Breathing Underwater Page 11

  Today she’s touching Saint. They’re doing the between-the-lockers liplock she once did with me. Is she showing off? Trying to make me jealous? It works. My pancreas is gripped by a giant hand. Caitlin and Saint separate. She heads my way alone. Does she see me? I want to say I love you, I miss you.

  Instead, I whisper, “Fat pig,” and move on.

  I’ll leave Thanksgiving with Caitlin’s mom to your imagination....

  MARCH 28

  * * *

  After class, Coconut Grove

  “I’m worried I’ll violate my restraining order.”

  Mario motions me to sit and I pull a chair up to his desk. I had to wait to talk to him. People aren’t clearing out as quickly as they used to; hanging around, instead, to rehash what they’ve said in class or make plans to meet during the week. No one invites me. I guess I wasn’t very friendly at first. If they weren’t all so weird, I’d feel left out.

  Mario leans across the desk to give me his full attention. “I’m glad you came to talk to me. Recognizing you’ve got a problem is a big part of solving it.”

  “Sure,” I say, already regretting telling him.

  “Tell me about what you’re feeling, Nick.”

  I lean back, taking out my sunglasses. I put them on and stare at him through their dark lenses. “I just want to do something. Like, I have to see her, have to get her back.”

  “Have you tried anything yet?”

  What am I, crazy? I can’t tell him about the phone calls or talking to her at school.

  “Everything said here is in strictest confidence,” he adds.

  Yeah, right. “Well,” I admit, “I’ve passed her in the hall a few times at school.”

  “You didn’t talk to her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But you might?” When I nod, he says, “Tell me, Nick. What is it about Caitlin you miss so much?”

  I can’t help it. I remember Thanksgiving, Caitlin up to her ears in gravy and mashed potatoes, her mother on the sofa, bitching that we should have gone to Denny’s for dinner, me just flattered Caitlin tried to cook for me. But I say, “Hey, a guy has needs.”

  Mario winces. “We’re talking physical needs here?”

  “There’s another kind?”

  “I think so. Lots of times, boys your age will say they miss sex when what they really miss is human contact.”

  Yeah, that’s it. But I say, “No, I think it’s sex.”

  He reaches across the desk and slides my sunglasses off my nose. “Talk to me, Nick.”

  I blink a second as my eyes get used to light again. Finally, I say, “Yeah, I miss her. You have to make me stop missing her.”

  Mario smiles. “I can’t make you not miss her. I can tell you it gets easier every day you stay away.”

  I look at his fat face, just dying to help me, and I have to bail. “Well, thanks. That’s completely helpful.” I pluck my sunglasses from his fingers and head for the door.

  His voice stops me. “Nick?”

  I turn to face him.

  “I know you already talked to her.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “From getting to know you in class. You wouldn’t come to me unless there was a real problem, unless you’d already stepped over the line. This is serious. Please stay, and let’s discuss it.” When I shake my head, he walks toward me and takes out a business card. He writes two telephone numbers on it. “This is my home number, and this is my cell. If you need someone, day or night, call me.”

  I take the card and shove it in my wallet, knowing I’ll never use it. I turn to leave again.

  Mario stops me again. “I can’t make you stay here, Nick, or make you talk to me. But just remember, violating that restraining order is a mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

  I replace my glasses and walk out the door.

  That night, he calls. When I see his name on caller ID, I let the answering machine pick it up. I reach for my journal.

  The saying goes that they tipped the country once, and all the weirdos slid to Key West. On Duval Street, Friday after Thanksgiving, I believed it. Two beefy guys held hands in the doorway of a white clapboard building, and ahead of us, a drunken barmaid danced to the music in her head. The real world was across the Seven Mile Bridge, and we were halfway to Cuba, halfway to heaven. One look into Cat’s eyes told me which was closer.

  We’d finally made it to Key West. Everybody who had to had lied to their parents, and Cat had blown off Thanksgiving with her father. It was worth it. I’d even managed to snag a private bedroom for Cat and me at Zack’s parents’ place. After the four-hour drive and a day at the beach, we grabbed our fake IDs and hit Duval Street.

