Washed Up

Upwelling

Ross

Upwelling. Noun. [uhp-wel-ing]. The vertical movement of water up to the ocean surface from the ocean floor.

I spread the checkered picnic blanket on the beach and pull out a set of brown paper bags and little white votive candles I bought at the dollar store. First, I fill the paper bags with sand so they sit upright. Then, I place a single votive candle in each bag. I slip the lighter from my pocket, only used once when I tried my first and last cigarette at the age of fifteen, and light the candles so they cast a soft glow over the blanket through the thin walls of the paper bags. Romance isn't exactly my forte, but I figure I owe Riley some grand gesture for what an idiot I was the other day. Thus, candles and the beach.

The Hawaiian shirt guy in the surf shop was right; she's hot and she likes me. What the heck was wrong with me? Why did I have to clam up and destroy this tentative, fragile thing growing between us? Maybe I should have just let things end when Riley walked away, but the summer's only halfway over. I need more time with her.

I know I owe her more than romance, however, and more than even an apology. I owe her openness and honesty and an answer to the question that sent me into a tailspin. I have to tell her the truth about my fears and the bonds that tie me to the island. No one has ever pushed me towards this sort of vulnerability before, not the kind of vulnerability that causes an aching in your heart, that squeezes your heart and empties your breath from your lungs. This is a terrifying, enthralling, heartbreaking sort of vulnerability.

I relax onto the blanket and rest my hands behind my head as I lean back to gaze at the sky. The moon is a tight crescent from the near-eclipse which makes the stars shine all the more brightly. I inhale and exhale, letting my chest rise and fall. Just relax. I'm not telling her everything, of course. There are too many secrets for one moonlit night and a girl I just met. Maybe she'll eventually pry all of my secrets out of me like a treasure chest filled with rusty weapons rather than gold. Then again, maybe she'll fly away before she has the chance.

My phone vibrates. Finally. I texted Riley fifteen minutes ago, but still haven't heard anything back from her. I unlock it and glance at the screen; it's Javier who's on volunteer babysitting duty for the night.

"Crap."

She's not going to show up. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe I blew it. Maybe she doesn't care enough to try to make amends.

"Hey, stranger."

The dulcet tone of her voice lifts my spirits in the heartbeat it takes to turn towards her. With the sun set and magenta streaking across the sky, the glow of the crescent moon sets off Riley's silhouette and her eyes are pale and ethereal against the darkness. She gives me a half smile, plucky, undaunted, but she remains a few steps away. I hate even this short distance between us.

I scramble to my feet, nearly knocking over a candle. "You came."

"I came." Her half smile rises as she cocks an eyebrow. "What, didn't think I'd show?"

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't."

"Is that an apology?"

I sigh and run my hand through my hair. "I screwed up, Ry. And I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you did," she says, her gaze slipping from mine to the roaring waves. "Maybe I pushed you too far."

"No." I take a halting step towards her. "I mean, yeah, maybe. But I want us to move forward. I didn't mean--I didn't want to end like that. Because I was being stupid and defensive." I release a sigh. This is the part I've been dreading. "You were right."