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“Are we still talking about my brothers?” I ask, confused.
“You should know.”
I just frown and shake my head.
* * *
An hour later we’re setting off—it’s a splendid day and the beach is crowded, despite being Sunday and late June. But we still find a good spot on the sand, near the tideline, where we can easily place our Chip and Chop and Lucky Luke towels—I’ve taken the first ones I found from the towel drawer; I think these were River’s and Hugo’s. I love sizzling hot days, but I also like the light breeze down by the water.
We smear ourselves with total block sunscreen—we both have quite fair skin—and sit cross-legged on our towels to work on the newspaper strips for a while. I suggest dressing our protagonist in sunglasses and a visor, turning her into a surfer while we’re temporarily living in the Mediterranean. Jaime is thrilled with the idea and we get to it. We draw some sketches and give the thought some shape, getting it right almost from the beginning.
We’re almost done with it when Jaime asks me, “Have you ever climbed the Rock?” He’s contemplating the iconic crag rising above the sea—it’s one of the biggest attractions around here.
“Yeah, plenty of times.”
The first time my parents took me to the Rock, I was three years old. We only did the easy part, of course—the part you can do just by walking—but from that moment on my visits to the Rock were continuous.
“How old were you the first time you climbed to the top?”
“Eleven, I think.”
“Do you remember it?”
“Of course I do.” I say, showing him the scar on my other arm.
“You hurt yourself going up?”
“Actually, it was earlier, when we were just getting to the base on our skateboards. We were going too fast, again—Hugo’s fault, he was the one setting the pace. Hugo’s the king of the skateboard, best skater in town; although now he says he’s matured and left that behind.”
“Hugo? Really?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Nothing, it surprised me, that’s all. I can’t imagine him on a skateboard. He’s so serious.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Ugh, don’t mind me, it’s this heat. It’s exhausting. Even my butt crack is sweating.”
After that little chat, we lie down to sunbathe for a while, Jaime with his towel over him to give him some shade. I caught so little rest last night that now I fall asleep in an instant. And it’s one of those times when you wake up an hour later, totally displaced in time and space, with dry drool on your face and looking around to check no one has seen you in such a shameful state.
I turn to Jaime and he’s opening his eyes too. The poor thing is sweating buckets. Probably half the blame is on the towel still covering him. I’m so drowsy I need to get into the water to clear my head. Also, I’m soaked. I feel a drop of hot sweat sliding down my neckline and soaking into my red bikini top.
“I’m going for a swim, I can’t stand this heat. Are you coming?”
“You can’t stand the heat, Mediterranean girl?” Jaime takes the towel off and turns onto his back; his body and hair are covered in sand. “Go figure. But no, I’ll wait for you here. My head’s all fuzzy; if I go for a swim now I’ll probably drown.”
“There are hardly any waves, how are you going to drown? Coward.”
“Yes, yes, I am, now go...”
I look at him for a few more seconds while his eyes close... and close... and close... and he’s asleep again. I shake my head fondly and walk to the water.
Diving in has never been difficult for me; hot or cold, I never cared. So I walk decisively into the sea until the sunlit waves reach my navel, then plunge in headfirst. The pleasure I feel when my body comes into contact with the water is indescribable; I’d stay down here for hours if I could, but I have no gills. Though I think I was a fish in another life and still have some vestiges of that, I love water so much.
I descend until I touch the sand with my hands and dive for a few seconds before sticking my head out to breathe. I start crawl-swimming, enjoying the contrast between the sun’s hot rays and the water temperature. I don’t stop until I get to the red and white floating beacon delimiting the swimming area. It’s huge. I remember the first time I came out here, swimming with my dad and my brothers. From the shore the buoys look tiny, like soccer balls, but as you get closer, you discover they’re actually enormous.
I stay there, floating on my back, letting myself relax in the gentle sway of the waves, looking toward the horizon. I don’t know how far it is from the surface to the bottom. No matter how hard I’ve tried I’ve never touched it, not with my feet or with my hands. I’ve always run out of air before I reached the bottom. It’s very deep.
