24⎜The Boat
After leaving the condo, Ari led me outside to the parking lot where Houston’s truck was absorbing the Californian morning sun. She went into the backseat and extracted one of my suitcases and her own backpack. I had only taken one of my bags into the condo the previous day—the one that contained all my bare essentials (ie: phone, phone charger, computer, computer charger, toothbrush, toothpaste, glasses, an extra pair of clothes, three pairs of shoes, and some moisturizer), so the rest of my belongings were still in Houston’s truck. Ari hadn’t bothered to take her backpack inside yesterday, so I just assumed that since it was her dad’s condo, everything she needed was already there.
She handed me my luggage and instructed me to pull out whatever I’d need for a day at the beach. We were both still wearing our pajamas (meaning that I was shirtless and Ari was Ari). I picked out my swim trunks, a short sleeved white button-down, some sunglasses, and my boat shoes. Ari just swung a strap of her bag over a single shoulder, and then returned my gear to the truck. She then instructed me to go change in a random public restroom that was conveniently located by the condominium building. I complied, risking putting my tetanus shot to good use, and changed into real clothes for the day.
When I emerged from the small place filled with rotting metal and more than twelve health code violations, I met Ari outside. She was dressed in a worn, off-white T-shirt that said “STANFORD” across the chest, and came down to her upper thighs, completely swallowing her up. I was pretty sure that she had shorts on, but the shirt was so long that I wasn’t entirely positive. On her feet were black flip-flops, and her hair was falling in loose curls over her shoulders, the wind ruffling it slightly. Unlike most girls when they dressed for the beach, Ari Remon didn’t look…overly revealing. I could see her long legs, but that was basically all the detectable skin besides her arms and face that was visible to me. Her top gave her absolutely no shape, but somehow she was still able to look amazing.
Not even bothering to say a word to me, she just began to walk, and I followed. Considering the fact that her dad’s condo was about as close to the beach as could come without actually being on the beach, it was a pretty short trip. We came to the place of sand and swimsuits that was most commonly associated with the glorious state of California (after Hollywood and Apple, of course). There weren’t that many people on the beach. Just a few scattered everywhere—reading and tanning, texting and tanning, sleeping and tanning, and just plain tanning. But we didn’t stop at the beach with the other pedestrians—no, we kept walking, and continued to do so until we met a series of large rectangles with boats attached to them.
“Those are docks,” Ari told me, pointing to the long runways made up of planks of wood. I nodded, not saying a word, but rather taking time to process and become aware of my new surroundings. Ari kept strolling along, a strong objective that was concealed from me serving as her main impetus to move forward. Then, we stopped.
We were at a dock. It had bits of crud dispersed here and there, but Ari didn’t mind. She practically jogged across the extension of artificial land that was bordering the water. When she got to the end, her face illuminated in a way that I had never seen before. She was grinning, but unlike other times when she wore the same expression, this time it reached her eyes. The perpetual desolation often found in those dark brown eyes of hers was no more. She was happy. More than that, she was essentially the quintessence of the positive emotion itself. What made Ari Remon so happy that even her eyes seemed to smile? Well, that would have to be the boat.
The boat was a good-sized one (though, who was I to really judge what a “good-sized” boat was and what wasn’t?), and it was white. It was larger than Houston’s truck, but not by much, and unlike the gigantic automobile, it was floating on the water. Across the front (well, what I thought was the front) were the words “TEAM TOMMEL” painted in large black letters on the bottom. Inside, the back had some cushions to sit on, and as did the front. Separating the two sections of the boat was a barrier of sorts with a narrow walkway. Chairs that swiveled and the controller consol sat behind the barricade. The boat was nice (but again, what did I know?).
No matter what type of condition it was actually in, if this was the type of thing that could momentarily drain all the gloom from Ari Remon, then I was all in favor of it. I had never witnessed her look more alive—not even when she was with Scott. There was something about the boat that had some magical effect on her, and I really hoped that it wasn’t temporary. It sounded absolutely crazy, but seeing Ari happy made me happy. Stupid, right?
“Tom, Eli, Ari, Mel,” Ari said, not directly talking to me, but more being part of this blissful trance as she communicated with herself and anyone bothering to listen, “TEAM.”