  Like I said, it was crowded. Outside a T-shirt shop, a dirt-crusted guy in stringy shorts played guitar for tips. Liana’s hips gyrated to the music. Tom looked at the sidewalk. Zack kicked the guy’s guitar case closed. The guy didn’t look up, just stopped playing and reopened it.

  I kicked it again.

  “Quit it,” Saint said. “Guy’s trying to earn a living.” He pulled a five from his wallet and threw it into the case. What a philanthropist.

  The guy stopped playing, eyeing the five. Then he put down his guitar, stood, and threw his arms around Saint’s neck, saying, “God bless you, man!”

  We all stared. “I think he slipped O’Connor the tongue,” Zack whispered.

  Saint finally broke free. Three doors down, he said, “Shit, I was going to ask for change.”

  “I can’t believe you let him touch you,” Peyton said.

  “What should I have done? Punched him out?”

  “Ignored him like everyone else,” Peyton said.

  “I think it was nice,” Caitlin said to Saint, taking his side, as usual. “Helping a fellow human being.”

  “A fellow human being with fleas,” I said.

  “What a snob,” Saint said. Liana and Caitlin nodded.

  “You’re just a better person, I guess,” I said. It bugged me, Caitlin sucking up to O’Connor.

  Tom said nothing. He looked first at me, then Liana, like he was scoring a tennis match. Finally, he pointed to Liana’s guidebook. “We should see Hemingway’s house. It says here some of his cats have extra toes.”

  We laughed then and moved through the tequila-powered crowd. Cat spotted a teddy bear in a window and looked to me for permission to stop. I told her no way was she carrying that crap around. Instead, we ducked into a bar, one with no name above the door but live music pouring out. They didn’t even check ID. Two guys onstage were finishing a song when we arrived. The pudgy guitar player started another, the shoeless harmonica player joining in, although his missing teeth must have made it hard to play. Some older people danced to music that wasn’t meant for dancing. I said it looked beat.

  “I think it’s colorful,” Caitlin said. Was she going to contradict everything I said?

  “Who asked what you thought?” I said. But the others went for beer, and I followed. The song finished. I played pool with Ashley standing close by. I had a second beer, and Tom emptied two bowls of peanuts. I’d been buzzed earlier. By then, I was flying. I ignored Cat and circled the pool table with Tom.

  “Don’t get drunk,” he said to me. “We’re snorkeling tomorrow.”

  “Mom? That you? It’s been a while. Your little boy’s done growed up.”

  That shut Tom up pretty fast.

  Two beers later, I noticed Cat talking to Zack. They looked pretty cozy actually, considering she’d always said she hated him. I guess hosting us meant he got a chance at my girlfriend. Now she sat at his table, and he leaned close to whisper in her ear. I walked over.

  “Isn’t Caitlin beautiful?” I said, placing my hands on her shoulders. I had to repeat it, yelling over the guitar feedback, but finally Zack agreed that, yes, Caitlin was beautiful. I said, “Almost makes you forget how fat and ugly she was a few months ago.”

  Everyone heard that. Everyone heard because the son
g ended, and I was still yelling. Heads turned, first to me, then Caitlin.

  “Come on, Cat,” I said. “Show them how hot you look. You know you want everyone to see.” I grabbed her hand and yanked her forward. She wore a shirt over a white tank top. I tugged at the shirt. “Show them your tits, Cat.”

  “Stop it!” She pulled away and dove for the chair.

  I blocked her way. “Come on. I want everyone to see what I’m getting.”

  “This is because you’re drunk,” she said, sitting.

  I yanked her up. “Don’t you ever sit when I say stand.” I pulled her toward me even as she struggled to escape. By then, everyone was staring. Tom was behind me, trying to make me shut up. Someone yelled at me to leave Caitlin alone.

  “Hey, why aren’t you rednecks playing?” I yelled.

  “Waiting for you to let go of the lady,” the toothless one said.

