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CHAPTER1
TIP OF MY TONGUE
Ash
Smiling at my parents in the distance, I can’t wait to hug them. My heart swells and aches at the same time.
Why do I feel so conflicted?
I love my parents and I’ve missed them. So damn much!
Drowsy, a piece of the puzzle snaps into place.Why are they here?It’s been eight excruciating years.
A migraine slams my muddled brain. I instinctively invite the pain, although it’s not the kind I am familiar with. Still, it’ll help me cope with the situation. All that matters is seeing my beloved parents.
The last time that we hugged, they were departing for the airport and leaving me home alone for the first time at seventeen. Only it didn’t turn out the way that I’d hoped. No hookup with the hot, popular Benjamin Williamson. No alone time to do whatever I wanted. No future in Loomis in Northern California.
Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink… Coleridge’s poem resonates in my numb head.Water. I’m sure that the die-hard metalhead that Benjamin was would argue that these were originally Iron Maiden lyrics.Water. The nerdy student that I was knew better and wanted nothing more than to teach him.Everywhere. Yeah, despite my lack of actual experience, we all knew that my straight-A report cards were the only straight thing about me, and my parents were okay with it.
Why is my high school crush popping up in my muddled mind?Reality? Nightmare? Coma? Nah…
“Mmmphfff…” Coming up for air, I flash back to the insignificant wave that plunged me underwater while I searched for my surfboard in a panic. Was that seconds ago? Minutes? Hours?
Nah, I would have died if…
The fleeting thought drags me back to my parents. My dead parents.
Wait, what?
Frantically flapping my arms to rise to the surface, my body craves oxygen and my heart races. Desperately trying to keep my head above the waves has drained me. The darkness beneath my increasingly heavy feet is calling to me. There’s a strange appeal in the abyss.
Wait, I’m not ready. I may be delusional, but what’s left of my coherent brain knows that much!
When I was about eight years old, I constantly asked my parents what it felt like to cross the Styx. (Yeah, yeah, I was a Greek mythology nerd back then; sue me!) I would scare the shit out of them when I held my breath for inordinate amounts of time, pretending. By the age of ten, I’d read every article about the most painful ways to die. I guess they figured I’d end up goth or emo. They admitted their surprise that I turned out to be a bibliophile with an appetite for learning words only used during Scrabble and spelling bees. My gayness was the icing on the cake at an age when everyone feels inadequate and all you want is to blend in.
Thankfully, Benjamin’s popularity as a star quarterback and his unwavering support as my next-door neighbor opened doors in my social life. We shared many secrets, including stolen kisses hidden behind closed doors. Our pressing need to take this friends-with-too-few-benefits relationship further was cut short after my parents’ plane crashed and I moved in with Uncle Brad, Aunt Marta, and their three children in LA.
Why’s my mind drifting when my body should be fighting for survival?
With that, I spin my head and notice that my parents are nowhere to be found. I’m too out of it to decide if that’s a good sign. Surely, the disappearance of the hallucination means that I’m okay, right? Unless I am…
Noooo…is my last thought before I black out and the Indian Ocean welcomes me at last.
Hours. Minutes. Seconds. In the blink of an eye, I feel a band of pressure around my spineless body. No coherent thoughts form. I’m just a puddle of sensations, both numb and haywire. My skin awakens against the warmth that surrounds it. I can’t make heads or tails of what’s happening and conk out again.
Comforting. Soft. Inviting. “Mmm…” Floating in a haze, my puffy eyes refuse to open, so I let the blissful sensation flood me.Are my toes twitching or what? Is my face warming up or what? Is my dick getting hard or what?
I grunt when my chest is compressed repeatedly.
What’s going on?
I fidget under the delicious tickling that teases my neck and cheeks, too groggy to voice my irritation. I never would anyway; it’s not my style. Complaining isn’t an option when perfect lips mold with mine. I’m enjoying the experience while I slowly recover.
What’s going on?
I gradually gain consciousness and feel myself being turned to the side as I cough up water. Then, I’m gently lowered to the ground and gasp several times, getting reacquainted with the salty air of the already blazing Balinese morning. And here, I assumed that the morning waves would be less intense! I’m an experienced surfer and lost my focus nonetheless.
What’s going on?
