Ocean Blue | gxg ✓

chapter thirty-three

TW: some low-key suicidal thoughts.

elliot

I've decided. I'm going for a swim.

My parents' warnings are loud and strong in my head. Don't go swimming at night, because there's no one to see you if you drown. Don't go swimming at night, because it's easy enough as it stands to get lost in a riptide, and darkness doesn't help. Don't go swimming at night, because Hulhazy Front doesn't need it's own Natalie Wood story to tell its children.

Honestly? Whatever. What happens, happens.

I use my phone as a flashlight as I cross over the dunes. The sea is more violent than I think I've ever seen it. It reminds me of a visit to Tita's, the one where we watched Ponyo together and she told me that fish are all secretly women, which Mom just rolled her eyes and sighed at. In a very fuzzy retrospect, I think that particular comment was made just to wind her up. I'll laugh some other time.

I can hear how angry the sea is, as the tide slams up harder against the shore and the rain continues to pick up, fiercely peppering the ocean as a frigid wayward wind pummels the side of my face. The wind whistles, howls, screams. I feel it tousle my hair, feel it blow sand against my face. I don't even blink. I just bend down and remove my shoes. I don't even have to untie them this time—I never did in the first place.

I'm tempted to strip down to my undergarments, but strangely enough, I'm fine in just Duncan's well-worn marathon shirt and my ratchety Costco pants. I don't care about these. I don't really care about much of anything right now, except for the suddenly-all-consuming urge to feel the weight of the water against my limbs again, to swim for the first time in who knows how long. Sure, these clothes might slow me down, but I never needed speed. That's why I despised being competitive with it.

I just wanted to swim. It's been too long. How am I only just realizing this now?

I do a small stretching regimen before even touching the water. I'm doing this. I'm doing this for real. The tightness in my chest has already begun to dissipate, melting into my muscles, relaxing me.

Thunder rumbles off in the distance. A few seconds later, lightning follows, cracking through the sky like a whip. The storm has already soaked through my hair, my clothes—what's a little more water?

I'm not going to Natalie Wood myself. This will be fine. I can already imagine how cool the water will feel against my skin. How my limbs will slice through the water like air, the perfect mix of ease and athleticism. I've missed this so, so much. Too much.

I don't bother checking my phone before sliding it into my shoe. After a moment's hesitation, I remove Duncan's shirt and fold it neatly on top, followed by my too-loose Costco pants. I'm changing my mind. They're both too clunky to be useful. I stand shivering in just my sports bra—my nicest one, for Alyssa—and the pair of flannel men's boxer shorts Neema got me last Christmas.

At some point, the rain went from pleasantly warm to daggers of ice, but I know that I'll be fine as soon as I'm in the water. Everything will be fine once I'm in the water.

I shouldn't do this, I know. Just thinking about what a bad idea this is makes my shoulders shake, my eyes squeeze shut in an attempt to keep from crying. I don't need another bloody nose, after all.

I've been swimming for as long as I can remember. I'll be fine.

The sand clumps beneath my toes as I slowly wade out into the surf. The tide leaves me unsteady on my feet. It wants to bowl me over back into the beach, and it wants to tug me out, bring me closer. I wait till I'm up to my midthighs to dive in.