Crashing Into Blue

Chapter 26

The days start passing by in a way that can only happen during the summer. They slowly drip into one another like melting ice cream, but they also zip by like a lightning strike; here one second, gone the next. I find myself splitting my time between my job at Sea Breeze, hanging out with Indigo, playing my music (and cringingly trying to write some), while delving deeper into my fake relationship with Samson.

I find myself thinking a lot about what I told Jasmine a few weeks ago when the summer was just starting to unfold, how if you start in the deep end, you can always make your way back to the shallows. But with every passing moment I spend with Samson in our fake romantic relationship, the more I feel myself making excuses to stay in that deep end, even though it's the last place I should be. As I'm wiping smudged fingerprints off glass display cases at Sea Breeze, which encloses some of the higher end jewelry that we sell, the ones on delicate silver chains with small multicolored gem stones instead of an assortment of shells on braided rope, I think back to last week, when we all decided to go to the local bowling alley, Pin Palooza.

"When's the last time we've bowled?" Samson asked me suddenly as we made our way towards the entrance of the bowling alley. It was a clear night, where you could see all the stars looking down on us from their inky black infinity. We were meeting Patrick and Jasmine there, along with Indigo and Bingo, who were coming off their respective shifts at work. Samson and I decided to walk over together, and during our seemingly agreed upon silence, I was lost in thought at the prospect of calling off this entire scheme that night. I started to realize as we passed mailboxes in the shape of dolphins and the swaying trees that it wasn't right to keep playing this game, especially since it was majorly messing with my head. I was starting to realize that I was sinking into the deep end that I'd so willingly thrown myself into, and I didn't want to drag anyone else farther down than I already had. I was picturing a way to extract myself from Samson, in a private, yet public enough manner to make it stick, but his question broke my train of thought. I don't think it was heading anywhere groundbreaking, anyways. All I could come up with was an amicable split in front of the vintage gumball machine, which was next to the shoe return bin. This way, we wouldn't have to drag it out since I could buy us each a jawbreaker, which would limit our speaking capabilities. Maybe we could break up via interpretive dance?

"Um, I don't know, I think it was Naomi's tenth birthday party?"

Samson snapped his fingers at me.

"You're right; that was when Indigo puked after eating eight slices of triple cheese pizza, and I got my finger stuck in a bowling ball." I laughed at the memory, picturing Indigo clutching at her stomach on those small plastic seats, and Samson vigorously trying to dislodge a lime green bowling ball off his thumb.

"You almost broke Naomi's brothers' foot because you were swinging the ball like a maniac," I said to him.

He looked towards me, shock written all over his face. "He was invading my personal space!" he said while pointing at himself and indicating an invisible circle around him.

"He was standing at the start of the lane getting ready to bowl! If anything, you invaded his space because you wouldn't calm down enough to let anyone help you; you were some sort of green thumbed tornado."

"Was that supposed to be an insult?" he asked me.

"Yes, and a burning one at that," I replied.

"It sounded more like a wrestler's ring name," he said to me, and immediately he repeated the name again, but this time in an announcers booming voice. "AND HERE WE HAVE, IN THE LEFT CORNER, THE MIGHTY, THE UNBEATABLE, THE PROFICIENT WITH THE HEDGE CLIPPERS, THE GREEN THUMBED TORNADO!" He cupped his hands around his mouth and began to make the ensuing screaming crowd noises.

I smacked him in the shoulder to quiet him, since we were getting looks from the people coming in and out of their cars in the Palooza parking lot.

"You're still just as much of an idiot as you were back then," I told him jokingly.

"Well, I'm an idiot that you love," he said to me without a moment's hesitation. I looked over to him, trying to gauge his reaction at those words. I know what they did to me; they set something off inside my chest, making my lungs tighten and my fingertips tingle, something they never have done around him before. Having him causally throw around words and feelings that I've been grappling with for the last few weeks made me feel exposed and vulnerable, which is another reason that I had to separate myself from this setup and take some time to really think about what's been happening this summer. But as we stood underneath the neon pinball sign that was suddenly overhead, casting glowing hues onto our skin, Samson reached for my hand as if by second nature. Maybe by now, it was.

His cool, long fingers wrapped around mine, and I felt the vulnerability morph into something almost exciting as I wrapped my own fingers around his in a reciprocal manner. Again, I was struck by the thought of how well we just fit, like on the night of the bonfire, where this all began. I felt a heat form within me.

As we made our way into the noisy interior to get our bowling shoes, I saw the same lime green ball from all those years ago between the hands of young boy a few lanes away. With his messy brown hair, knobby knees, and wide smile, he reminded me of a young Samson. I suddenly felt myself pushing back the plan for breaking things off as we approached our group, everyone happy and laughing and ready to bowl. Indigo and Jasmine grabbed my arms and animatedly told me how it's going to be the guys against the girls, and how we were going to destroy them with our bowling prowess. Sneaking a quick peak over at Indigo as I laced up my rental shoes, I saw no trace of the jealous girl from the beach as she joked around with Jasmine about kicking the boys' butts (they're all striking out tonight, she said which made Jasmine laugh and Bingo and Patrick huff and puff teasingly). As we each took turns logging our names into the computer, I couldn't help but notice that Samson had dubbed himself green tornado for the night. As he looked over at me with a wink and a mischievous grin, I felt my plan of a gumball breakup roll down the gutter with my bowling ball, accompanied by hoots and hollers from the guys and threats of this just being a warm-up and not getting too comfortable from the girls.

But standing here now, in front of the clear, streakless glass case, spray bottle and rag in hand, I think about the moment before you start sinking, and how you must believe that you can keep going, that you'll make it. But all of a sudden, you can't, and you give out to the blue depths below, because really, you never even stood a chance.