taste | e.d

twenty-eight

hey there, it's been a while ;)

—

Kendall Rose

My chest feels heavy as Ethan holds my hand in his, squeezing tightly. I stare at the black ink on his wrist, spelling out words that are currently blurry.

The strong wind and the crashing waves drown out every sound. A storm is brewing in the distance. If this was a normal day, I would push us to leave. The waves are getting dangerously high. But instead we sit in the sand, our feet bare. Ethan stares out at the horizon, the dark water blending into the gray clouds.

I haven't spoken all day.

I don't know if Ethan knows what's wrong with me. Maybe he's already guessed it. He might have, seeing as he was the one who coaxed me to get out of the house and go to the beach. He's held my hand for hours. All I can do is keep my eyes fixed on the tattoo.

Several nights ago, he left in the middle of the night without warning. He told me he'd be back. I didn't want to question him. But I felt an urgency when he was gone. So many things could happen to him while he was out there—in the dead of night, no less. I accidentally fell asleep on the couch waiting for him. In the morning, I noticed he was completely covered, with a navy blue long-sleeved shirt, black sweatpants and black socks. He liked to walk around shirtless and barefoot. Maybe it was due to the temperature dropping. I dismissed it as nothing and forgot about it. Until today.

He wears a dark red T-shirt, and Ray-Ban Clubmasters are perched on his freshly cut hair. There is a blue bracelet on his right wrist. The black ink on his left, however, caught my attention when he was driving. I wanted to ask him about it, but I knew if any sound were to escape my throat I would end up screaming and crying. I didn't want to do that today.

For two hours, all we have done is sit here. My rear end should be killing me, but my inner pain numbs it. Maybe the beach was the worst place to come to. I feel closer to them here. All of my senses become sharpened. The distinct ocean scent opens my mind.

I remember running into the water, my dad lifting my small body horizontally so it felt like I was flying, and then he would drop my legs into the warm water and we'd race each other to shore. My mom and my sister never got in the water; they were too afraid. My sister liked to collect seashells and throw them at the incoming waves. My mother sat in her beach chair, the rainbow umbrella protecting her from the sun while she read a book. We didn't go to the beach very often, despite living a mere ten minutes away from the coast. But we relished every second of it.

When I recall my sister's giggles as she buried me in the sand, I let go of Ethan's hand and twist the bead bracelet around my wrist, grasping onto her.

When I recall my dad's easygoing smile, his kind face, as he watched me learn how to swim, I remove his baseball cap from on top of my head, grasping onto him.

When I recall my mother's deft fingers flipping the pages of her book, her concentrated expression, I touch the diamond pendant that hangs off the thin white gold chain of her necklace, grasping onto her.

The moment I let them go, the first tear falls. I stand and step closer to the waves. Ethan doesn't try to come after me or touch me. When I turn to him, he just looks at me, a small, sad frown on his face.

I tell myself to not go for him, to not make myself a burden anymore. I'm strong. I can go through this day alone.

My eyes connect with his, and I know I don't need words. My knees go weak and I collapse, sobbing, and I feel the sand shift. His arms wrap around me, his hand holding the back of my head. The pain is so overwhelming that I feel detached from everything. My arm goes up and hits him in the chest, and I hear myself crying out. My body goes limp and he has to hold me tighter. I feel safe, so safe, knowing that this time I will not shatter. I won't lock myself in my room for days. I won't make myself eat endlessly to try to fill up the void inside me. The pain will be prominent just for today, but I'll remember them as sweet memories for the rest of my life. My family.