It took me a few seconds to replay her words and figure it out, but when I did, the name of the boat made sense. “TEAM” was an acronym for what I thought to be each member of her family. Like she had said: Tom, Eli, Ari, Mel. The first letters of each name spelled out “TEAM.” Though I wasn’t entirely aware whether or not it was normal to name boats, it was definitely a creative name for this particular one. I just had to assume that the “TOMMEL” part was “Tom” (her brother, probably) and “Mel” (her mom).
“I miss you,” the ecstatic girl said, her rainy voice temporarily going back to a place of grief. I saw a tear escape from the edge of her eye, but I wasn’t sure if it was the normal Ari tear of unidentified sorrow, or of the exuberance that she was feeling just seconds prior.
Then, she climbed onto the boat. Since it was Ari, she possessed more grace than should have been allotted to one girl as she did so. The action was so easy for her. She somehow managed to slide on, so that her feet were planted firmly on the floor of the boat. I was still standing on the dock, admiring her elegance and elation (and, uh, maybe her legs, too). She just looked as if she was in her element—like I did whenever I played football. I couldn’t think about anything but the game itself, and I was happy. Just like Ari right now.
“Eric Wilson, are you getting on, or what?” she finally decided to address me.
I laughed, and then admitted something that only few knew about my past. “Believe it or not, Ari Pomegranate, but I’ve actually never been on a boat before.” As I said the words, I walked closer to the water vehicle, my body parallel to that of Ari Remon’s.
“You?” she gaped, unsure if she should be shell-shocked or laugh. “The boy who wore boat shoes just about every single day of his life has never been on a boat. Wow.”
“Who says that I wear boat shoes every single day of my life?” I questioned, instinctively glancing down at my beloved shoe choice. Boat shoes. They were comfy, preppy, and I was pretty sure that actually going on a real boat with them on had the serious potential of ultimately ruining them. I definitely wore them a lot—that was for sure.
“That’s why I said ‘just about,’” Ari said, defending her careful way of speaking. I acknowledged her response with an amiable nod. “So, you’ve never been on a boat?” I shook my head. “Not even a cruise ship?” I shook my head once again, and then decided to explain.
“My parents prefer flying.”
She was silent for a long while that probably wasn’t actually as long as it felt, and then finally a single phrase that I always longed to ask her exited her mouth: “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I didn’t live near the water growing up, and, uh, have never been on a boat.”
“Well, prepare to lose your boat virginity,” she announced, smirking as she grabbed hold of my hand from inside the boat, and pulled me towards it. Contrary to her compact size, Ari was actually pretty strong, and managed to pull my torso towards the boat, though my feet remained planted firmly on the dock.
I took a deep breath in, and then climbed onto the boat—one leg after the other. Within seconds, I was standing on a boat, and could cross the experience off of my fictitious bucket list. With the addition of my weight, the boat moved slightly, reminding me that it wasn’t on solid ground, but rather liquid water. It was a strange incident—floating on something that wasn’t quite solid, but wasn’t in the state of gas, either. Liquid was a curious property.
“Mazal tov, Eric Wilson,” Ari said with that same boisterous smile on her face.
“Thanks, Ari Pomegranate,” I laughed, observing as she went to the back of the boat and leaned off it slightly. For about half a second I thought that she was going to fall off, but then she returned to a standing position a moment later, quenching my fears.
She went over to one of the chairs in the middle of the boat—the one by what looked to be the controls—and plugged a key into some place that it fit. Something roared (I assumed it was the engine), and then we were moving on the water, in the boat. Having never been on one of the buoyant machines before, it was a pretty surreal thing for me. It was just so odd to me to be balanced on the water instead of sinking. I wasn’t sure if I liked it, though.
Ari, on the other hand, seemed to be as happy as I was when suffering from the effects of marijuana—though this exhilaration was real. Not even the most skilled of window wipers could wash off her smile. As the dock and shore grew smaller in the distance, Ari’s happiness only amplified more. Waves were being created from the boat itself, forming in the water from the back and leaving a trail behind of where we had been. But that didn’t matter. What did mater, however, was how jovial Ari appeared. She was happy, and I liked it.
