Birth

He thinks of himself dead, alone, unlovable. But what he discovers about himself in that weekend with his friends is bound to change his life and his view of himself.

When I was a child, I was extremely afraid of water; not really of drowning, or of waves, or hurricanes, but of becoming it. I thought water to be one of God’s most lonely creations, and it broke my heart. “Mommy, why can’t you hold water?” “Because it will slip between your fingers, honey. That’s the way water is.” It terrified me.

* * * * *

It was a warm evening, the day my soul finally came to live, ignited (for a life should start somewhere, after all). How hot that day was! Or had it been just me? It all came together that weekend with Devon and Anna and Rafe and Anna’s cousin and Kate and… Yes, everyone. Anna’s summerhouse in July, if I’m not mistaken. We would be there for three days. How very tired I had been. I remember taking a book, just in case I had time to read: Madame Bovary. I remember precisely, it was that book and not any other. It was a small, pocket edition. The pages were thin as a Bible’s, and the cover had an ugly painting of a lady in a purple dress, sitting in a chair, with the names Madame Bovary and Gustave Flaubert written with thin red letters, one over the other. There is no reason, absolutely no reason, why I remember. But I do. I didn’t read a chapter, a page, in the whole trip; never even finished the book…

Anna’s mother had invited us to the summerhouse for Anna’s sixteenth birthday. Anna’s aunt was there for the weekend too, and so was her fourteen-year-old cousin, Suzette. They got there before us. The first few hours of the trip were uneventful; or actually, the whole first day was… probably because Devon wasn’t there yet; he was usually the life of the party, but that day he had been stuck in the city taking a test or something of the sort, and so he would have to drive all night to get to the summerhouse. We had dinner just after arrival, swam for a while in the lake, played board games. I was the first one to go to sleep. We were all going to share a room, and because my roommate was Devon, I was going to be alone that night. I brushed my teeth, flossed, combed my hair, prayed… I tried reading for a while, but after reading the first lines, I fell asleep. I was just so drained.

* * * * *

Anna’s mother and aunt made pancakes�"so common. I’ve never liked pancakes, always preferred french toasts, quiche, or even the simple eggs and bacon. But Anna’s mother loved them and assumed we all did. Still, I ate them all, besides Anna; and at the corner of my eyes, I saw Suzette talking to Devon, meeting joyfully, finally; both with a conscious intention of meeting one another.

I’ll never be able to forget the noises, all the noises of that day; everyone talking, screaming, excited of Anna’s birthday, of the weekend; she had planned everything carefully, since weeks before, we all knew what was going to happen, and when, at what time; how everything would turn out. I now think it sounded boring, but for us (all of us), Anna’s birthday was like Christmas or Thanksgiving. But I was so, so worn. Had been that way all my life, I guess. I wanted to sleep, to scream myself into a tranquil slumber; I felt drained, exhausted; as if I had been pushing through the world for years, finally wanting to exit my immobile, monotonous womb of a life. But I made an effort. First, we went to a shop in a town near by; we would buy the things we would need for cooking dinner (breakfast had been more of a brunch, so we would skip lunch). We all walked there, together, talking; Anna quickly frowning and speaking up anytime the subject went too far away from something that interested her.

While we were all shopping for the food, in a rustic small shop, I noticed how Devon and Suzette had gone missing; I’d previously seen how they had been talking all the way there (in a selfish conversation of two), but them going to somewhere else alone annoyed me even further. Anna (or any of the others) didn’t seem to have noticed, so I decided not to tell anyone. But I remember feeling extremely mad.

By 8 o’clock everything was ready. The whole menu for the night was vegetarian because of Anna: mushroom pizza, pasta with a Four Cheese sauce, and Red Velvet cake for dessert. I didn’t cook, Anna did most of the things herself.

“Will Father be coming?” Anna asked her mother, at the time of the cake and photo.

“Probably not, honey. But we can take one of the two of us, and then frame it, and give it to him for his office. Sound good?”

“Sure.”

