by Jade Alyse
Towards six o’clock, Brandon ushered his kids to the playground so that they could wait on their parents to arrive, and as they watched the children play, watched their imaginations run wild, watch the sun begin to move to the western sky and the breeze grow chilly, Natalie sat next to Brandon on the swing set, holding the handles between her two hands, looking at him in a way that she couldn’t remember looking at him before…
“I can’t believe I stopped doing this,” he told her with a sigh, sweat at his brow.
“I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun,” she replied, with a smile.
“Right,” he said. “And you learned to run like that from where?”
Natalie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know…good question…”
“I was impressed…”
“I was impressed…but what else would be expected from the illustrious Brandon Greene?”
Brandon rolled his eyes. “Please…illustrious, my ass…I have nothing to hide in front of you…you’ve humbled me, Natalie Chandler…”
She didn’t answer, looked toward the playground, saw the children’s happiness, couldn’t remember the last time she felt so at peace…
“Why did you come?” he asked her, and she met his gaze.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure why…”
He smiled. “Because you care about me…”
She, too, rolled her eyes. “Care about you, my butt…surely you don’t think…”
“Natalie Chandler, you care about me! I’m flattered, really…I’m so glad you could put me before Andre Thomas…really, really glad…”
Natalie punched him playfully in the arm, smiled, and sighed, “Yes, I care for you…but not any longer if you keep making dumb mistakes…”
“No longer will you hear about my dumb mistakes…they are long gone…”
“I hope so…”
Silence followed. They both looked out toward the children, saw them playing innocently, Natalie wishing she could go back to those days, where they had nothing but their lives ahead of them…
“I was selfish,” Brandon admitted in the quietest voice that Natalie had ever heard from him. “And I’m sorry…”
Natalie lowered her head, shook it slowly and said, “No, I’m sorry…you needed me and I couldn’t deliver that night…part of me just wanted you to be done with her…completely…as you think, I ‘care about you’ and I didn’t want you to be hurting the way you were…you should have been more aware, and I should have been a better friend instead of an extremely good listener…”
Brandon chuckled. “I don’t know what was the matter with me…it was like I knew it wasn’t healthy, I knew that our relationship had died, but all I wanted was her, all I could see was her, like it was a curse…loving someone shouldn’t make you blind to the things you love…I should have been a better friend, Nat…and I wasn’t…”
They met eyes, Natalie smiled at him, extended her hand to his shoulder, smiled wider and said, “That’s why I’m here…Brandy…to give you a second chance…because…because you deserve it…”
“Brandy…I like hearing it from you,” he told her.
She wished her face didn’t heat up, wished her hands didn’t clam up, wished the breeze didn’t blow Brandon’s hair that way, wished she couldn’t smell his nearness, wished he didn’t purse his lips that way, make those faces…
If these were the makings of her feelings for him, she couldn’t welcome them, didn’t like the idea that she could feel this way about him, didn’t like the idea that she would see him differently, and it unsettled her that she felt him in her surroundings, felt him around her…it was surely unnatural…
He leaned into her, she stopped her slow swinging, and his lips grazed the top of her forehead, leading toward a slow, affectionate kiss, leaving her with only feeling, only the need to close her eyes, take it in, feel his hot breath on her skin, feel the soft touch of his lips, writhed under the idea that this small gesture, with all its newness and care attached, was the beginning of a movement to turn her world upside down…
“Jekyll Island…” Brandon mentioned randomly as they rode home together.
“What?”
“For spring break,” he said. “Do you want to go?”
“I don’t have any money, Brandon…”
“All taken care of…all you have to do is show up,” he assured her.
“You can’t pay for my everything,” she told him.
“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to,” he said.
“Just us?”
“No,” he said, clicking his teeth. “That’s the thing…it’s supposed to be with a few of my friends…they got a beach house and…I want you to go…”
“So I can stay with a couple of strangers, while you go off and have fun with your friends? Count me out, I’m going home for break…”
“Nat, please, be reasonable,” Brandon said. “If I thought you’d be uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have asked you to go…”
“Brandon…”
“I have an extra bed,” he told her. “You can stay in the room with me…”
“And…when you leave me out? What then?”
“Natalie…are you crazy? I wouldn’t leave you…”
“What if you meet a girl and want to bring her back to the room…?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” he assured her. “And you don’t have to worry about that, Nattie…no girls for me…you’re the only one I need…”
She punched him in the arm again, hoping he was kidding, wishing her heart didn’t fall, wishing that riding in the car with Brandon didn’t suddenly bring her delight, wished the sunlight didn’t hit his face in that special kind of way, wished even something as minute as the smell of the air from the outside didn’t excite her in his presence.
She could feel herself, in the duration of the car ride, slowly lose her cool, could feel herself, each time that Brandon made her laugh, each time that Brandon innocently ran his fingers the length of her bare arm, feel her heart tug in his direction, as if that made any sense, as if he knew, as if he could understand.
