Eddylines

drifting

"Tha waff amaziff," Daszé observed from the depths of his sandwich, sprawled out in the tall grass as Marek flipped through his phone, catching up on the many messages that had been setting both of their boats abuzz. "I'm gonna thurf erry wafe from heah dow'."

"You ha' one heh ofh a goo' firz ribe, kuwano," he replied, peeling back the wrap on his own sandwich with his teeth. "You looked like a pro out there."

Daszé paused, then grinned bashfully. "D'soba'zha, that's not true."

"Is too."

"Alright, fine, I'll grant it to you this time. It FELT wicked pro, that's for sure. Like actually flying, but so much... simpler." He exhaled contentedly, then turned to his friend with a curious look. "What happened to the rest of the group, though?"

"Oh, they're probably down the next rapid at Miami Beach, so we'll catch up to them once we're done. It's a nice spot, but the shade is a lot nicer here, and there aren't sixty-million people running into the woods to take a leak, so it's kinda..."

He looked up when Marek didn't finish, lost in his phone. "Sorry, long message from Suge."

"Everything okay?"

Marek chuckled. "Yeah, everything's fine." He paused, weighing his words. "She's just been talking to Arytzi."

"...oh."

"She likes you, you know."

Daszé swallowed hard, sitting up and hunching over his knees as one of his latest, greatest worries returned to the forefront of his mind. "Vha, I know."

"I'm sorry, kuvano," Marek blurted, crestfallen. "I didn't mean to make you uncomf-"

"Not your fault."

"Nobody should be pressuring you into anything, least of all me. I know better, and I'm sorry."

The 'oyar sighed, glumly taking another bite of his sandwich. A water fight was erupting between two rafts on the river, but even that couldn't earn a smile from him, not now. The emotional freedom of his day had been compromised right at the peak, and the persistent dull twist of his anxiety returned to flood his inner space. He was quiet for a while, sifting through his thoughts and trying to make sense of the things he preferred to keep to himself behind the facade until he broke the silence.

"I just wish she'd stop asking, is all."

Marek shifted, letting space into the conversation. "But you like her, right?"

He shrugged, his face flushing with shame. "Vha, of course I do. But I don't feel ready for what she wants, and I don't know how to explain that to her without sounding like a... tuvaschi."

"I mean, she deserves the respect of an answer, but if she also respects you, she'll understand and leave you be."

"But I thought everyone understood that."

Marek smiled, tugging a long blade of grass from the bank and tying it into a knot. "She knows what she wants, and if you ask anyone back home, it's not without good reason."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"You just gotta be upfront with her, then. I mean, yeah, it's shitty that she's kind of forcing you into this position, but you can't just ignore it." He paused. "A wise 'oyar once gave me some good advice to that effect. 'Don't sit on it.'"

Daszé's mouth pursed. "That was different, though. And..." He twisted his hands, thinking. "It's... it's not that I don't want to have a relationship with her."