  “Make me. I’ll knock out your other tooth.” I kissed Caitlin hard. “She’s with me.”

  “Hey, how old are you anyway, boy? This ain’t no day care center.”

  They were playing “Friends in Low Places” when the manager threw us out.

  MARCH 29

  * * *

  Leo’s house on Bayshore Drive, Coconut Grove

  “Everyone knew you were lying that day.”

  Leo throws the accusation like a practice pitch in the Marlins game we’re watching. It’s the fourth Sunday in a row I’ve spent in Leo’s undecorated room, watching a sporting event I mostly don’t care about. I’m comfortable here, though. I’d always watched sports with Tom, but with Leo, there’s a bond Tom and I didn’t have. Leo and I both grew up in hell.

  Still, I ignore his statement. On-screen, a runner slides home. The umpire calls him out.

  “He was so safe!” I yell.

  “Nah—he was out,” Leo says.

  “You see as well as the umpire,” I say. “They need instant replays.”

  “And that’s your expert opinion?” He laughs.

  I point to my fist, but I laugh too, and we go back to watching the game. The next player strikes out. Finally, Leo says, “Did you hear me?”

  “What day?” I ask too quickly.

  “Earth to Nick.” Leo leans near my ear. “I mean that day Mario asked about your old man.” Leo’s eyes never leave the screen. Like Tom, Leo’s an athlete who considers watching the game homework. He told me he’s had college and even pro scouts at his baseball games. “You were so full of it, acting like you and your dad were buddies.”

  I don’t answer, staring at the game and thinking about my poem for English class. Finally, I change the subject. “Where’s Neysa? She’s usually around.”

  Leo’s dark eyes swerve toward me. “Some family event that doesn’t include me. Bitch.”

  “You want to do stuff with her family?”

  “’Course not. But why does she have to? I told her she’d better start thinking about what I want, not just people who try to break us up.”

  I hear Mario’s voice in my ear, talking about controlling behavior. I shake it off. Leo’s not controlling. He’s like me. He’s just looking out for his relationship. On-screen, there’s the typical SUV ad, a red truck on muddy mountains. I wonder if Caitlin’s with Saint right now.

  Leo interrupts my thoughts. “I’m not talking about Neysa. I’m talking about you. We’ve been hanging together a month now, and it bugs me.”

  “Huh?”

  “I spilled my guts in class, but your guts—” He makes a slicing motion across his stomach. “Your guts are intact. You got off easy.”

  “Easy? I’m doing time every Saturday. How’d you manage that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Leo rubs thumb and fingers together in the classic “payoff” gesture. “Hector talked to Neysa’s parents, and they decided to come clean. Her cousin’s the one who roughed her up.”

  “They dropped the charges?”

  “No sense jeopardizing my future for a case of mistaken identity.”

  He looks to me for confirmation, and I nod. But I’m thinking, God, he paid them off.

  “So, answer my question.”

  Cornered, I say, “The answer is, you know the answer. Sure, my dad and I don’t get along. No big story. He knocks me around sometimes, not as much lately.” Leo nods, not prodding me to go on, so I do. “I deal with him like you deal with Hector. I steer clear of him.”

  Leo throws me a look then holds it, a dealer weighing cocaine with his eyes. I must pass inspection because he says, “Know how I deal with Hector?” When I shake my head, he walks to the closet and opens its white louvered door. Inside, there are baseball cleats, rows of hanging pants. A safe. Leo kneels, turns the knob. The door swings open. He reaches inside.

  He takes out a gun.

  He holds it toward me. It is small and gray. From the care Leo takes handling it, I understand it’s also loaded. I hesitate, then my fingers close around its smooth metal barrel. The rest of it looks well-used. Though it weighs barely more than one of Caitlin’s hand weights, my arm sinks with the heft of it.

  “It’s real?” Stupid question.

  Leo raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

  On television, the sportscaster screams, but it seems a whisper. The pitches come closer together, and every crack of the bat is a gunshot.

