The Uneventful Life of Harvey Mackler

c h a p t e r | f i f t e e n

With a small sigh, I kick off my sandals and begin to hurry down the beach. I'll have to get it back before it goes too far out.

I wade into the sea without thinking, wrapping my hands around the surfboard and tugging it back to the shore. It's not until I'm in this position, with the board in my hands and the current pushing against my legs, that it strikes me just how long it's been since I've done anything remotely resembling this. So many months...

I slow down. The board in my hands suddenly feels like scalding hot metal; one you know is capable of burning you, and yet you grasp on to with the naive hopes of getting used to the heat. With a look back to land, I tighten my grip on the board, cautiously swinging my leg over the side and sitting down before I have a chance to rethink my action.

I do nothing else. I just sit. Letting the gentle waves nudge me back to shore, paddling with my feet just enough to keep me in position. It's late in the afternoon and the sun is warm, but the sea is just the right temperature. Not too cold, not too warm, just cooling enough to give you relief from the heat. A light breeze tickles my cheeks. I get lost in the sound of the ocean, the distant squawking of seagulls, the quiet whooshing of waves crashing against the beach.

I suppose I remember something I used to like about surfing.

This feeling.

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There's nothing quite like eight different male voices screaming 'NO!' at the same time.

I forgot how fortunate I was to be able to say I hadn't heard that sound in a while.

Their noisy clamours wake me up from my midday slumber, which had been induced by the Spanish murder mystery series I have been trying to rewatch before the newest season comes out. I rise up from my bed groggily, pausing the video right before Alejandro gets shot by his mysterious half-brother who had been presumed dead until last episode.

Wait a minute. That scene was towards the season finale. Just how many episodes did I sleep through?

I don't get a chance to figure this out due to the large uproar that erupts again from downstairs, practically shaking the entire house.

Alright, enough of this. I spring up from my bed and march out my room. I'm about to storm down into the living room, when at the top of the stairs, I hesitate as I am now able to pick out a few voices from the masses. There's no telling exactly who is downstairs. I should probably make myself look a bit more presentable first. Just in case.

After a four minute intermission where I quickly brush my hair and redo my ponytail, as well as throw on a loose-fitting cardigan over my camisole, I continue my angry march down the stairs and into the living room.

"Have you guys ever heard the term 'keeping it down'?" I snap. "You're so loud, I wouldn't be surprised if people at the White could hear—"

I stop short when my brain finally registers what exactly I'm looking at: there are two televisions set up in the lounge with four different gaming consoles somehow attached to either, and inexplicably a laptop in between them of which its purpose I have yet to determine. Each of the boys has a controller, some with cords that trail back to the consoles, others connected wirelessly. On top of that, they've got a couple other gaming devices littered about the room including a brand new Nintendo Switch which has been temporarily abandoned with a game preview loading on its screen. That's when it dawns on me that they must all be playing this same game.