Short Story Hand in

English short story                           Ocean Eyes                                                                  by darien reimer

“Tell me more.” Kailee’s eager voice rang through the telephone line.

A mischievous giggle responded, “Well, he’s attractive and tall…” The description trailed off and silence thundered.

“Hey girl, you there? What else? Ooh, what colour were his eyes?”

The girl on the receiving end bit her lip. What colour were his eyes?

“H-hold on.” She hung up on Kailee, shocked of herself.

The twenty year old sat on her modest couch in her small apartment she shared with her favourite younger sister Valerie on Corydon Avenue in the capitol city of a flyover province. She thought about what her best friend said. Shouldn’t the colours of the eyes be the first thing you notice about someone? The orbs that hold a world behind them, the windows to the soul, a planet in a galaxy… especially if those planets belonged to a gorgeous male thing who happened to be exclusive- a rare specimen, a definite catch- and certainly an exciting challenge. He didn’t look like he would come easy, but you never know. Hopefully not. She loved challenges, if she won. Which she would, because she did- most of the time.

She smiled and rolled her eyes and shoulders, shaking off her doubtful twinges. Well, what can you do, girl? You know you do attract the foreigners. Ha ha.

Spirits uplifted, she grabbed her back pack from its place on the coat rack and walked purposefully out the door to work, where he was. Later, she decided, she would grab some new makeup, maybe a piece of clothing or two. If she was going to have him she needed to claim him soon, and what better way to do that than to look and feel her prettiest?

***

His eyes, she thought, weren’t just blue. They were the ocean. Sometimes his pupils dilated and contracted in time with whatever he was murmuring. Or maybe she was the one murmuring. Or mumbling. Seriously, she could concentrate if she would just stop looking at them. He had eyelashes she would beg for, and they went perfect with his freckled, olive skin. His dark, curly hair made her want to tease it into place and his teeth were like vampires’- adorable. More so when he truly smiled, which wasn’t often. Have I ever been in contact with someone this attractive before? She smiled softly on cue to whatever he was telling her. His voice wasn’t anything special, but he spoke a different language, that completely makes up for it, right?

Whenever she did happen to clue in to his words, she found she was genuinely interested in his opinions, his perspective. Eventually her questions turned from how his nationality differed his life from hers, to personal questions. What was his favourite animals, colours, places? And why? Most importantly, why. She believed the why was more important than what it was backing. What happened to make him believe that, think that, want that? Was it a childhood experience, a realization, a friend’s actions? What was it that made him who he was today? Because that person, she thought, was magnificent. She noted they had odd things in common, and they agreed on things most wouldn’t.

“Do you believe in marriage?” He fired.

“No, not at all. I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Thank you! If you love someone, just love them, just be, man.”

“Religion?” She tested the waters.

“I’m not sure about what’s up there. If there is anything. You?” She was slightly disappointed with his answer, but tossed it aside. She could live with that.

“Hmm… half Christian I suppose.”

“What do you mean half?” He smirked.

“I don’t believe in some things the religion is about, and some I do.” She looked to the window, wanting to avoid the area this conversation had entered. This was where the ocean looked calm but a storm could come in minutes, drowning ships, drowning good, strong men.

“What else?”

Here she hesitated, talking to an atheist about religion? He’d think her crazy. No, it was better to just leave it, he would think she was trying to push it onto him. The creeping homeless people lingering outside the downtown located coffee shop were unsettling her. The wind stirred up garbage in the dusty streets. Their long coats and long hair billowed with the garbage bags they guarded. She hated downtown, the homeless, the dirt, the loss of safety, though he seemed to thrive in it, drinking it in along with his black coffee. She hated coffee.

“Um… I don’t really want to talk about it, you might judge me.” She wrinkled her nose and twitched it like a bunny would. Quickly she looked to him for his reaction but he had turned away from her, legs taking up the aisle, torso at an angle away from her. She wondered if this body language meant he wasn’t as into being here with her as she was. She slowly shifted back from leaning across the table towards the boy and copied his movement. She was not going to be caught desperate for any fondness between the two of them. Even though she was starving for it.

His brow furrowed and his head jerked back the slightest in indignation as he took in her words. “I won’t judge you. For anything.” His expression was that of offense, not of comfort. Like she had done something wrong and he was right to chastise her.

But in her world, trust didn’t come easy and she was thrown by his facial response, who was he to say it was safe? They barely knew each other. Though they had been together in the coffee place for five hours, talking about more and more personal subjects. And she had felt safe enough to open up to him about her family, had cried in front of him. He had reached for her hand. She let him have it for a moment and then, though she could have let him have it forever, she pulled back. She refused to look in need of attention. For affection.

