Chapter 17 #2
So, with my things packed, I walked to our meeting place and waited, but he was late.
I thought he’d changed his mind.
By the time he surfaced, I was convinced I’d be another burden on him and his family. Before we could even talk, voices were calling my name, and flashlights skimmed the surface of the water.
He had to go home, and I knew there wasn’t enough time to go with him. So, I told him to come back for me, and he promised he would. And I went back to my lonely world where I was a little girl who took pretending too far.
“I tried to find a way back to you,” he says. “If I hadn’t been so late…”
“You were a kid,” I say in defense of his younger self, hating that he blamed himself for any of this.
“Well, so were you.” His voice is sullen. “What happened … after you went back to camp?”
“I don’t remember what exactly. I told them some contrived lie about how the night sky was beautiful and all I wanted to do was go swimming.
It obviously wasn’t believable enough. They hadn’t forgotten the way I’d come home summer after summer, talking about my ‘imaginary friend.’ They thought I couldn’t tell fantasy from reality, and uh…
honestly, everyone was so worried and angry.
Jenna, my cousin, called the whole thing childish.
My uncle, though? He was so angry, screaming louder than I’d ever heard him—which is saying a lot.
All the while, my aunt had this smug look on her face, like she’d been waiting for him to really snap at me… ”
Selfish.
Stupid.
You should have known better.
“When he cooled down, he offered sympathy, and booked me time with a weekly counselor. He thought we hadn’t addressed the grief in my life well enough. He was convinced all of ‘this,’” I gesture between Gil and me, “was a manifestation of that.”
“Darlin’, I’m so sorry,” Gil says, his hand in mine. God, does it feel good to finally talk about this with someone, especially him. But it’s terrible too; now that this has been uncorked, words overflow before I can catch them.
“Aunt Andrea said if I was so set on swimming that that’s what I would do.
She pulled me out of all my music lessons and forced me into swim team tryouts.
The awful thing was, I was good at it. I won—a lot—and Jenna saw that as me taking another thing away from her. We’ve never really gotten along.”
“She was the one always giving you a hard time at camp, wasn’t she?” Gil grumbles, crossing his arms. “Always wanted to give her a piece of my mind.”
I frown.
To think the bad blood between us has run since we were kids.
“Yeah, well, not sure anything would have made a difference.” I roll my eyes, thinking about the way she’d taught me at practice, and at home. “You can probably guess how well it all went.”
“She bullied you off the team, huh?” Gil asks when I finally fall silent, and the question spurs me on to keep talking. We know so little about each other, I guess it doesn’t hurt to over-share a little.
“Honestly, the first couple years was the best we’d ever gotten along.
Sure, there were jabs every once in a while, but that was Jenna.
I didn’t know how much she hated me until I found her talking behind my back.
Then, in high school, when Uncle Orson passed away, it was all a mess.
I think she needed something to pour those feelings into and hating me worked—that’s what Grams says, at least.” I cringe, not mentioning the other less than measured words Grams has uttered about the entire situation.
“I get it: he was her dad. Every time I tried to mourn with them, I was reminded that, for me, it shouldn’t be as bad. Aunt Andrea lost her husband. Jenna lost her father…” I bite back tears. “I don’t know.”
He left hurt behind—wounds that might have closed if we had more time, if he had worked on his anger, if he had learned to listen. On the good days, it seemed like he might be able to learn how.
I’ll never know now.
“You didn’t have anyone to go to?” Gil asks, his full attention on me. I shift a little, not used to someone looking at me this intently.
“Mmhmm.” I nod. For a moment, I scratch unabashedly at my skin, forgetting myself. I tightly clasp my hands in my lap. Gil’s large webbed hand rests on top of mine.
“I’m listening.” It’s so simple, but exactly what I need to stay grounded. “You can take your time, Marina.”
“After Uncle Orson passed, that’s when the psoriasis got bad.
It’s an autoimmune thing. I don’t really know—I guess my mom had it too,” I explain.
“Turns out that stress, grief, and chlorine can really expedite a flare up. Steroid creams didn’t work.
It was so much worse then, and hiding it at swim practice was impossible. ”
“What happened?” he asks, giving me the permission I crave to keep rambling.
“It gave Jenna some ammunition, and it gave me a reason to want to hide. Like most things, it was easier to let her win. I quit that same year.” I shudder, remembering the taunting.
“You should swim like a fish, not look like one.”
Although in present company, it seems it doesn’t matter. I lean my head against his.
“If I hadn’t meddled, tried to bring you home with me and all that, things would have turned out so differently,” Gil says. He gazes down at me with those sunburst eyes, and says something I never would have expected. “None of this was your fault. I hope you know that.”
“It’s not yours either,” I say, “and I mean it—everything would have come to a head sooner or later, and we’re here now, right?”
“Right,” he says, “now we’re here.”
“Guess we can do anything we want then, hm?” I say, only aware of how suggestive I sound after the fact.
“I’m not eager to run into the flagpole again,” Gil shakes his head, “but I think I understand what you mean. We always had to sneak around before.”
“On the long drive here, I imagined myself sitting in my old cabin, trying to compose a song.”
“Let’s go see if it’s still standing.” He grips my hand tighter, pulling me onto my feet. As we move, our bracelets roll against each other, and the urge to sit back down and cover him in friendship bracelets from head to toe hits me.
It’s always been real.
We walk through the campground, and my head is hazy like I’m stepping into a dream. New memories are now peppered in with the old.
The med bay isn’t just where I went when I scraped my knee during the obstacle course; it’s where I woke up in Gil’s arms.
The flagpole isn’t just where Jenna strung up my journal for everyone to see; it’s where Gil and I laughed until our faces hurt.
And this cabin I’d retreated to, feeling alone and friendless, despite being surrounded by people, I’m now walking to with the person who matters the most to me.
It’s still standing…
Almost.
Kind of. There are still walls.
Okay, one wall, the frame, and what used to be a door, but the “Minnow” sign is still there, with a view of the springs in the distance.
Everything during that time is such a hazy blur of what was real and what I told myself was fake. That crumbling history hits me as I stand face to face the imaginary friend who has become a very real crush.
His arms wrap around my waist as our lips meet, here at the edge of this crumbling campground—maybe this is where we build something new.