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Neil loves it. He was in a dark bubble when we left, we all were. But Neil had this guiltiness in his eyes, a darkness I didn’t want to inspect. Once we got here, and we met all the people on the beaches, the darkness left his eyes, and he’s been the usual, free-spirited guy he was when I met him.
San Diego is different than Arizona in many ways. I’m grateful for it, actually. The air isn’t as hot and dry, stifling with every breath you take. The ocean breeze cools your skin, even on the hottest of days. I watch the water, feeling a closeness to it. The water, it reminds me of my dreams.
But it also reminds me of home.
It reminds me of the lake, the smell of the water, the feel of the sand. It makes me feel like I’m home, even if that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I called my parents when I got out here. They were glad to hear from me, maybe a little sad. It's been years since I've seen them, but I still can’t find it in me to go home. What would I be going home to? What awaits me at the end of the road? I feel like by walking back there, I’d be going right back to senior year. Right back to a broken heart and a half missing soul.
I still miss Roman. I still love him.
I wonder if I'll ever stop loving him, or if there will always be a part of me that is broken, dead, and cold on the inside.
It's a chill that never subsides.
Life is different. Every place I’ve traveled to has been completely unique from the next. Arizona is dry, red, hot, dehydrated.
California is green, a combination of pollution and salt lingering in the air. There’s always noise. Always traffic, people, waves. I could sit in silence for hours in Arizona, me and my thoughts drowning in memories of my past.
Now I don’t have a moment to sit and think. Not during the day, at least. My thoughts are tucked away until nighttime, when they scream loudly, crashing with the waves as the tide rises. The water fills the beach just the same as thoughts of Roman flood my mind at night.
I haven’t seen him in over three years.
It feels like a lifetime since I’ve touched him. Since I’ve felt his smooth, tanned skin. Since I’ve seen his brown eyes that match his brown hair. Sometimes my heart skips, small fragments of him fading. Did he have a freckle there? Were his eyes a light, or a dark brown? Time and memories fade, swirling out with the waves of the ocean. I want to grasp them, cling to them. Hold on to them for the rest of my life.
What does he smell like? Is his scent still like the beach? A little woodsy? Has his boyish scent turned into a manly scent? Does he have stubble covering his smooth face?
My mind goes to everything I’m missing, every moment that I’ve lost. So many minutes that I can't get back with my family, with Roman. What does Shallow Lake look like? Is the water still as blue as the sky? Is the grass still green, or has it dried and turned yellow? Is the beach still as big as it once was, or has the water risen and washed it away?
I shake my head, maybe I’ll never know. Maybe I’ll get lost into the world, fading away just like my memories.
I don't want to go home and hear that Roman met someone. Even just going back there, where he's touched every surface, walked on every part of that small town, eaten at every single diner. I can't go back there and stare at our memories in the face. I can't do it.
My heart won’t survive.
So, I stay here, where nothing matters. Where my heart neither weeps nor rejoices. Where my soul isn't awake nor asleep. I just am. I float by.
I realized after some time, that maybe I’ll never really find myself.
Though, maybe I’m not lost, but I know I’m not found either.
I'm stuck in this odd in-between, and I'm hoping someday I'll find it. Whatever it is I’m looking for. When I do, I'll go home. But until then, I'll stay here with my small crew, enjoying life, enjoying the sun, enjoying the warmth.
I breathe deeply through my nose to stop the tears as I walk to the bench where everyone is waiting for me. I find myself wandering along the shore a lot, looking for small shells that I can use to make my dreamcatchers. Selling them is just as popular, if not more, in California. People buy them, young and old, girl or boy.
"Luna!" Willie calls my name, waving me over. He has a brightness in his gaze, a familiarity in his smile. He likes me, a lot more than I like him. He wants what I can’t give him. I wish I could, any girl would like to. He’s handsome. His long blond hair brushes his shoulders, always a little sandy. Over the years, they've turned into dreadlocks, and in his spare time I always watch as he twists them. Over and over again.
Twist, twist, twist.
Willie shakes out his head as he walks up to me, tossing his arm over my shoulder and planting a kiss on my cheek. His lips are dry and warm as they press against my skin.
I've been wandering around most of the afternoon, enjoying watching the various tourists explore the beachy pacific. You can always tell the repeat visitors versus the newcomers. The people who have come here before barely spare the ocean a glance, but those who have never been here? Those people look at the ocean with wide eyes, an awe in their gaze that doesn't suppress after minutes, after-hours. They could stare out into the horizon for hours without blinking.
I don't blame them.
I curl my toes in the sand, the warmth should be scorching against my toes. After a lifetime of walking barefoot, my feet don't feel much of anything. The bruises, the cuts and scrapes, the broken toenails, they aren’t affected by the ground anymore. It doesn't matter if it’s soft or hard, cold or hot, my toes curl around the earth like they're meant to be there.
"I was enjoying the nice day." I look up, seeing the blue sky. It's a cloudless day, not even one in the sky. With a light breeze, the palm trees sway up near the beachside homes.