* * * * *

After dinner, I walked down to the lake; there were no ducks out anymore�"sleeping finally; resting. The moon shivered in the lake’s reflection. I had taken out small pieces of bread to throw at the ducks, but because the lake had been empty, I just threw the bread at the water and let it soak. After that, I did the only thing I could, for Anna was probably occupied with everyone else, and Devon was probably talking alone with Suzette: I sat and observed the lake. I remember my first time ever in front of a big body of water: I was standing with my mom, at age five, or six, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed with anguish. I couldn’t understand why God, who loves everyone and everything, would make water as something that can’t be held. Looking back, I can still see myself staring at it, as it gave such joy to so many people, and I felt sad for it�"To be a thing, so different from all things; so unique; so perfect; so contained within itself… and yet, cannot be held.

Later, I walked from the lake to the back entrance, and in the terrace was Anna’s mom, smoking… and crying. I recall walking the stairs to the terrace, and making noise so that she could have enough time to clean herself and not feel so embarrassed. I shyly finished climbing the stairs and faced her. She was simply leaning against the rail, with one cigarette in between her fingers, eyes slightly red.

“Lane? Why aren’t you inside?” She said.

“I don’t know…” I said, looking at the wooden floor. “I felt a little overwhelmed, I guess… Can I borrow a smoke, Mrs. O’Hare?” She looked at me startled; I don’t believe she had ever smoked beside someone as young as I. But she extended her hand anyway, with a small case for cigarettes. I took one, and she stared at me. She had known me for so long, and had never seen me smoke; had she been surprised? Or insulted that I had decided to show her this way? “And you? Why aren’t you inside?” I said. She took a drag from her cigarette, paused, and exhaled.

“I think I’m having a divorce.” She said, suddenly. And on that point, it shifted. It was now me who was surprised by something of hers. Had she done so intentionally? I didn’t know what to do; neither of us were looking at each other.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. O’Hare.” Was all I could manage to say.

“I know you are, Lane. What else could you be?” She said. I’ve always remembered her answer. I felt a little embarrassed for not having anything better to say. She put out her cigarette, said she was sorry and that I shouldn’t tell Anna, and then entered, with her head high, and a wide smile; it almost didn’t look like her world was falling apart.

The door closed, and no less than a minute later, opened again.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” The voice came from behind me. I turned around and it was Devon, standing there, half-way in, half-way out. His eyes always looked lighter when light was striking them�"almost green.

“I do. Sometimes.”

“What are you doing outside?”

“I was just down there at the lake.”

“I don’t really like water.” He said. I remember being so angry and annoyed with him, for some reason; feeling he had betrayed a secret pact not even I knew we had. So when he approached me, I couldn’t face him.

“Me neither. But it amazes me,” I said. “And what are you doing here?”

“We’re going down to the lake to swim. Want to come?”

“Not really. But you should go with Suzette.” I said, dryly.

“Yeah, she’s going too.” He said. He was completely unaware of everything going inside me�"and probably that was part of why I felt so mad. He suddenly extended his hand, took from between my fingers the cigarette, and took a drag. “Do you like her?” He asked.

“Do you?” I said, taking back my cigarette.

“I don’t know, maybe. She seems really cool!”

“Would you want to, you know, f**k her?” I said awkwardly�"for two guys, we’d never talked much about sex or girls.

“Probably, it depends though. And you?”

“Why does it depend?”

“It’s different when you’re not paying, I guess,” He said. We’d both lost our virginities with the same woman, a couple of months ago; he had been eager to, and had pushed me to do it, so I ended up giving in. I didn’t even take off my shirt, and half an hour later, when I still hadn’t finished, I told her I had just to get it over with. She kindly asked if I wanted a second time, because I still had some time, but I said no. Not that I hadn’t liker it�"or even her�"it’s just that I felt too self-conscious to be confortable.

“Guess so…” I said, smoking from my cigarette.

“So? Wanna come to the lake? We’re all going.”

“I don’t know, it’s just that I’m really tired.”

“Come on, it’s Anna’s birthday, leave that bullshit for the week, and come hang out with her.”

“It’s not like you’ve been much with her, either.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing…” I said, regretting the comment. I didn’t want to pick up a fight; not here and not with him. He was my best friend; I cared for him, I really did. “I just don’t want to go, Devon.”

“But why not?”

“I just feel weird today,” I said. I was just that way sometimes, doing something because I wanted a specific outcome, and then not wanting it when I had it. I remember wanting Devon to be more attentive with Anna and me and everyone, and once he was being just that, it annoyed me more. Why were there such inconsistencies in me? I started to feel as if two people, two opposites, lived inside me, never deciding on how to feel. It felt like two waves crashing in me, constantly, intensely.