You’re Natalie and I Hate You
NATALIE ALLOWED HERSELF the pull of physical attraction in the first few moments following their arrival to the beach house with bright green siding, white shutters, and a large wraparound porch, with a full-bodied aging hammock facing the shoreline.
She followed Brandon up to the bedroom that they shared, with a bay window, and two matching twin-sized beds. He, who'd carried his bag and her own, set them down beside each other, and he looked at her, mimicking the way he'd looked at her the entire trip down. It was the same piercing ogle that her far more nervous than she felt she needed to be.
And she returned the gaze, finding it difficult to remember a road trip more enjoyable, more peaceful; from the way the stale warm air of early April blew in from the cracked windows, to their arguments over Brandon’s music, to the way that they got lost, and he blamed it on her, to the way that the water looked as they crossed over the bridge, sun-smeared, sparkling, clear.
He chose the bed closest to the window, and jokingly remarked, “Now…how in the hell do they expect my big ass to fit in such a tiny bed?"
She laughed under her breath, and he began pulling his t-shirt over his head, as if he were setting himself free, and she shut her eyes momentarily.
Your friend...your friend, Brandon...Brandon...
“We should go to the beach,” he suggested, tossing his shirt on the bed, claiming his spot. She hesitantly turned to him, taking in the sight of Brandon’s bare, muscular structure. Warmth filled her body.
She nodded nervously, turned her head and attempted to fumble with her suitcase. She then wondered what bathing suit would be appropriate, knowing that Brandon had never seen her in anything less revealing than a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
With a heavy sigh, she pulled out the yellow and white two piece with the thin straps that Asha made her buy after she reluctantly
agreed to accompany Brandon on the trip.
She remembered coming out of the dressing room at the boutique downtown, Asha sitting in a chair waiting, watching her eyes pop.
“Brandon will die when he sees you in this,” Asha remarked, clapping her hands together. “And…if he doesn’t, any boy with any sense down there would…”
When she got home, she'd said a silent prayer that he didn't...
She escaped to the bathroom a few paces down the narrow corridor of the second floor, shut the door behind her and took a deep breath. When she changed into her suit and examined her body in the mirror, she sighed, knowing that the way it fit on her slender frame would be just as Asha suggested.
Just the thing that she didn’t want to happen.
She scurried back down the hallway, reentered the bedroom, and there Brandon stood with nothing on but a pair of navy trunks, that sat low on his hips.
She swallowed thickly and sucked in her breath.
“Problem, Nat?”
She shook her head, entered the room, and went right back to digging in her suitcase. She was on a mission to find the champagne-colored sarong that Asha let her borrow.
“You look nice,” he told her, reaching for a towel from his bag.
“Thank you, Brandon,” she replied, finally finding the sarong at the bottom of her bag. “I feel like a fool…”
“Well,” he began, walking toward her. “You certainly don’t look like one…”
She followed him down the stairs, and through the kitchen where two girls sat on barstools at the breakfast bar, with cups before them.
They both looked at her strangely, then looked at Brandon in the same fashion, and he planted a hand on Natalie’s back.
“Where are you off to, Brandon?” a redheaded girl asked, leaning up a little.
“To the beach,” he replied, moving his fingers against her skin a little bit.
“And this must be the Natalie you mentioned earlier,” the other one, a brunette said.
“Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Nat, this is Sabrina [he pointed to the redhead] and that’s Monica [pointed to the brunette who now sipped from her cup, then smiled artificially]…guys, this is my friend, Natalie…”
“Heard a lot about you, Natalie,” Sabrina told her. “Funny, a lot more than we ever heard about Sophia…isn’t that right, Mon?”
“Sure,” Monica replied looking at her friend. “A lot more…never heard about Sophia…why is that, Brandon?”
He cleared his throat and proceeded to push Natalie slightly. “Come on, Natalie…”
When they were outside, he instinctively reached for her hand, tugging at her a little bit, and she writhed under the feeling. The sand was slightly difficult to walk on, but Brandon squeezed her hand tighter each time that she stumbled on the white grain as though to steady her. She heard the sound the of sea before them, saw the sun kiss each wave, the browning sea oats swaying. The silence between them was becoming something that she enjoyed, something that she needed.
He led her to the water’s edge, the initial chill on her toes exciting her, and she temporarily forgot her fear of water.
“We should run in together,” Brandon suggested, looking down at her with a smile. He dropped her hand, turned to face her, and moved his hands toward her waist, grasping at her sarong. “Here…you should take this off first…”
“Brandon…wait…I don’t know about this…”
“What? This old thing? You do want to get in the water, don’t you?”
“Hadn’t really thought about it…”
“You mean to tell me that you can’t swim?”
“I don’t do water…”
“Who doesn’t do water? You need it to live…”
She backed away slightly. “I’m afraid…”
“Of water? Are you serious?”
She didn’t answer. She only stared at him.