They stayed a while later, then left after he complained of hunger, and went for some food. Explaining his money situation, he purchased a cookie and gave her some without her asking.

A male, sharing food? Is that European chivalry or does he like me? Guys are considerate when they’re trying to impress, right?

They awkwardly separated at the bus stop and though she was late to getting home to her sister, she didn’t want to leave. There had never been someone before that she could talk to like this.

He won’t judge me for anything?

***

“Give me my hat back.” He towered over her on a dirty river bank.

“No.” She said defiantly, playfully.

He turned away from her, towards the dirty water and she saw his fists ball up. Worry flitted through her like a sharp pain. The smile that had come so easily seconds ago faltered, but she kept it up, plastering it on though it hurt to fake it so much when all she wanted to do was redo what she did.

His tuque she had behind her back in her hand, stolen off his head. Guiltily, she empathized with him; she had to admit his hairstyle did look rather silly in the wind. However, she refused to relent. This was a game she played to determine dominant/submissive positions in her relationships. She always won. They always gave in to her, playing her game, as playful as she. They might whine, or take something of hers, or even take a swipe at it but they never crossed any physical boundaries. After she got bored of the game she would give him the item back, or if he became too agitated or aggressive. Its purpose was that she discovered how far she could push them, test them, control them, how dominant or submissive they were with her.

She knew he got angry over the littlest things, she had seen this expression of frustration before and it had always passed quickly. He had control over it, though how much control he had over his emotions if he got mad at little things, she didn’t know.

He came back to her, his ocean eyes dark.

She held the hat in front of her. He held his hand out for it. She didn’t give it to him. Eventually, his hand dropped.

“There are a few ways we can do this.” He stated, not looking at her.

She brightened her expression and adjusted her voice to sound chipper before replying. “Oh?”

Even that sounded panicked to her.

“I could wrestle you, not care, or leave.”

“Leave?” The idea seemed unfathomable. To be so angry over such a little thing most males took in stride, that he would terminate a hang out? Most guys chose to not care after everything else didn’t work.

She looked up at him, his fury had made him unrecognizable to the person he had been before she had made this awful mistake. Fear coursed through her. What had she done? He was different than the boys before, she knew that now so why had she done this? Why had she thought it would work with him?

Before she could reache her decision to give it back to him, he reached to take it from her. Reacting on previous situations, she tucked it behind her back before he could get it and smiled wickedly at him. Quickly he bent down and reached around her. She squirmed back, shouting “No!” But he violently ripped it from her grasp. She froze. To be treated as such was new to her. No guy had ever crossed the line like that.

He took it and carefully placed it on his head, the epitome of calm. Then he bent, lifted his bag, and started to make his way up the embankment.

Wildly, she stood up. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

Now she was angry, perhaps wrongfully so. But she needed the chance to backpedal. “Look, I’m sorry!” His face remained that of stone.

What could she do to make him stay? Or to at least leave on good terms? He’s different, right? Well, do what you would never do with all the previous boys…

Tell the truth.

“I-I slipped. I made a mistake. It was a game, and I needed to win, that’s why I took it.”

Something in him changed, his posture relaxed but he stayed where he was.

Panicked he would leave her without knowing why, she spilled everything. He had promised not to judge but would his anger let him see her that she was choosing to be open and vulnerable to him? That while she was in the wrong, there was a reason? If she admitted her shortcomings, would he understand? Would he forgive her?

“Sometimes… I don’t know how to acceptably interact with people, especially guys. I don’t really understand social customs in these situations.” Which was true, she knew playing with boys like she did was wrong, that it would eventually come back to get her. And today it did. But she hadn’t known any other way. She always fell for a specific type of boy. She hadn’t seen anything wrong with it. Until him.

“You don’t just take somebody’s stuff.” His anger was receding but his expression still scared her. He looked dangerous when his eyes darkened, his nose wrinkled, his lip curled like it was now. At her. He was tall and rather strong she knew, and he didn’t put up with crap. He was completely capable and she didn’t think he was afraid if push came to shove, which it had. He had resorted to a mildly violent approach to a situation that hadn’t needed violence. She knew she’d been right to be afraid of him.

She’d never been afraid before, not like this. Her fear fuelled her anger and her voice came out broken and high pitched.

