looked up at him, but his face just looked like a shadow because of the sun. Or maybe I was going to pass out. I don’t know. But anyway, when I start running, he calls out to me, but I just kept running, and I never looked back at him.”
I open my eyes. “Isn’t that weird? That I remember everything, except the actual guy who saved me?” I ask Andy.
“Why’d you run?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I guess I was scared. Or worried I’d get into trouble or something.”
“Did your parents freak out?” he asks.
“Are you kidding? I didn’t tell them. I never told anyone.”
“Nobody?”
I shake my head. “Well, actually, now I’ve told you so . . . just you.”
“That’s kind of cool,” he says. “Well, not that you almost died, I mean . . .”
“I know what you mean.”
“Sorry,” he says, but I laugh.
“I’m just messing with you,” I say.
“Right,” he says and smiles but then he gets serious. “So, did you see your life flash before your eyes?”
I think for a minute. “I don’t think so. I remember thinking about my parents, but I don’t remember seeing the movie of my life or anything. Maybe it’s because I was only ten. Mostly I just remember sheer panic, swallowing so much water, and a weird kind of silence—like someone muted the whole thing. I didn’t hear the waves, or other people, or anything, just this . . . quiet. And how the sun made everything shimmer whenever I came up for air.”
“That’s crazy,” Andy says. “Maybe . . . maybe you didn’t see your life because even though it was a close encounter, it wasn’t the real thing. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
We sit silent for a while and I want to lie down and stare at the sky, but I don’t.
“Drowning must suck,” he says. “Not being able to breathe and all. It must take a while and seem like forever.” He looks at the water for a minute and then goes back to drawing circles in the sand again. “Do you ever wish you knew how you were going to die?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him. “Never. I think it’d kind of suck to know, don’t you? Besides, if everyone knew then everybody would spend their lives avoiding whatever it is that kills them, like the ocean, or cars, or whatever. And then, nobody would ever die when they’re supposed to and we’d become overpopulated and we’d all die of famine or some shit like that”—I say and then look at him but he’s just staring at me—“forget it,” I say.
“No, I totally understand. It’s like, some stuff is just inescapable. The more you try to avoid, the more it comes after you.”
I shrug my shoulders. I’m not sure if what Andy says is what I mean, but it’s getting late so I just say, “I guess. We should probably head back, though.”
“Yeah, I g
uess so,” he says. “But first . . .” He looks out at the ocean, gets up, and starts walking toward the water.
“Where are you going?”
I watch as he starts running, and then throws himself into one of the waves.
Shit.
“You’re fucking crazy!” I yell after him because the water has got to be freezing.
“You’re insane!” I head closer to the water.
“Come on,” he yells. I sort of want to, but I don’t. I just stand there and watch him.
“Just try it!” he yells.
I take off my shoes and walk to the edge. The water laps onto my feet and I suck in my breath at how cold it is. No fucking way am I getting in that water. I look back at Andy and he seems too far away. I want to tell him to come back, but all I can see are his arms as he slices through the water and goes farther out.
“Andy!” I yell, because if a current pulls him out, I wouldn’t know what to do. There’s no one here to help. Just me. And even now, I can hardly see him because of the darkness.
A huge wave comes in, and I totally lose sight of him. I blink several times, trying to make out something.
“Andy!” I repeat. I can feel the tingle of panic turn into a full rush. I yell his name a few more times and stare at the water, waiting for his head to appear somewhere.
The water rushes to the shore. “Andy!” I yell louder this time, but he doesn’t answer. The waves rush in and back out. In and back out. My eyes scan the surface, again and again, and I’m just at the point of panic that makes your heart feel like it’s going to jump out of your throat, when suddenly I think I see him. But I’m not sure.
“Andy!” I call out, and for a stupid, irrational minute, I look around, somehow convinced that I can conjure up the man in the red trunks that saved my life when I was ten. I wonder how long I should wait here. Somewhere, I have already left and am home and haven’t told anyone that I left Andy Cooper in the ocean. Somewhere else, I’m running up and down this beach screaming and yelling that my friend has drowned but nobody hears me. Somewhere else, still, I’m just standing here, staring at the sea. My heart beats faster.
And then I definitely see him, coming out of the water, like he just suddenly appeared there. I’m so relieved I think I could cry, but that quickly turns to anger.
“What the hell!” I say as he walks toward me.
“That was such a rush!” The water drips off of him. “Oh man, that was awesome.”
“Well, thanks for the fucking heart attack,” I say and start trudging through the sand to put on my shoes. I’m pissed, so I half shove them on and then start walking without waiting up for him. “You probably screwed up your tattoo.”
“I don’t know, but it stings like hell,” he says. “Man . . .” I look back and he’s stopped. He’s looking out at the water, and for a second I think he’s going to run out there again.
“Let’s go,” I urge.
“It’s so dark out there, French,” he says. “It’s a weird kind of . . . I don’t know. . . .” He’s still breathing heavy from swimming. I stop. “I mean, I went out there and I held my breath, and I just, you know, let the water pull me wherever and, wow. It was kind of . . . beautiful,” he says.
“Or fucking stupid,” I say. “It’s not like you could’ve drowned or anything. Now, can we go?”
He nods and starts walking again. When we get to the car and start the drive back, he says, “Hey, I really didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, somewhat fine now that I won’t have to explain Andy’s drowning to anyone.
“And I’m sorry I’m getting your car all wet.”
“It’s fine.”
