Orange Sunday

7

It is Saturday. His sister's hand is clammy and cold in mine. The water draws a freezing ring around my calves. I wonder, again, why we chose to do this today.

He is on the water, on a board - "Shortboard," he called it, "for the guys who know what they're doing." Later, he had said, "I'll need to borrow a longboard to teach you."

The sun is reflecting off the water, nearly blinding me. For a moment I imagine that I can feel the sun darkening my skin, baking me, altering me forever. Maybe I will evaporate, like the water in my hair. Maybe I will condense, in some other realm, and find myself with my mother.

"Here he comes!" his sister cries, tugging at my hand, pointing at the horizon. Here he comes, indeed. He is riding a wave, the sun to his right; a perfect picture, if only I had a camera to take it with.

He spills halfway to shore, then surfaces laughing. I can hear it from here, standing mid-calf deep in the water that pushes and pulls.

He paddles towards us. His sister lets go of my hand and runs to him; I follow, less than a step behind, ready to catch her if she falls.

"That was awesome!" she shouts, grabbing at his board. He smiles at her, puts a hand on her shoulder, and turns to me.

His teeth are white; they stand out against his golden-brown skin. The light streaks in his hair are becoming more obvious with each passing day, as are the freckles scattered across his shoulders.

His eyes are bright, red around the rims from the saltwater. They are green, blue, yellow, and brown; they are every color and no color, all at once.

"What did you think?" he asks, smiling, reaching out to me. His arm around my waist, my hand on his shoulder.

I think about the color of my mother's eyes, and the red dot in the bottom of her right iris. I think about how her eyes do not exist anymore, just as the rest of her does not.

"Do it again," I murmur, grinning, and he turns away. He is splashing back into the water, throwing his board in front of him, his sister shouting something about ties, his laughter ringing out on the beach.

The waves are lapping around my thighs, freezing cold, but I do not feel it.