  “You’d … use it?”

  “If I have to.” Leo takes the gun back. “I won’t, though. Hector knows I have it, knows it’s loaded, ready to go, and if he hurts any of us…” Leo raises the weapon like one used to handling such machinery and aims for the wall. “Boom.”

  He returns it to the safe, goes back to watching the game. But a few minutes later, he says, “You can borrow it, anytime.”

  Later that day, around 7:00

  Writing in this journal seems better than thinking about what Leo showed me this afternoon. And a lot better than writing a poem for Higgins’s class.

  Saturday was the day we saw the shark.

  By nine the next morning, we’d sobered up (not counting the three coolers we’d loaded onto Zack’s parents’ yacht) and were bound for a reef off Key Largo. Zack drove like a wild man, and I loved watching Caitlin’s body as the boat bounced across the waves.

  Caitlin was terrified. In case you think I’m exaggerating, I’ll clarify. Caitlin was scared of water, boats, snorkeling, and sharks, stingrays, sawfish, and barracuda. That day, she was probably also afraid of tuna, suntan lotion, and Diet Coke. I tried to help by telling her that if we saw a great white, I’d stick my leg in his mouth—so she could swim to safety.

  “You’re not very funny,” she said. But I thought I saw her lips crinkle upward, so I kept going, telling her how sharks can swim eleven miles per hour. Even an Olympic swimmer can only do five.

  I bent my leg backward. “Would you love me if I only had a stump?”

  That got her. She cracked up. Between giggles, she said, “Let’s avoid the issue by staying on the boat.”

  But Zack was dropping anchor, and the others were already sliding to join the early arrivals at the reef. Tom yelled for us to join them. I waved him off.

  “You don’t have to, Caitlin,” I said. “But even if something happened, you’d die in this magical place with the person who loves you most in the world.”

  “You’re not afraid of dying?”

  “No one’s dying.” When she kept looking at me, I said, “No, I’m not afraid of that.”

  She touched my shoulder. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Being without you,” I answered, before thinking.

  She kissed me. “You aren’t afraid of anything, then.” She looked at our friends and reached for her fins. After putting them on, she started to pull off the Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt she’d worn over her bathing suit. I stopped her.

  “Keep it on. You’ll fry otherwise.”

  “I have on sunscreen.”

  I eyed Liana’s butt in the water, imagining people looking at Caitlin like that. I d
idn’t want anyone looking at her like that. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but you’ve been eating like a pig lately, and it shows.”

  She examined her stomach. “You think so?”

  “I’m the only one who’ll tell you the truth.”

  It worked. Caitlin sighed, slipped her swim vest over the T-shirt, added mask and snorkel. Then, as if she’d decided to get it over with, she jumped in. I watched the ocean filtering through her fingers, the trail of her yellow hair. Cat had courage stored for the winter. I loved and hated that, hated it because I wanted her to need me. She had to need me. Still, I followed in her wake. Though she’d said she wasn’t a strong swimmer, Caitlin pushed on. I only hoped she’d take me with her.

  Underwater was gray and bright at the same time. Breathing through a snorkel, all you can hear is your own snorkel-enhanced breath in your ears. But there was plenty to see. First, there was the reef, surprising shades of purple, green, and gold with small fish who let us be part of their schools. Other creatures materialized. If anyone saw something worth investigating in the folds of coral, we’d take deep breaths and skim down far as our air would hold us. Down there, that seems like forever. Breathing was unimportant. We made a game, seeing who could find the best sights to show the rest. At first, there were only the usual clown and parrot fish, floating like forgotten balloons. Soon, I spotted a huge ’cuda in the shadow of someone’s boat. I was Lord High Ruler, at least until Saint said he saw a sawfish. Funny thing was, no one else could find this enormous thing. Saint insisted it was in the rocks somewhere.

  “It’s in your mind,” I said, and he gave me the finger.

  We wasted ten minutes searching for a nonexistent sawfish and were starting to think about lunch. Then, Liana surfaced with bright eyes and one word. “Shark.”