Page 55 of Hate Wrecked

I look back at my notebook, the scribbling erratic and rushed. It’s been a long day of fishing, going through the motions. I look forward to the evenings when we gather by the fire, even if the conversation has been limited as of late. It gives me time to pour out my thoughts, document every moment here. I don’t know how long I’ll have this time with her uninterrupted.

I see Riley look up at me, so I meet her gaze. “What’s up?” I ask.

She stands, the string trailing her, and the cat rushes to keep up with its prey. “What are you writing in there?” Her voice is pointed.

“Notes. Thoughts. Ideas. The usual stuff you put in a notebook.”

“Notes for your book?”

“I’m not a writer.” I scoff, annoyed with myself for being so blasé about my passion. “Or I am. Just for myself. I don’t know.” Idoknow she will reprimand me. And maybe I want her to. Maybe I baited her.

She takes it, and I pray that whatever has kept her quiet these past few days has passed. “Shut up. You are. It’s been…” I see her face change and watch her slip into the past. “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

It goes hand in hand with her. My desires. I’ve always wanted to write, and I’ve wanted her since the first moment I saw her. I decide to change the subject. “What do you miss most?” I close my notebook and bring it close to my chest.

Riley takes a seat in the sand, and the cat crawls into her lap. She pets him idly. “Music. I miss music so much.”

“Why don’t you make your own?” It’s the question I should have asked when she shared songs with me. Instead, I heard our past and walked away when all I wanted was to hear her sing, hear the beautiful talent she holds close to her chest. Few know her voice; she hides it away. I look out into the water and smile. “C’mon Ariel,” I jest.

She looks at me and grins. “My hair hasn’t been this red in years.” And there she goes again, into the past.

“I miss hearing you sing,” I admit. I try to avoid the past whenever possible. It’s all part of my futile attempt to build some kind of friendship between us. But, sometimes, it feels pointless.

“Maybe tonight we’ll have a little…a concert.” She looks into the jungle. “I can bang some coconuts together for some rhythm, and I’ll sing.”

I nod, trying not to show too much excitement so I don’t scare the moment off. “I would like that.”

Riley nods, petting the cat. “You know, my parents can’t sing, but my sisters and I can. It always felt like this secret thing. This gift we had that we didn’t get from them. Something that could be just ours. And we really needed that sometimes.”

I nod, knowing about the shadow of their parents and the weight of their identities.

“Music is…I don’t know. Have you ever danced in the kitchen? Just really let go and shook your hair around and felt it?”

I laugh, reaching up to the white streak in my hair. “I hardly have hair to shake around.” It’s getting longer out here, though.

Riley smiles. “You know what I mean. Like head banged, then? I don’t know; you probably listen to piano jazz and drink tea when you listen to music at night.”

I nod my head. “Scarily accurate at times.”

“I know you. Anyway, I love doing that. And that’s the thing I remember missing when I was with him.”

I try not to flinch. We never talk about the relationship she had withBarry. We fight about the fall; I fight about how she should have chosen me. But this is new territory. I’m not sure I want to be on this subject. But I don’t stop her.

“There was so much silliness about my sisters and me in our house when I finally moved out. I loved dancing with them, singing, and turning everything up loud with the windows open. He made me feel foolish when I did that. Maybe loud music and letting loose was only appropriate when he deemed it fit—when we were using, and there were people to entertain. He loved throwing parties at my place. I felt like a figurehead, another chess piece in his plans for his life and career.”

“He barely has a career anymore,” I interrupted. “Don’t forget that part. He’s a nobody who clings to his fading fame. And the people who reminded him of all he was were young girls.”

Riley looks at me, and the cat jumps off her lap, into the jungle. I can see the wetness of her eyes, the lost look there. “I know. It doesn’t hurt any less, though. What he did to me, who he made me become. Or who I let myself become. I was weak.”

“You were…” I clear my throat. “You were groomed.” The word sits heavy in the air, the only sound the waves hitting the shore as Riley fiddles with the strings of her bikini.

“Then why are you the only one who will say that?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“It’s why I haven’t forgiven her. Making amends isn’t something I’ve allowed myself to consider. I was too busy being so fucking mad. So mad at her. So mad at everyone, including you.”

I shake my head. “I never want to beg someone to choose me in his life. Never.”

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