“You don’t just give up on someone when they make a mistake!” She yelled at him from her place by the brown river, the wind whipping her hair across her face. She hurt by how easy he could leave her. To hide the pain she lashed out. “You don’t just leave and say, ‘forget it’. You don’t just a throw a relationship, a person out the window because of one fault! Yes, I made a mistake, I slipped, and I’m sorry, but that doesn’t mean you don’t try to work things out!”

Out of breath she stopped, looking up at him in anger, waiting. He sighed and the tension released like predator leaving the area. He came back down the small bank to her. “You’re right.”

Relieved, she stepped towards him and looked down at the ground. To drive the point home, she whispered in a small voice, “I slipped, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” She made herself small and sad, so his defences would come down. It was still manipulating, but she was sorry, just not that sorry. So there was a grain of truth to it, right? She couldn’t decide. She was simply grateful she had been able to rescue the situation and that he was still standing here with her.

“It’s okay.” His words had no emotion.

She sighed, and they sat down again, accepting his forgiveness.

Later as they were leaving, she tossed her bag at him trying to hit him in the legs. As it left her fingertips she realized she might have made another social mistake and her eyes widened, unable to stop it.

He swiftly bent down and grabbed the bag moments before impact. He took off running.

“Hey!” She laughed, this was completely unfair. He was male, stronger, faster, and he worked out. She was a drama person. Not running to avoid embarrassment, she followed him. By the time she reached the first building leading up the street he was at a bus stop. She waited behind the building for him. It didn’t take long.

She wondered if she had won this time, but instead of continuing, she said, “I wanted to see how long it would take.”

“I know,” he handed her bag back to her, “that’s why I came back. You know there shouldn’t be any winning or losing in a friendship. That’s not being friends and it’s not very friend-like.”

She contemplated this. She wanted to be more than friends, so it didn’t apply to him but if she was going to stop manipulating people she had to stop with everyone, including him.

She nodded in agreement then quieted. “Don’t get mad at me like that, it’s terrifying.”

His face wrinkled in confusion. “How?”

She explained to him about her father and he wrapped her in a hug. She rested her head on his chest and then felt pressure on her head. Was he resting his head on hers? Did he want… to kiss?

She pulled back and looked up at him. He stepped away. She wished she hadn’t moved.

***

She breathed in deeply the smell of hot butter and cooked corn that filled her apartment. She closed her eyes and the rustling of the bag quieted as she poured its contents into a bowl. She judged the solid tinkling as kernels dropped into the thick glass dish, establishing there weren’t many un-popped kernels. She was satisfied. She took the smaller glass bowl beside the larger one and felt it’s warm, smooth surface as she poured the melted butter onto her popcorn, attempting to equally drizzle the contents in such a way as to have the butter come in contact with all the popped kernels.

She picked up the modern blue, square bowl with a delicate white floral pattern and shook it, trying to spread the butter around. The few pieces that dropped to the counter and floor she picked up and ate immediately. She wondered if the boy would judge her for that.

She was certain she didn’t care. He could judge her all he wanted. He had been a right prick a few days ago. Showing up three hours late for my birthday party he knew about two weeks before hand? I don’t think so. He had gotten so late and so lost that she had to send a friend to fetch him. And then he left a half hour later, after eating their food. Probably because she had gotten angry at him, so he had gotten angry at her. He had sulked and then left. Before that though, regretting her anger because of his response, she had whispered in his ear, ‘Please don’t be mad at me.’

Where was her willpower? Her rights? She had turned to begging! For his forgiveness! For something he did wrong!

What was wrong with her? You have no spine, that’s what’s wrong with you.

She really hated it when he was angry with her. He became unreachable. Not that he opened up about much else.

Actually, she hated a lot about him. How he covered his eyes with sunglasses, how hypocritical he was, he was independent to a fault, he was righteous and put himself before others, was dominant but denied it, wanted people to see the image he put out for them and not his true self, how whenever they disagreed it quickly became an argument. It wasn’t playful bickering anymore. He did certain actions to provoke her, and she knew because he owned up to it! He acknowledged his monster self but didn’t seem to think it was a problem.

It’s not a problem because he doesn’t care what other people think. And he’s right in that, he shouldn’t. But it’s not about what people think, it’s about what they feel. What you make them feel. He sucks at making anyone happy but himself.

The thing was, she knew that wasn’t true. There’d been a girl. The way he talked about her she knew he’d been dedicated. She denied it, but she knew when he said he’d been an amazingly affectionate boyfriend that he was being honest. What got to her was that she hadn’t found someone like that for herself. She wasn’t going to willingly acknowledge or listen to something that she hadn’t experienced. It was like being taught in a classroom how to scuba dive but never getting to actually go. You just sit there and listen to the instructor brag about his experiences. No, thanks.