“This is my fifth boat,” Ari said above the noise of the boat. “I had two back in Pennsylvania that my dad and I would always take out on the weekends. We had to drive a while to get to where they were, but it didn’t matter.” The whole while that she was saying the words, it was as if she was just vomiting delight from her mouth. “Then we moved out here, and my dad bought me a new one. It was a small rowboat, but I didn’t care. It was still a boat,” she paused, the joy momentarily leaving her face and then resurfacing as she thought about what she would say next. “My last boat was a sailboat. Absolutely loved it. I named it Scotty, uh, after Scott. Then, after I broke up with Brett last year, he got drunk, and wrecked it because he wasn’t sober and mad about the breakup.” Her eyes were fixed on the vastness of the ocean ahead as she relived the tale.
“Was yesterday the first time that you had seen him after that happened?” I dared the question, not filtering my inquiries, as I should have.
“No,” she sighed, “we still had to go school with each other for a few weeks, but after that I didn’t see him over the summer, so, yeah, yesterday was the first time seeing him in a while. He’s someone I can live with leaving.” She shook her head with a gulp, and then took a deep breath, trying to capture that pure ecstasy once again.
Yet again, I found myself wasting precious verbal question marks as I randomly blurted out: “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere,” Ari answered in a very Ari-like way. Now, all I could see was water and a blur of something long that was probably the land—having shitty eyes could really suck sometimes.
Minutes of silence and reflection passed, the only noises being that of the few seagulls in the air and the engine of the boat. I had taken to sitting down on the other chair identical to Ari’s, though on the other side of the boat. She was gazing at the horizon-less horizon, contemplating whatever it was that ran through Ari Remon’s mind on a regular basis. Huh. To know what Ari was thinking. It was an interesting concept, though I probably wouldn’t be able to handle the onslaught of secrets being thrown at me all at once. Ari’s secrets were one of the many things that made Ari who she was. When the mystery was solved, she wouldn’t be Ari anymore. Even if I somehow had the chance, I wouldn’t want to know what went through Ari Remon’s head.
“My dad got me this boat as a graduation present,” Ari said after a while, picking up the conversation that we were having about ten minutes before, “and he also promised that Brett would never play first string as long as he was the head coach of the football team.”
“Never playing first string. Low price to pay for breaking his daughter’s heart,” I remarked, looking over to her and being completely entranced as her hair flew back with the wind.
“He didn’t break my heart. He broke my boat,” Ari stated simply. “I was the one who broke up with him. He had every right to be mad. He just shouldn’t have reacted how he did.”
“Did you love him?” Before I could even process what I was asking, the question just emitted from my mouth.
“No,” Ari answered without even having to think about it. “Have you ever been in love, Eric Wilson?”
“Once, Ari Pomegranate,” I replied, the memories resurfacing like herpes—they were always there, and one would never know when they would come back again. “Mackenzie Collins. I shouldn’t have fallen for her, but I did. She was my best friend’s older sister, and had more commitment issues than Scott. We were together longer than anyone expected, but when she ended it…well, it hurt like the bitch that she was.”
Ari nodded, twisting the key in its slot and causing the engine to cease. I looked around. All I could see was water, water, and more water. Small waves were rippling near the boat’s edge, and the sun was shining down, causing the water to glisten with an artificial glitter that attracted the eye. It was a nice sight, but I wasn’t sure where we were or why were here.
“Where are we?” my impulsive tendency to ask questions popped up again.
“Nowhere,” Ari Remon answered with a pleasant grin. She got up from the driver’s (or was it captain’s?) seat, and then walked over to the front of the boat. I joined her, curious as to what she was doing. “Ever been swimming out in the middle of nowhere, Eric Wilson?”
“Can’t say I have, Ari Pomegranate,” I retorted, wondering where the conversation was going.
“Take your shoes off,” she ordered.
Having developed an immunity to almost all obscurity that Ari Remon could ever produce, I did just as she had requested, not thinking twice about it. Now, I was barefoot on the boat, minus my boat shoes.
“Take your shirt off,” was the next thing to erupt from Ari’s mouth.
My eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“Eric, I don’t want to perve on your body—well, not a lot—but seriously, I would definitely recommend taking off your shirt right now,” she said in the utmost seriousness, her eyes briefly flitting over my smoking bod.
