Ashland

SUPER FUN FACT: There are twenty Ashlands in the U.S. KIDS, TELL YOUR PARENTS.

The sun just set when the ‘88 Brougham pulled over to the edge of the bay where the curb met the weeds and the weeds met the coast, and the sky was stained in a light kind of purple that made the sun seem like it was still there.  It was a spot they went to for years but never gave it a name because they never even knew the name of the bay or the land that coasted, just the town, Ashland.  And he saw that purple before, saw it darker when she ran out that once from her mother and he was there, waiting, saw it darker when she couldn’t take the heat of the house and needed more than the two open windows to get to sleep, saw it lighter when they went to tan but the wood on the dock burned more than the sun and he pushed her in and she tried the same and he let himself plunge in beeper and all.  Sometimes she asked him what colors he saw in the sky and he said purple, always said purple, and she said that no, it isn’t a color, and what he saw was violet, indigo, lavender, mulberry, magenta, and he asked what about wild strawberry and tickle me pink, and she laughed and lost track of the purples and pinks she’d said.

This time when she got out of the Cadillac though, which she jokingly called the limo because it probably could be had it had two more doors, she didn’t get the chance to glance at at the sky or the view or even the dock or him and just kept her eyes on her sandaled feet like they’d run away if she was caught paying attention somewhere else.  He thought he should guide her but he didn’t because it made him remember all the other times he’d held her sides while walking and he didn’t want to do that again unless he was sure of what she wanted to talk about wasn’t about them, if it was something like her mother again.  But she was over that now, well over that for years, and although he anticipated the first words would be something upsetting to give his heart that sinking feeling, he never thought they’d be these three: 

“You hate me.”

They were spoken before they even reached the dock, and he didn’t know what to think because he should’ve been glad they weren’t true, but they were so strong that he couldn’t help but feel dizzy, out of breath.  He asked her what she meant and she spilled out synonyms, that he didn’t like her, didn’t want to be with her, could not stand her, that he detested her, loathed her, wished she were dead.  And he claimed not to understand even the first word she’d said, claimed that he did love her and didn’t see where she was getting such crazy ideas.

“You deal with me because you have to,” she told him.  “You have to make everyone happy, but not yourself, and if it were up to you, if you were king of the world and you could pick anyone you ever wanted beyond all will, I’m absolutely sure you would not and could not pick me.  Who you would pick, you’d pick no one, because you’re an absolutist giver and being with me is a sin itself since you’re not with everyone else.  You live to make me happy, but not yourself, and I can see it in every word you say, in everything you do.

“Here’s what I want to do, to prove to me and to you that you’re not in it for us, but for me.  You never liked us much anyway.  I want you to stand here and face the bay, and close your eyes, and cover them with your hands in case you peek, and I want you to count to one-thousand, and I want you to open your eyes and decide what to do from there.

“As for me, I’m going to walk home (yes, from here), and I’ll be O.K., because I always am, right?  And I want you to trust me that I’ll be home tonight, and I want you to do whatever you’d do tonight if I was staying inside, to go to the bars with Benny or just go home and watch TV for the night or sleep.  Do anything you want to do, but I want you to know that I’m safe home, because trust is love, and if you love me like you trust me then I’ll know what you say is true.  But if you care so much for the world, if you care so much just for me and not for what’s between us, then the love you have for me is none greater than the love you have for everyone else.”

He didn’t understand how that would fix things, because she was giving him a test on something so pure and profound that the answer was never as obvious as she made it out to be.  It was like when she asked him why he’d picked her of all the girls in the world (“for, I didn’t pick you, dear, we found each other”) or when she asked what he’d do if she died (“for, I would want nothing more than to die; the world without you isn’t a world worth living”) or that time she asked who he loved more: her or his sister (“for, it’s a different kind of love, of course, and, as we’re not of the same blood, I’ve loved you of my own free will; Mommy never taught me to love you like I do”) or when she asked if it was forever (“the least that it will be, I’m sure”).  And if he’d answered any differently, if he picked her for her lovely smile, if he’d merely cry when she’d die, if he couldn’t pick between sister and her, or if he’d love her only until his heart ceased beating, he was not the man she hoped for until he got the answer right, and claimed to have meant it all along, that he just couldn’t put it into words because it’s such a strong feeling that he’s never quite felt before.

So he counted to one-thousand, and surpassed any number he’d ever counted to before.  He tried counting to infinity once, he remembered, during his first sleepover with Jeff Hilton down the block, who claimed that infinity was made up.  And, well, young Jeff Hilton was proven right that night, as the counter ran out of breath after pronouncing “two-hundred-and-thirty-seven”.  Yet, he always wondered how far he could count if he never ran out of breath and if the seconds of his life weren’t wasting away as each number was spoken, because there must be a point where the mind can’t handle the quantity any longer, and if a human mind can’t handle it, if no mind could ever witness such a number, would the number exist?

He sat on the dock and counted as the sheep hopped the fence and woke up by sunrise and thought he did it but could never be too sure, and the next day when she came by after lunch to see if he made it home O.K., she embraced him like he’d just come home from war, like the end of a movie, like it meant the beginning of ever after.  “I knew you’d do it,” she said.  “I knew you were the right one for me because you trust me.”  She said it like he was a dog who ran away from home and needed a boost in confidence.  He still smiled though, because as much as she thought she’d won, as much as she thought he truly was in love with her and not in love with the world, he knew he passed the test and made her happy; he avoided caring for her out of care for her happiness, and truly did care for her in that sense, because he couldn’t stand to see another tear drop damage the delicate soil.

Author's Note

Yeah, if you found out by now, this one's actually serious. Sorry. Been experimenting with long, winding sentences. Although they're annoying, I'm trying to paint a picture, and that's probably the best way here. I guess this'd be considered an actual short story. But I don't think it's good enough to stand on its own.