“About what?”

“Don’t know, really. But go, tell Anna that I’m feeling a little sick. I think I’m going to bed.”

“But are you okay? Lean, is something up?”

“S**t, Devon, you’re starting to sound like a queer. Yes, I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

“Okay. Hope you change your mind.”

* * * * *

“Lane?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t want him to know I was still awake. I didn’t want to talk, because if I did, he would probably make me cry, even if I had no reason to. “You awake?” But Devon used to have something over me; a tenderness; I felt for him what I didn’t feel for anyone, probably not even my family. So I gave in.

“Yes,” I said, turning around and facing him. I was laying in the bed that was farthest from the door, so that he could have entered during the night and just got to bed quickly, without disturbing me. He turned the lights on, and I could see he was still fully clothed and dry. “Turn them off,” I said. In the darkness, it all felt better; as if it all flowed. It’s better when you say things, and you don’t see who you’re speaking to; it makes it all easier as if it were not personal. “Why are you dry? Didn’t you go swimming?”

“They did… But I stayed with Suzette on the shore.” He said as he started to take off his shirt. I turned around again, facing the bathroom now (I had forgotten to turn the lights off). I heard how he finished taking his clothes off and then turned off the light. Suddenly, a tear started rolling down my eye; a silent one, of course�"I didn’t want Devon to see me cry; much less when I was crying for no reason. “We actually tried pot… For the first time. That’s what Suzette and I went to buy earlier when we separated from the group back there in town.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice. But that sounds fun.”

“It was,” He said. I quickly cleaned the tear from my cheek with the sheets. But then another started to come, and another, until it was almost impossible to stop them from falling. What was happening to me? When had I become such a p***y? I had to harden my stomach so he couldn’t see me trembling from behind.

“Lane…” He said. I could hear him walking, closer to my bed. “Are you mad?”

It all seemed so surreal; I had no idea what I was feeling or why I was feeling it; but when he asked me that, I felt a stabbing pain in my chest and forehead. “No, I’m not,” I said, trying to sound normal. It started getting harder to fake my shaking. Was he noticing that I was crying, and just as I had done with Anna’s mother earlier, didn’t want to mention it, just so that I wouldn’t feel more embarrassed or ashamed?

“Can I sleep here?” I cleaned my face and turned around; Devon was beside my bed.

“If you prefer. But there’s another bed there, you know?”

He entered the bed and brought with him a current of cold air. Once inside, our legs touched a couple of times. He used to have a very precocious body; so, even if he was only sixteen, his legs were fully covered with hair.

“You’re cold,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s super cold outside.”

And then silence fell. I even thought, for a moment, that nothing else would be said. That he was going to fall asleep and leave me all altered, sleepless. Awake and exhausted. I turned around again, because otherwise I would’ve lost my mind, staring into his sleeping face. No one spoke for nearly an hour.

“You still awake?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Are you mad?” I turned, this time only half-way through; I stared at the ceiling, shut my eyes close. There are things that are easier in the dark.

“No, I can’t be,” I started. I felt the tears coming again. I was starting to get so f*****g emotional those days. Why did I have so much chaos inside me? Why was I so angry, and sentimental, and exhausted? I placed my hand over my eyes. “It’s just that… I don’t know how I am anymore… What I feel…”

All of a sudden, his rough hand was in my face, clumsily caressing my cheek with his thumb; I could tell he had never done anything of the sort. Was he trying to clean my tears? For a moment, I thought that he was going to say something. But then he leaned in, pulled my face towards him, and kissed me.

“No, don’t do that!” I said, trying to push Devon away; but in trying to do so, I was the one who fell from the bed. He had always been stronger than me. I fell to the floor and hit my head hard against the wall beside the bed. I softly pressed against my head, making pressure in the aching point. The floor was wet and I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t seen it coming (I hadn’t let myself see it coming, I guess). Devon got off the bed and ran towards me. I couldn’t feel anything, and couldn’t make out any coherent thought.

“S**t, s**t, are you alright, Lane? S**t, I’m sorry�"” He said, moving closer to me. He placed his hand over my mouth, and it was then I noticed that I was crying�"crying hard; I realized quickly that he was more worried that I would make too much noise and wake up everyone, than really of how I was or if I was hurt. “I’m sorry, s**t, I don’t know why I did that.”

