All This Life

This is their first day together after so long and Sara enjoys his company, his honesty. Yes, it had freaked her out a bit in the car, him holding that busted side mirror up so she could see her reflection and talking his sweet words. He’s so sincere that it takes her aback. It even did when they were inseparable, the way he could say something so real, so direct. One time during a backyard campout, they’d been kissing for over an hour, Sara letting him paw at her tits, and the tent was getting dimmer and dimmer. The battery in their flashlight dwindled, and they both knew the tent would be pitch-black in a matter of seconds, the light fading and flickering, Sara shaking it back and forth for extra juice, but there were no stashes left. “It’s almost dark and I don’t want it to be,” she said, and Rodney said, “It’s never dark with you.”

Sure, it was schmaltzy, Sara recognized that back then, but what was wrong with schmaltz? Why not indulge in some when your life was surrounded by cinderblocks?

She actually says it aloud now, floating in the river, eyes still closed, feeling the sun warm her torso and feet and face: “It’s never dark with you.”

Sara has to help him get out of the car. She has to tell him directly that it’s cool for him to come swimming. That’s what she wants. That’s why they’re here.

“Hey,” she calls, not opening her eyes or turning her head toward the car, voice stretching to a scream, “are you getting in here or what?”

“In,” he says, speaking at a normal volume.

Sara’s legs flail, eyes open, and she lets them find the bottom, standing up. “Jesus, what are you — a spy or something?” she asks. “I didn’t hear you make a single sound slipping in the water.”

“Nin. Ja,” says Rodney.

There he is in his boxers, floating on his back only a few feet away from her. Sara relaxes and starts floating again, too.

“There’s barely any water left,” she says, “because of the drought, but I wanted to show you this place. My dad used to take me rafting here. Can you believe it? There used to be enough water for rapids, and we’d leave from this spot. Fight down the river through all the currents and twists. Now it’s a puddle.”

She pauses, seeing if he wants to say something, but Sara knows there’s not much to add. She’s bobbing in self-sympathy. Sara’s not really talking to him anyway. Not talking to her parents. Not talking to anyone. Except herself. The river used to be something and now it’s nothing and so is Sara and that’s the truth.

“It. Will. Rain,” Rodney says.

“What?”

“It. Will. Rain.”

“It might.”

“It. Will.”

He’s right, she guesses. That is a possibility. The puddle floods and swells and soon it’s a river again. Soon daughters and dads will grab paddles and life jackets and fly down the rapids.

“You’re right,” she says.

“You. O. Kay?”

“No,” says Sara, “but I like being here with you. I like thinking that it might rain again.”

“What do you think our families are doing to each other?” Sara says. “Do you think Larry and Felix really attacked my brother?”

Rodney shrugs his shoulders.

They’re both floating on their backs, slowly moving with the languid current. Sara wiggles her toes. Rodney does it, too.

This is what it would have felt like if she’d gotten on the balloon with him. Before he fell. When it was just a boy hovering. Sara stood on the ground, astonished, in awe. She stood there jealous, thinking that if he was going away she wanted to be with him. She was scared but not for his safety; she was scared she’d never see him again, watch him vanish on the horizon to a crumb in the sky.

“What if there’s nothing left for us?” she asks. “What if they’ve torn it all down, burned everything up? What would we do?”

“Leave,” he says.

“To where?”

“Cal. I. For. Ni. A.”

“California?”

Rodney nods.

“Why?” she says.

“Mom.”

“How do you know she’s there?”

“Dad. Told. Me.”

“I’d go to California with you,” she says.

Rodney grabs her hand.

Well, grab isn’t the right word. He slips his palm on top of Sara’s and they slither their fingers together. He instigates it; she helps their hands find the right grip. They’ll never be in the backyard tent again, but that doesn’t mean they can’t have a moment in this river.

Rodney is holding her hand, and she’s holding his, and they’re in underwear, and she looks over at him, though his eyes are closed. She sees his smile and Sara notices a couple dragonflies popping on top of the water and everything is silent so she closes her eyes too, straightens her neck to the center and the sun perfectly roasts her face.

Sara has found the only person besides her brother that will give her the benefit of the doubt. They’ll float here, wet palm in wet palm, weightless and warmed, without any connection to the world.