Submerged

When my brother died in a plane crash, I had never felt so empty in my entire life. We were the closest among our other two siblings. Besides being identical twins, we had a connection that no one could fathom. He was my other half, and I his. He knew all of my worries, all of my struggles, my goals, and my dreams. When I came out to my family on our traditional trip to Hawaii, my brother Kris was the first to embrace me and tell me how happy he was that I felt comfortable coming out. 

His jaw didn't drop a mile long like my uncle and aunt's did. He didn't try to make up the "You haven't found the right girl," excuse that my mom and dad came up with. He didn't stop talking to me for weeks like my younger sister Carole and he most definitely didn't punch me in the face like my older brother Huck. As much as it hurt and as much as I wanted to regret ever letting my family know who I truly was, Kris was there to remind me that in the long-run it was up to me to control my own life. Basically, to hell with all of them.

Kris was not only my twin brother but he was my best friend for sure. We always went camping together or clubbing. I would be the one who set him up on dates because he had an absolute clumsiness about himself when it came to girls he found attractive. It was like he operated with two left feet and became a stuttering mess. I was the one who set him up with Brandi, his fiancée at the time. 

Kris wasn't really a sporty guy but when we moved out to California, we went to the beach more often and he ended up falling in love with surfing. I didn't care for it much and rather enjoyed playing basketball. He had a strong bond with the ocean. It was his escape from the pressure of our family. My mom wanted Kris to become a doctor like our father.  All she ever wanted me to become was a straight man. Cue someone hysterically laughing at the drama in my life.

When Kris died, I looked at surfing from a different perspective. When I was in the water I felt that Kris was still with me. That the waves were his hands pushing and carrying me forth. The aqua blue water reminded me of his eyes and the sunlight beaming down was his smile. No, it didn't completely mend my broken heart but it reassured me that Kris would want me to be happy.

 I started to take notice that this one surfer was also there quite often. We never spoke until a harsh wave smothered me and knocked me off my board. He dragged me out and laid me on the sand and started to pump the water out of my lungs. When it didn't seem I was responding he was about to start mouth-to-mouth resuscitation but I began to cough the water up, pushing him back. He laid me on my side and eventually sat me up. My face was flushed from coughing, eyes watery as I took several deep breaths. 

"I think I just witnessed you attempt to die. Did you really think you could take on that big wave?" He asked from next to me, eyebrow raised.

I pushed back my soaked blond hair and took a better look at him. He looked a little older than me, maybe twenty-eight. He was pretty good looking. Not overly attractive but he was something good to look at. He had a clean shaved face, a square jaw, and a slight hint of an oncoming tan. His nose was long and kind of wide but it made him look even more distinguished. His honey green eyes were set under thick eyebrows, thin lashes hooded over them. I wasn't sure if his hair was brown or black because it was damp, falling a little longer than mine. He had a fit body like most surfers on the beach.

"I'm sorry, I thought that's what surfers do...ride the big waves?" I asked, my voice a little dry from coughing. I may've came off a bit rude seeing that he had saved my life.

He pursed his lips in attempt to make it seem I'd hurt his feelings. He picked his surfboard up and held it under his arm. "You're right," He realized and I had to arch an eyebrow at him, "But only kooks try and kill themselves on the ones they obviously can't take."