What the f**k had happened? I tried calming myself by breathing slowly, smoothly. And then it was clear to me: I couldn’t breathe. Not because I was crying (though maybe that didn’t help), but literally, my lungs were reluctant to pull oxygen in; as if they had forgotten how to do so. I tried telling Devon that I couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t understand: “I�" I can’t�"I can�"” “What? You can’t what?”. I felt my lungs rapidly shrinking, but trying hard not to. They still tried to pull air inside. I felt as if I was inside the sea, and though I tried to inhale, nothing came in. It was an impossible task; I didn’t understand how I had never noticed how hard it was to simply breathe. I tried to calm myself, and try again; but as each attempt passed, and no air was drawn inside my lungs, I got more and more anxious.

I’m going to die�"the thought came to my mind like a fact. I was going to die; suffocated, drowned in mead air. I didn’t know what to do anymore; Devon’s face was in front of me, scarcely understanding what was happening to me, but still terrified, stupefied. So close, always so close, and I hadn’t noticed. I was going to die, there was no doubt anymore. My eyes were closing, my chest was exhausted of the contractions, I felt my head bursting, like broken veins, and my hands and feet tingling by the lack of blood. And Devon was so close, and nothing even mattered anymore. I am going to die, a happy certainty came in with the thought. It didn’t matter anymore. All of it. It would all mean nothing in a few seconds. My body felt cold and hot, and so stiff, and dry, and thick, and not at all mine. I hadn’t said goodbye to nobody, no one would really know the reason of my death (Devon wouldn’t confess about the kiss, I suppose). It would all cease to matter now. It had all been in vain: God, friends, family, happiness, love, sex, life. And so I did the last thing I could: with no strength left to push my head upward, I pushed his head towards mine, and kissed him. His lips were cold, but his tongue felt hot in my mouth. Everything was so hot, and all my body felt so wet. And with the kiss, life returned, and I slowly could breathe again. I gasped for air, like a broken vacuum, sucking everything until full. And then I couldn’t stop. I placed my hand against his back and pushed him towards me.

“I thought you were gonna pass out.” He suddenly said, separating himself from me. “I’m sorry.”

“For a moment, I thought I was going to die,” I said. And suddenly, consciousness started to go back to me, and I knew I wasn’t dying anymore; and then, I didn’t know what to think about all of it. I was scared and surprised and awkward with myself. How could I have missed it? The beastly urgency I’d had inside of me, and I hadn’t even noticed. What other things laid there, in my mind, secretly waiting for the opportunity to kill me?

He took my hand and took me back to the bed. I was surprised how no one had woken up. I was sure I had been crying quite loudly. Once inside, he took my hand, and pulled me back in; his arms were around me, his chest against mine, and our bodies entangled�"it was dissimilar to anything I had felt before. I hadn’t even known that I had even wanted it, or if I really wanted it. But it made me feel better. And so I let him. His lips were cold, and rough, and soft, and inexperienced. But I didn’t mind.

“So, you like me now?” I asked, separating us for a moment, and feeling some sort of joyous embarrassment.

“I think I do,” He said.

“But is this, like, a just-tonight thing?”

“I don’t know. Do you want it to be?” He said, as he leaned in, and kissed me again. Neither of us said anything after that, probably because neither one of us really knew the answer to that question right then. I turned around�"he embraced me, putting his arm around me; his breath was still cold. He placed his thick, dry lips at the back of my neck, and then lower, on my back, and then in my cheek, as he murmured something I didn’t comprehend; then he just held me. And it felt good. I didn’t go, and he didn’t let go. And for the first time, in a really long time, I slept soundly, for he had proven me wrong. Sometimes, water can be held.

© 2016 Sebastian Romero

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Featured Review

Usman Muhammad

This was an amazing story.
Everything seemed to me real....Dialogues, expressions, thoughts...Well done.
I think you have the potential to write a classic novel because you have every element which is needed for good writing.
The best thing was your philosophical point of view regarding water....It was too deep and wonderful to read. Such thoughts never came to my mind before reading this. But....in the end, you ended in a single sentence...As a reader I was amazed to see such an interesting point of view regarding something which we consider ordinary(water) and that is why I wanted to read some of it more at the end too....but you ended in a sentence. You could have ended by writing a paragraph, illustrating Lane's life in terms of water....not a single sentence..I hope you got my point.
Otherwise, this story is one hell of a story..I enjoyed every word of it.