“Then you should too.” His eyes tried to catch mine, but I looked away again at the water, the mountains, the sky. Anywhere but at him, because I was afraid of what he might be able to see. Because all of a sudden it didn’t feel like we were standing on the beach anymore. It felt like we were balanced on a thin, thin line. That fragile one that divides the invisible space between something and nothing, or before and after.
I stop there to reread the last sentence, and I know exactly what she means. And I can see it’s really happening. She’s really falling for him, and he is for her, and on the one hand I know it’s wrong, because she has Shane and they love each other and they’re perfect for each other. But the way she writes it, I think I might’ve fallen for Orion too.
If I were her, I maybe even would have thought it was meant to be somehow. Despite the fact that it was wrong. Whatever it is there between them seems like the kind of thing that happens in life only if you’re lucky. But she might have actually had it with him. That connection or pull that’s there is sweet and romantic, and the sap in me wants to soak it up and see where it goes. I check my phone and flip a few pages to see how much more of this entry there is. I probably have just enough time to finish it.
We didn’t cross that line today. He sat, picked up his notebook, and went back to sketching. I found a place close, but not too close, on the grainy white beach to sit and take off my shoes so I could dip my toes in the icy water. I lay back on my elbows and watched the sun sparkle on the surface of it. Let the warmth and the quiet soak in. And for a while we balanced there on the line like that, not saying anything, though more than once I thought I felt his eyes on me.
“What are you drawing?” I asked him.
“The trees.” He pointed with his pencil at a group close to where we were sitting. They were more like skeletons of trees, with bare branches and no sign of life left on them. On one of them someone had carved the words I WAS HERE into the bark, which seemed eerie and sad in a way.
“Can I see?”
He slid off the log onto the ground next to me and handed me his sketchbook. The trees on the page didn’t look like the real ones at all. They danced with shadow and light and practically swayed in the breeze that blew cool and soft over us. Even the words I WAS HERE looked freshly carved into the bark.
“This is beautiful.” I traced my finger over the branches.
He looked down, seeming almost embarrassed or shy about it. “Thanks.”
“No, really. This is like something you’d see in a gallery. It’s . . . is art something you want to do for a living?” The thought of it, of him, wanting the same thing I did ran electric through me.
He shook his head and took the pad back. “Not really. I’ve thought about it, but for now I just kind of do it for myself.”
I nodded, so close to telling him I felt the same way about painting. That I understood, or used to. That a long time ago I knew what it was like to do something purely for myself. But then I noticed the black ink of a tattoo on the underside of his forearm. I wanted to reach out and touch it, but I pointed instead. “So is that just for yourself too, or can I see what it is?”
He looked down and turned his wrist so I could see it. “That . . . was my sixteenth birthday present from my brother. It’s what he does.” He glanced from the tattoo to me. “I thought it was cool three years ago, but it’s kinda cheesy now, huh?”
“That depends on if you just picked a symbol off the wall or if you got it because it actually means something to you.” I looked again at the three joined spirals, then brought my eyes back to his. “Does it? Mean anything?”
“If I tell you, you can’t laugh. Like I said, I was sixteen. And I thought I was being deep.”
“I promise,” I said, ready to laugh. Then without thinking I ran my fingers over it just like I’d done with his drawing.
His arm tensed under my touch. I drew my hand back. He cleared his throat. I looked at my lap. And the moment hung there between us, heavy, like clouds before a storm.
“It’s called a triskelion,” he said. “Each spiral stands for something.” He pointed to the top one. “There’s motion, like taking action or moving forward. There’s evolution—that’s growing or changing with life. And then there’s illumination, which is understanding or knowing.” He paused, maybe waiting for me to laugh, but I didn’t.
“It’s like the three parts of life,” I said.
“Yeah. The parts I want to remember to do.” He smiled, then picked up a piece of pumice and tossed it in the water, where it floated on the glassy surface in front of us. “You ever go swimming in this lake?”
“Never.” I wiggled my toes and felt the icy needles of the water.
“You want to?”
I shook my head.
“I think I might.” He stood up and pulled his shirt over his head, then went for the belt that hung low on his hips.
I forced my eyes away from his bare chest and out to the center of the water, hoping it might temper the tingly warmth that spread out in my own chest, knocking my heart around against my ribs. “I think I’ll wait here,” I said. “With my clothes on.”
He stepped out of his jeans and tossed them over the log. “Suit yourself.” Then without another look at me he turned, took two long strides toward the water, and dove into the icy blue of the lake. Just like that. Fearless. When he came up, he was gasping for air. “Holy shit, that’s cold!” He half laughed, and made his way back to me at the edge of the water, where he waded back out onto the beach.