them are crying, not now. Nothing feels real.
“Liz?” Alex asks, his voice just a tad beyond indifferent. “You’re being so quiet. Are you … you know … okay?”
I glare at him. “Oh, I’m fantastic. The police just dragged my body from the ocean. I looked like shit. It’s my birthday, and I’m dead, and if that weren’t bad enough, I’m so bloated and disgusting from being in the water that they probably won’t even be able to have an open casket for me. I’m ugly . Am I okay? No, Alex, I’m not freaking okay.”
“You will be,” he says calmly, ignoring my rant. “You’ll get used to it.” He pauses. “You just died, Liz. Is that really what you’re most concerned about? How your body looks right now?”
I bite my lip. It would certainly seem that way, wouldn’t it? Was I really that superficial? There’s so much else that is more important. I don’t know how to respond to him.
I notice Alex’s gaze drifting across the crowd to the periphery, where the female divers have stripped off their wet suits and are pulling sweats on over their one-pieces. “Look,” he says.
The divers are standing together, talking. One of them is crying. She says something to the other woman.
“I want to hear what they’re talking about,” I tell him. “I’m going over there.”
The first woman has short brown hair. Her fingers are pruny from being in the water. She keeps her head down, like she’s trying not to let other people notice that she’s crying.
“I have a daughter her age,” she tells the other woman, a tall blonde. “She lives with her father in Vermont.”
The blonde shakes her head. “What the hell happened here?” She lowers her voice a tad. “What the hell kind of parents let their kid throw a party on a boat? With alcohol? And you know there was dope in there. Those kids were wasted last night.”
But we weren’t! Okay, maybe a little bit. Obviously too much. But my parents didn’t know we would be drinking. They never would have let us drink. My parents are good people. And like I said, we’re good kids. At least, I thought we were; Alex obviously feels differently, and I’m starting to think he might be right. Again, the thought flashes bright as neon in my mind: how did this happen?
The blonde shades her eyes with one hand; with the other, she reaches down to grip the crying woman’s arm. “You can watch your kids all you want. You can almost never let them out of your sight. It doesn’t matter. Things happen for reasons we can’t understand.”
The brunette wipes her eyes. She gives the blond woman a sharp look. “You mean God?”
The blonde nods. “Giveth and taketh away. We can’t control it.”
There’s a long pause. Then the brunette says, “You know, I think that’s a load of bullshit. Those parents could have prevented this if they had half a brain.”
And like that—without any sense of motion, without willing it to happen—I’m at my father’s side.
My dad and Nicole are standing among my friends. There are four policemen with them. I only recognize one of them—his name is Joe Wright, and he’s the town sheriff. It’s funny; I have this vague sense that I know him somehow, aside from just recognizing his name and face. So I close my eyes and try to let myself slip into a memory, and almost immediately I see it happening, right there in front of me. There’s Richie and me, having a run-in with him just a few months earlier, after the junior prom. We’d gone parking down by the beach at Groton Long Point in Richie’s dad’s SUV, which he’d borrowed for our Big Night. We were in the back of the SUV, under a blanket, when Joe Wright tapped at the foggy window with his flashlight.
He seemed like a nice enough guy at the time. He took our names and told us to go on home. It was after four in the morning, way past curfew for kids under eighteen in Noank. But it was prom night, so he cut us a break.
Instead of going home, though, we just
“Liz?” Alex asks, his voice just a tad beyond indifferent. “You’re being so quiet. Are you … you know … okay?”
I glare at him. “Oh, I’m fantastic. The police just dragged my body from the ocean. I looked like shit. It’s my birthday, and I’m dead, and if that weren’t bad enough, I’m so bloated and disgusting from being in the water that they probably won’t even be able to have an open casket for me. I’m ugly . Am I okay? No, Alex, I’m not freaking okay.”
“You will be,” he says calmly, ignoring my rant. “You’ll get used to it.” He pauses. “You just died, Liz. Is that really what you’re most concerned about? How your body looks right now?”
I bite my lip. It would certainly seem that way, wouldn’t it? Was I really that superficial? There’s so much else that is more important. I don’t know how to respond to him.
I notice Alex’s gaze drifting across the crowd to the periphery, where the female divers have stripped off their wet suits and are pulling sweats on over their one-pieces. “Look,” he says.
The divers are standing together, talking. One of them is crying. She says something to the other woman.
“I want to hear what they’re talking about,” I tell him. “I’m going over there.”
The first woman has short brown hair. Her fingers are pruny from being in the water. She keeps her head down, like she’s trying not to let other people notice that she’s crying.
“I have a daughter her age,” she tells the other woman, a tall blonde. “She lives with her father in Vermont.”
The blonde shakes her head. “What the hell happened here?” She lowers her voice a tad. “What the hell kind of parents let their kid throw a party on a boat? With alcohol? And you know there was dope in there. Those kids were wasted last night.”
But we weren’t! Okay, maybe a little bit. Obviously too much. But my parents didn’t know we would be drinking. They never would have let us drink. My parents are good people. And like I said, we’re good kids. At least, I thought we were; Alex obviously feels differently, and I’m starting to think he might be right. Again, the thought flashes bright as neon in my mind: how did this happen?
The blonde shades her eyes with one hand; with the other, she reaches down to grip the crying woman’s arm. “You can watch your kids all you want. You can almost never let them out of your sight. It doesn’t matter. Things happen for reasons we can’t understand.”
The brunette wipes her eyes. She gives the blond woman a sharp look. “You mean God?”
The blonde nods. “Giveth and taketh away. We can’t control it.”
There’s a long pause. Then the brunette says, “You know, I think that’s a load of bullshit. Those parents could have prevented this if they had half a brain.”
And like that—without any sense of motion, without willing it to happen—I’m at my father’s side.
My dad and Nicole are standing among my friends. There are four policemen with them. I only recognize one of them—his name is Joe Wright, and he’s the town sheriff. It’s funny; I have this vague sense that I know him somehow, aside from just recognizing his name and face. So I close my eyes and try to let myself slip into a memory, and almost immediately I see it happening, right there in front of me. There’s Richie and me, having a run-in with him just a few months earlier, after the junior prom. We’d gone parking down by the beach at Groton Long Point in Richie’s dad’s SUV, which he’d borrowed for our Big Night. We were in the back of the SUV, under a blanket, when Joe Wright tapped at the foggy window with his flashlight.
He seemed like a nice enough guy at the time. He took our names and told us to go on home. It was after four in the morning, way past curfew for kids under eighteen in Noank. But it was prom night, so he cut us a break.
Instead of going home, though, we just
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