Long ago, she’d gotten over her feelings of intense attraction for him, and now they were friends again. Or rather, had been forced to get over them. She had told him and he had rejected her. End of story. Looking back on it she was grateful, not regretful. The pain the rejection cause, consequently allowed her to see more clearly his faults were things she could not be around long term.

He himself had been the one that unintentionally taught her to be herself, to not care what other people think. To take a chance and just do it. That sometimes the ‘why’ didn’t matter at all. When he rejected her she had mildly been expecting it. She knew him better than to think otherwise, but her feelings weren’t going to go away any other way, and she had been heaping hope over her doubts to stifle them.

She owed a lot to him, and nothing at the same time. A lot of life lessons had been learned in the four short months she had known him. For the personal growth spurt she had experienced, she loved him.

This sudden change of mood didn’t catch her by surprise. Her anger at his shortcomings were becoming increasingly less intense. Because she disliked having him mad at her, she worked for a way to forgive him and to get him to come around, too. Her patience stamina had increased tenfold. Her acceptance of faults had grown. Her priorities became clearer. Her knowledge of what love was blossomed. Her taste for boys changed. Her sense of self had finally become available to her. And her music choice had gotten so much better.

He had taught her to let go of the things that didn’t matter, to talk nicer, to jay-walk like a pro, to think deeper, and to love harder the little loves and the great loves.

He was a great love.

As she’d been thinking, she’s wondered to the couch in a daze and at this realization she sat down with a whumph.

“So… Netflix, or are you going to say goodbye?”

“Huh?” She turned to her sister.

Valerie smiled a self-satisfied smile for knowing her sister so well and gazed pointedly down at her phone. “It’s a very late time of night of the last night he’s here. Shouldn’t you be saying your farewells instead of looking like you’re going to watch the Notebook four times over?”

“Um…” Her eyes drifted to her popcorn. Going to his apartments took a lot of work and time. She was tired and had had a long hard day. Besides, they had been texting each other enough. And they had decided together not to do the whole goodbye thing- well she had vetoed it. But not because she’d been angry, though she had been. But because she was okay with him leaving.

Sure, she loved him, but she loved who his personality. It was simple, true love, it wasn’t some wacky relationship love that never turned out the way you wanted it to. She also knew she loved him because of the personal growth he had inspired. Because of that he was now a permanent stamp on her heart, someone who she would always do anything for because of these four months they had known each other. He could totally change into a completely different person, but she would still do anything for the person he turned out to be because she would honour this moment in time, this person, and the person he had unintentionally helped to make her be. She also knew when he left for Germany her love for him would fade a little with time. There was a part of her that wished for it, their relationship was taxing and it was exhausting to be around someone like him.

She knew now they would never get along smoothly as friends and he had completed his purpose here. As much as his failings caused her to stop and think, eventually she would learn everything she could from him and need to move on. Once she no longer had a use for him his faults would become unbearable.

If she believed in the things she did then he had been sent to her for a reason. There had been a reason before he started unknowingly working on it and now there was no reason. Their relationship only worked for a certain amount of time. She knew with all her heart if he stayed she would end up hating him.

She smiled at her popcorn unseeing, imagining their futures instead. He would grow, and change, and become amazing, brilliant, wonderful, beautiful, talented, striking and powerful. As a blue whale would crest the top of the ocean and sail through the air for no one to see, for only to enjoy the beauty of life, just to see how high, how far it could fly for no one but itself, so would he. He was just rising to the surface now, gaining momentum with his eyes like oceans set upon the rhythm of the sky.

She realized she had begun to really find herself. Because of him. I had found myself.

I wanted to honour us now. I wanted closure, I wanted to commemorate us even if it wasn’t important to him, which I knew it wasn’t. But it was to me, and I mattered to myself. Sometimes I needed to put myself first, without caring what anyone thought. Without caring what he thought.

“I’ll be back.” I said to Valerie and almost dropped the bowl of popcorn as I stood up. Rushing out the door, I grabbed my jacket.

As I crossed the street to his apartment block the rain wet my face and pulled on my hair. Most people would think the rain a bad omen, but we loved the rain. I thought it perfect. Like him. Like me. Like us. Like the world. In our own separate ways and then wound together, like all the fish in the ocean. As I crossed the street like he taught me I shoved my hand in my pocket to feel my last letter to him. There were three words written on it.

Instead of the letter being the first thing I felt, my hand found the smooth, cool surface of a precious worry stone that originated from New York.