He sighed, reached for her hand again and said, “Why don’t we take it slow? One step at a time? I assure you, it’s not as bad as it may seem…”
She glanced out toward the water, watching the waves roll in slowly, and then she looked back at him.
“Hell, if you get swept away, you can beat me up later,” he told her with a laugh. “But I doubt seriously that that would happen, or that I would let that happen to you…”
And they walked in together, Natalie close by her friend, wincing each time that water crashed into her legs.
“It’s cold, Brandon!” she yelped, feeling his arm around her waist.
“Oh, come on, girl,” he said. “It’s just water…”
They walked slowly, and Brandon coached her, “Yes, that’s it…one foot and then the other…nothing’s going to bite you…that’s it…you’ve got it…not much longer…”
He stopped her when the azure water came waist deep, when the rolling waves crashed on her shoulders, when her hair was just wet enough, where she could get close to Brandon. Her wet lips grazed his wet shoulder, her fingertips were embedded in his back, and his arms around her. His strength lifted her up atop the waves, and Brandon’s eyes sparkled each time that he laughed at her.
“Don’t let me go,” she told him.
“I won’t, Nat,” he laughed. "Relax..."
And after her struggle, they only waded, still holding one another, Brandon looking at her.
“Who were those girls?” she asked him.
Brandon looked away, toward the horizon, clearing his throat again.
“Sophia’s friends,” he said.
“And they know about me…?”
“Someway, somehow…”
“You talk about me like that?”
He looked at her. “I guess so…”
“Do you miss her?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Not when I’m around you…”
She pressed her fingers deeper into his back. The unfailing twists and turns in her stomach grew stronger each time that he moved his eyes, each time she recalled how he looked with those kids, each time she failed at an attempt to remember their friendship.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I hope that that didn’t come out the wrong way…but you just make me forget how I wasted three years of my life with the wrong person…”
“Everything happens for a reason,” she reminded him. And her hands found the hairs at the back of his neck, moving them up and down. “You’ll find the right person for you…”
He nodded slowly, glared at her strangely. She momentarily stopped breathing, as though she were waiting for the inevitable to happen. Her narrow eyes flickered across the different lengths and angles of his face, her lids heavy, brimming with a visual satisfaction that needed a release. Then, he pulled away from her all within seconds.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested, leading her to the shore.
They ended up back on the porch, with the sounds of the shoreline nearby. She unconsciously held onto Brandon’s arm, as they stood in front of the large, white rope hammock, suspended from the porch ceiling, swaying on its own. Brandon climbed into its web first.
"Come here, Nat," he murmured, pulling down his brown best friend with him. He rested his black head on his arms, and she nestled into the pit of his arm, the air, cooling their wet bodies. And the hammock swayed a little harder, the smell of saltwater filled their atmosphere, and the golden sunlight spilled happily onto the porch, splashing onto their skin.
"This is nice," she whispered, staring skyward.
"Yea," he replied, chuckling under his breath. "Sometimes it's good to just stop and let life unfold around you...just stop and take a deep breath...and forget the rest of world...you know?"
She nodded, and repositioned herself. Brandon squeezed her tighter in response and not long after fell fast asleep.
And, yes, that Natalie Chandler watched him ardently, writhing in slight discomfort in her closeness to him. But as the minutes went by, the sound of Brandon’s deep breathing soothed her, and the way the sun hit
his face created a funny feeling in her stomach.
She sighed heavily, and the hammock swayed, and the cooling breeze blew, and she ached inside.
Was she the same naïve, country, sweetly ignorant Natalie Savannah? Not when she was around him, not when he showed her this world, his world.
She couldn’t explain the feeling she had inside then, hated herself for wanting to analyze it, place it into logical reasoning, instead of letting it be, instead of enjoying this sight, the comfortable, safe sight.
She hated it…hated the fact that he was beginning to mean the world to her, that her vulnerability prevailed, even in his peace.
She lifted her hand, touched his hair, felt light, felt life, and she hated it. She didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to care about him so much, and she sure as heck, with God as her witness, didn’t want to love him the way she did.
No good would come of loving him…
#
She was shocked to discover that Brandon could use a grill, recalling all of his failed attempts at cooking at the house on Trent road. She took her place in a white wicker chair at the picnic table on the back porch overlooking the ocean. It was twilight, the sun setting slowly over the expanded horizon, the rhythm of the currents slowing down, soft reggae playing from a player in the kitchen window. She watched Brandon, who looked comfortable in a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a t-shirt, laugh with Scotty, who stood near him, a can of beer in his hand, witnessing his interaction with his roommate in a different way than what he treated her, listened to their sarcasm and toilet humor, took notice of the way he laughed more and more.
Sabrina, the redhead, sat beside her unwontedly, distracting her from her gazing. She placed a glass of wine in front of her, cleared her throat, and said, “You look like you need this…”
Natalie pushed the glass away. “I don’t drink…”
“Oh,” Sabrina said, retrieving the glass. “Not at all?”
“I’m only nineteen,” Natalie told her.
