Above Water ✔️

1 - nervosities or something

There were five things I knew for sure that I hated: large groups of people, uncleaned messes, the ocean, screaming children, and a man named Frasier Callahan.

Surely, more than that. But my latest dilemma was finding the willpower to unknowingly overcome those five most dreaded things for three months. Easy enough, as ninety days–give or take–wasn't forever. In my experience with adulthood, three months felt like two weeks.

It would be easier said than done, though, as I would soon be faced with not one, not two, but all five of those things for the entire summer.

Why then, Meek, did you agree to stay at your best friend Erick's beach house knowing you would have to deal with bullshit the entire time, you may ask. The answer's simple, really.

I wasn't given a choice.

My best friend since we could walk, Erick Harrison, insisted I take a vacation for the first time in my life. It was oh-so convenient that his parents owned a beach house in Florida with gorgeous ocean view and private pool galore. After much begging and negotiating, Erick convinced them to delay renting it out for the summer and let him and his wife Phoebe use it to create memories with their closest friends. Me included.

It wasn't that I didn't want to. I just knew it was going to be me and a bunch of couples and their kids. And that sounded less than relaxing.

But alas, according to Erick I just "can't resist" the invitation of a free stay in paradise and, more importantly, free booze. He made a solid argument and even went so far as to show up at my job and speak with my boss about approving the time off.

That last part was unnecessary because getting time off wasn't hard at my job. Turnover was high so the fact that I had stuck around for ten years meant they were lucky to have me. If they didn't want me taking an extended vacation, they could kiss my ass. At least, according to Erick.

So as I packed my bags, I reflected back on all of the techniques I could remember that my very brief, very not-for-me therapist told me in high school. Close my eyes, think of something serene, remove myself from the situation, practice deep breathing and muscle relaxation, fucking journal. Can you believe that? A woman with a doctorate in behavioral studies looked a hormonal sixteen-year-old in the eye and told him to write in his diary.

Anyway, it worked.

I'd kept a journal on me almost every day since. Even though I'd sworn myself off of therapy for the rest of my life because it made me feel weirder than I already did, the journaling idea was good. I wasn't much of a writer and I definitely wasn't getting a book deal, but it felt good to put it on paper and out of my head.

And the inevitability of being surrounded by things that spiked my blood pressure was what made me pack three empty composition notebooks.

My cat stared at me with judgmental eyes while I tucked yet another dressy collared T-shirt into my bag. I didn't know why she was looking at me like that as if she wasn't right there with me, at five in the morning three weeks ago, picking out shirts from the summer flash sale at Old Navy. I scratched her head.

"Don't bite Mrs. Cline again," I warned her. She head-butted my hand innocently, like Me? I scoffed and went back to folding, but still spoke. "She brings you food and just wants to love you. Just because you're my cat doesn't mean you need to act prickly like me, too."

I was to leave in the morning. It was a nine hour flight with one stop in Maryland. My poor cat would miss me so much. The list of reasons not to go just kept piling up and I resisted the urge to do a pro and con list in my half-filled journal. I was sure to have plenty of angry writing to do on the plane ride.

Despite my waiting to pack until the last second, I felt strangely prepared. I tended to be somewhat of an over-thinker and had been called uptight by my own mother–more than once–when we'd take road trips across the state to see my grandparents. Packing had to be diligent and I normally started a week ahead of time.

Perhaps it was my subconscious dread of the trip to come that lead me to frantically shoving things into my suitcase merely eight hours before my six o'clock flight. It didn't matter. I felt somewhat at ease before I'd even secured my travel-sized toiletries.

Erick did say that if I wanted to change my flight and leave a month or two early, I could. I wasn't being held hostage.

But a part of me kind of looked forward to having absolutely no responsibilities. I wouldn't have to wake up at a certain time. I only knew half of the people that would be staying in the house, so I didn't have any expectations to be social. I could hole myself in my room or lay by the pool for an entire three months and nobody would bat an eye.

Except maybe Erick. Or Chris or Carlos.

But other than that! I wasn't taking shit from anybody!

That was me trying to make the best of this. When it came down to it, Erick and I both knew that I wasn't going into this easily. But Meek, you work so hard, you deserve a vacation. You know who also worked hard? My dad, and he took the vacation of a lifetime–leaving his wife and kids and moving to Denver. Hard pass.

I hardly slept that night.

I was having what my mom would call nervosities, which I wasn't convinced was a word. The kids nowadays call them anxieties. Since I was young, I liked things a certain way. I liked having my own familiar space, not to be disturbed. It was why I couldn't bare dorm living in college and insisted on working the graveyard shift at the campus gas station to pay for my own apartment. Five days a week on top of full-time class schedules.

Leaving my city, as dull as it was, made me itch.

Deep down I knew I would be fine once I got acclimated with my surroundings. Once I knew the lay of the land, I would breathe easy. It was just everything in between that made me fret.

My alarm snatched me out of the half-hearted slumber that had taken me at around two AM. I was relieved to be yanked out of the awful dream I was having about swimming in the ocean and killer sharks circling me with Jaws music on full crescendo. Flying across the country sounded only slightly better than falling back to sleep.

Erick called me as I was pulling a T-shirt over my head, my eyes closed in the comfort of my dark bedroom. "I hope you're on your way to the airport," he said sternly, reminding me of my mother when she mentioned brushing my teeth.

"Just about, Dad," I grumbled.

"Low tide today and the weather's perfect, Meek."

He had arrived a week early to get some alone time with Phoebe and get the house ready for his many guests. I knew they had housekeepers for that, but my guess was he was stocking the liquor cabinets and kid-proofing, too.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder after tucking in my well-planned last minutes. "Why the fuck are you calling me right now?" I demanded, not entertaining his Mister Rogers bullshit. It was five in the morning and I was not a morning person.

"To make sure you're not bailing," Erick snorted, before adding, "Duh."

"It's not too late," I threatened, slipping my slides on and retracting the handle of my suitcase. I had one more thing to do before I would leave New York for the season. My eyes scanned my living room.

I was half paying attention to Erick while he spoke. "We really are so happy you're coming. Aubrey's been asking for you since the barbecue and the boys and I have been talking about renting a fishing boat. It's really going to be the best summer ever, bro," he finished as I peered under the couch. "And I saw that a gay club opened a few blocks away from the house."

My backpack nearly took me out as I stood upright. "I am not going to a gay club in Miami."

"We're not in Miami, stupid. We're in Clearwater," he said and I imagined him rolling his eyes. "Very different."

Finally, I found my cat. "Okay, Erick, I have to say a lengthy goodbye to my cat now. I'll text you when I'm boarding in Maryland," I said and hung up without waiting for a response.

I almost missed my flight because I cried when my cat-child, Nelly Furtado, put her arms on either side of my neck and hugged me back. She totally did, and that's totally why I cried.