Funny, I thought I lost that a while back. Well, I guess it just goes to show.

I giggled, I was euphoric. I was on a high and nothing mattered anymore. I had found myself and I was doing something about something that made me happy. His reaction didn’t matter anymore. I mattered.

Halfway across the main street, I stepped up onto the meridian, remembering a similar time ago when we were new, and I was broken.

***

I stepped up onto a raised cement planter that ran the length of the sidewalk. We were on a street somewhere in downtown Winnipeg. We were laughing, joking about something. He realized I wasn’t beside him and he turned back for me. I still wasn’t used to his eyes, and so when he spoke I didn’t hear.

He was two steps from me when his words registered in my brain, “You’re going to regret that.”

I didn’t have time to react.

He bent down and picked me up by the knees, lifting me high enough that my waist bent at his shoulder so I was carried like a sack of potatoes for a few seconds. And then he began to spin.

Squealing, I wrapped my arms around his midsection. Though I protested aloud, inside I loved it. I felt young and crazy, and beautiful and happy, and accepted.

That’s when the healing started.

***

Up on the meridian I saw him.

“Hey!” I called to him. He was walking to his apartment with his head down and earphones in, probably from some last party or maybe back from getting toothpaste for the plane ride home.

“Logan!” Joyously excited and carefree, full of wonder and love, I waved with my free hand and this time I got his attention. He changed directions to meet me across the street and I stepped off the meridian.

There’s a reason jay walking is illegal.

And though he claims cars in Canada slow down when you do jay walk whereas they don’t in Germany, simple physic laws don’t change with borderlines.

I’ve only ever seen one person get hit by a car in my life and that guy got up, brushed off his phone and continued on, albeit a little shaken up.

I did not get up. And I was a lot more than a little shook up.

The car was red, coincidentally the kind of red that exactly matched my painted toenails and my blood. Now on the ground I looked up because, well, I couldn’t move my head, and I saw some clouds. The yellow city light was reflected off them and I’ve always loved the city at night. But I sort of wished I could have seen the stars one last time. I say sort of because in that moment right before my death barrelled down on me, I was happy. Pure joy radiated from my existence and I wouldn’t have altered a thing in this world of mine.

I mean, sure I had a whole future ahead of me and I was a little angry at missing out on that, but really, what could I do now? Just hope there was a heaven, and that I had left enough room for Jesus near enough the end for it to count. Oh, and good sex. Actually, some A&W wouldn’t be bad but that’s not the point.

I breathed in what I realized was one of my last breaths and I couldn’t help but acknowledge that air was good. It was simple and really nice to have. Maybe we should try to clean it up a bit more. I sighed, though it was probably in my head as I noticed it was getting pretty hard to breathe.

He was taking his sweet time again. Maybe I’d send the driver that hit me to fetch him.

When he did appear in my line of vision, my heart gave a painful twitch. The ocean eyes were wide with fright. He didn’t say a thing.

Which was nice, I thought. I was tired of saying all the wrong things and then bickering over it.

He knelt. I gurgled.

“Tamina?” He managed, his accent thick. Or maybe he was close to choking, or gagging, or crying. Whichever. Maybe the English language had escaped him, as at a loss as he was right now. Anyway I had more important things to say in actual English right then, so I didn’t ponder why much.

…But what did I want to say? I had nothing to say, telling him wouldn’t change anything. Besides I hadn’t wanted to tell him to change anything, I’d wanted to tell him so I could be ecstatic. But I realized I was, I was joyous, happy, content, at peace, floating. Away…

I realized then that I had come to the point where I didn’t need closure. I was enough for myself. Another thing he had taught me.

I knew then he would consider getting shadows on the bird tattoo he’d been thinking about. That I would be the shadow, just as I had once warned him he would be. Because who doesn’t love commemorating a traumatic death of a teenage girl with so many possibilities before her?

I regret that I didn’t fall in love. That is who I would want with me now. Maybe then I would be a tad more upset about this whole dying thing. Or maybe I would have more to say, like ‘I’ll be waiting’ or something heartfelt and cliché like that…

More than anything I wanted what I tried not to hear when he talked about her. I wanted to be someone’s number one, I didn’t want to have to compete for it. I wanted someone who would do things for me that wouldn’t for anyone else. He is a great love but he is not The Love. And yes, I do believe in that. Because if I don’t, I am lost. But he is good enough because he is all I have in this moment in time right now. Right now matters, nothing else. The past and the future don’t exist, only now.

To every star bitten end, where all the dead do go, I have found…