He smiles and says, “You know, I really don’t think it would be too horrible to go out that way. I could’ve stayed out there forever.” He leans over and switches on the music. And I’m about to tell him it’s not like that, not the way he described it at all. But I don’t because the music is too loud and he’s looking out the window. So I keep driving, pressing my foot down on the gas, as I try to get away from the dark, vast, crashing ocean as fast as I can.
Chapter 24
TONIGHT
“This one is unlocked,” I yell over to Colin.
“Frenchie, don’t you think this is kind of crazy?” he asks. But I’m already taking the metal chain off this particular plastic swan. Something about this action, releasing it, even though it’s not a real swan, makes me think of Andy and how maybe he would appreciate it in some way.
“We’re going to get caught. And they take swan shit seriously here.”
I look at him.
“Well, not literally. What I mean is . . .”
“I know, I know. Come on,” I say. But Colin is just standing there, his hands in his pockets as he stares at me. “Well, are you going to help me?” I ask.
“Fine, get in,” he says. I jump in and so does Colin. We sit down and start pedaling, slowly making our way around the lake. I try not to wonder what this would have been like with Andy. I try to ignore the sense of betrayal that I feel as I remember he wanted to do this.
“This is kind of hard,” Colin says. I’m thinking the same thing. I always thought this was like some lame pastime for people who were all about showing the world how romantic they could be, but it’s more of a workout.
“Are you out of breath?” Colin asks with a bemused look on his face.
“Shut up,” I say, completely out of breath.
He starts laughing. “You’re pathetic!” he yells.
“You’re the one who just said this is hard!”
“I know, but I’m not the one gasping for air,” he says.
“I’m hardly gasping. And shut up,” I repeat.
“Fine.” He’s quiet for a few seconds before he says, “So, why are we out here? I never would have pegged you for a romantic. Not that I’m not flattered. But swans, Frenchie? Really, I’m touched.”
“Don’t be,” I say. I stop pedaling for a moment and look over at Colin who still looks amused by all of this. “Do you feel sorry for these swans? I mean, do you think their lives suck?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be a big plastic swan, if that’s what you mean.”
“I’m being serious.”
He stops pedaling and leans his head back. I wonder if he’s thinking how in the hell he got stuck here, with me. Maybe he’s mentally retracing his footsteps, back to the night we met, and second-guessing having ever acknowledged my existence because now he’s here, in the middle of Lake Eola at whatever time, being asked a philosophical question about the happiness of swans.
“Those swans are fine, Frenchie. Their existence or happiness isn’t compromised just because the city put them here. I mean, what’s so bad about it? That the city actually cares about them? That if they get sick, there’s some vet out there probably offering free service to them? What’s so bad about that?”
“I don’t know. But doesn’t it still seem wrong on some level?”
“Maybe . . . or maybe sometimes what seems bad isn’t really that bad . . . ,” he says slowly, as if he’s trying to make sense of his own thoughts as they come together in his head. “I mean, yes, okay, I know I talk about the gray a lot, and I get it, some things might be black or white, right or wrong. But most things aren’t that definitive, right? Good and bad is like that, too, in the sense that everything can’t always be good, there’s always some bad. And everything can’t always be bad, there’s usually some trace of good, right? There’s that balance in the world, that yin and yang.
“I mean, think about it. The very second one person dies in the world, another person is born,” he says. I look out at the swans. “Maybe you want to see the bad here, the imprisonment of the swans,” he says with dramatic flare, “but look, they’re good. They have a sweet deal here. And who knows, maybe, somehow, someday the existence of these swans in this very location will make a difference in someone’s life. Sometimes things are what you make
of them.” He puts his feet back on the pedals and starts pedaling.
I start pedaling too, and think about what Colin has said.
He looks over at me. I give him a sincere smile. He’s making more sense to me.
“Keep pedaling,” I say. “We still have a couple of more places to go.”
We leave Lake Eola and head to Cocoa Beach. I park where I parked last time, and head to the same part of the beach Andy and I went to that night.
“Tell me a secret,” I say to Colin as we sit down on the sand.
“What?”
I turn to him. “What’s the biggest secret you have? Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.”
He thinks for a minute. “Well . . . Okay, here’s something. I was a real jerk to this kid one time, for no reason,” he says. “His grandparents lived next door to us and he would come and visit during summers.” He looks at me and stops, like he’s not sure he wants to tell me more, but continues. “My mom used to make me play with him even though I didn’t want to. He was a couple of years younger than me and annoying as hell. That kid could keep talking on and on and never shut up. So this one time, I told him I was going to teach him a cool wrestling move someday. And I was, even though I didn’t know anything about wrestling except for what I saw on TV.” He stops and takes a breath. “So one day he comes over and starts talking and talking as usual, and I tell him I’ll teach him that move now. I pin him down and I can tell I’m hurting him, but I just put more of my weight on him. And then”—Colin says and shakes his head and starts digging a hole in the sand—“then, I have my arm against his neck and I can tell it’s choking him. But I just keep it there.”
I’ve been holding my breath. I remember to breathe and Colin goes on. “I don’t know why I didn’t move it.”
“Oh my god,” I say.
“I mean, I didn’t hate the kid that much. I didn’t hate him at all really, but there I was, cutting off his air. And I see his eyes, how he starts to panic. How his face is getting red, and then a deeper red. And I just kept my arm there.” He shakes his head and goes back to digging the hole.
Death, Dickinson, and the Demented Life of Frenchie Garcia Page 11
