Take Me To the Sea

Chapter Three

JUNE 1, 2011

Just as I had predicted, the half hour of our trip passes in complete silence. Finally, I get sick of it, and decide to turn some music on. I’m trying to keep the environment quiet and bubble-like for Hunter, just like we keep it at home for him, but music has become my lifeline in the last few months, and at this moment I need to hear some sort of beat to keep me focused. I have my CD case at my feet, and I reach down quickly to grab it and throw it in Hunter’s lap. 

Jolting at the sudden action, he whips his head around to glare at me. I meet his gaze with a quirk of my eyebrows and a nod towards the black container. 

“Pick an album,” I instruct, “If you’re not going to talk, then I at least need to listen to something.” With his spindly fingers, Hunter unzips the case slowly and begins leafing through the dozens of CDs I’ve collected over the years. It takes him forever. And then when he reaches the end of the assortment, not picking a single one, he flips through the opposite way. Fingers lingering over each disc, touching the artwork glued on, or tracing the sharpied track lists that I had burned onto blanks, like he’s trying to hear the songs through osmosis. Once he finishes the second run-through, he just shuts the container with a tiny shrug. 

Hunter looks at me pitifully, eyes blank and uninvolved, like it’s taken all of his energy to read a few band names and pick a disc. I snarl, surprising myself. My tolerance for his laconic behavior is usually much higher than this. Maybe I underestimated how much this trip was taxing me. Having no patience at all and refusing to wait while he tries to decide on an album, I snap out a band name and the album I want. It’s one of those loud, punk bands that I would have rolled my eyes at last year. 

Before all of this, I would have listened to some really quiet indie music, or some trancelike electro tracks. Minimalist, with soft or no vocals: something that made me feel like I was floating away. If I wanted to escape, I would listen to it, and I would disappear. Run away from everything that was troubling me. I wanted to be invisible. 

But now, all I want is cacophony and grating guitars and bass I can feel in my bones. Screaming lyrics and a tempo that makes me want to get on my feet and dance or raise my fists or bang my head. It makes me feel alive. Everything else feels numb; reality is slipping through my fingers like water and I’m falling into nothingness. Maybe it’s because I am alive and she is not and I have to remind myself that I’m still here and this body is real and my heart is still beating. 

With the corners of his mouth turning downward in disgust, Hunter lethargically flips to the disc, pulls it out of the sleeve, and inserts it into the mouth of the stereo system. A few seconds later, the first notes filter through the speakers, and I crank the bass up until I feel the pounding thumping along with every heartbeat, synchronizing into a drumming that thrums through my fingertips and I feel like an electric current. 

I sneak a look at Hunter again: he’s back in his original position, but he hasn’t tensed up or clenched his fingers yet. By Hunter’s standards, he’s remarkably relaxed. Despite my current irritation, I remember to keep an eye on him. I won’t baby him, but there’s a difference between toeing the waters and shoving someone’s head under the surface. If the volume starts to overwhelm him, he’ll seize up, and it’ll take me hours to bring him back down. As much as I want to satisfy only myself and turn it up to 25, I’m not heartless. 

Now that I’ve settled into my comfort zone, the drive doesn’t seem so horrible. I mean, it’s the same, never-ending scenery, and we only pass an exit every few miles, but every once in a while a car passes and it’s nice to be reminded that there are other people in the world living their own lives and dealing with their own problems. I always wonder, now, when I pass someone, what tragedy could have befallen them recently, or what might be coming. And then I feel a little less alone, pacified by the fact that somewhere out there, someone must understand what I’m feeling.