“Why?”
Instead of giving me an answer, Ari merely pushed on my shoulder, causing me to stumble, and somehow end up off the boat, and into the cool (like, WAY cool—cold, even) water. I should have registered what was happening more quickly than I did, and the fact that I couldn’t keep my own damn balance was completely on me, even though Ari was the one that had forcibly shoved me into the freaking ocean. And here I was. Confused. Immersed in water. Cold. Flailing like an idiot. Wet.
The salt was all my taste buds could detect, and I tried to grasp my bearings as fast as possible. Just like I had learnt during swimming lessons so many years ago in a chlorine infested pool, I tried to remain calm and propel my feet, resulting in stationary non-drowning. Then, I heard a sound that puzzled me even more than I already was. Laughter. It was light, happy, and rainy. Ari Remon had pushed me into the ocean, and was now laughing about it.
“You can swim, right?” she asked between bursts of joy.
“Yep,” I grunted.
“I told you to take off your shirt—didn’t want you to get it wet,” she told me with that infectious laugh of hers. It almost made me want to join in, but then I remembered that I was currently agitated with her because she had propelled me into the freezing H2O infused with sodium chloride.
“Thanks for the consideration,” I called, gripping the edge of the boat, so that I didn’t have to tread anymore. My legs stopped moving, and I began to climb my way back up onto the boat.
“Well, at least your boat shoes didn’t get wet, right?” she tried to turn the situation into an optimistic one, moving to the back of the boat as I shivered and managed to fully return to the front of it. Now my feet were bare, wet, and cold. I liked them more when they were in my boat shoes. My body was drenched, from my bottoms that were actually impermeable, to my shirt that would probably never recover from the traumatic experience that it had just endured.
“Yeah, but my shirt did,” I scoffed, pealing the mentioned article off so that my prized abdominal muscles were now on full display to the world (aka Ari Remon, the boat, and the ocean). “It’s Vineyard Vines, Ari! The closest one in California is all the way in Newport Beach—I checked, and I don’t even know where that is!”
“You sound like Scott and Houston right now,” she commented, coming back to the front of the boat with a piece of terrycloth in hand. “Do you think it’s possible to know too many metrosexual males?”
I ignored her relatively rhetorical question, and then asked one of my own: “Why did you just do that?”
“What? Push you off the boat and into the ocean?” she inquired for specificity, tossing the item that she was previously holding in my direction. I caught it, and put the towel around my shoulders in an attempt to warm and dry myself.
“Yeah, that,” I said more dryly than I should have.
“It’s actually a tradition,” she expressed earnestly. “In my family, when it’s someone’s first time on one of our boats, they get pushed off. It happened to me when I was four, my brother when he was six, Scott when he was seven, Kay a few years ago, and I don’t think that I’ve ever been boating with Houston.”
“So you pushed me off because it’s a tradition?”
She nodded.
“How mad was Kay when you pushed her off?”
“Very.”
It was my turn to nod.
Before saying another word, Ari glanced down at something, and then took hold of my still wet hand, leading me over to one of the cushioned bench-like things that rimmed the front of the boat. We both sat down, and then Ari did something that brought out her more severe side that frightened me a bit: she made eye contact with me. And she didn’t look away. Her dark brown eyes were searing my own greenish ones, and it was as if my soul was being penetrated. I didn’t like the intensity, but I couldn’t look away.
“Eric,” Ari began with hesitancy thickly lathered into her rainy tone.
“Yeah?”
“If I tell you something, can you promise not to give me the same look that everyone else does?” she asked, her chocolate eyes still connecting with mine, though now in a pleading manner.
“What look?”
“Pity.”
“I would never pity you, Ari,” I told her sincerely.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
She let out a low sigh, her gaze moving past me and ahead onto the clear water that was gently moving. “When I was twelve, my brother, Tom, and my mom, Mel, died in a car accident.” At the heavy words, I forced my expression to remain impassive and not sadden like she had requested. But there it was—the mystery of Ari Remon’s dejection was solved, though it was a tragic result. And Ari was still Ari. She continued to speak, keeping her tone taut and still. “They were killed on impact, and after I found out, I, uh, dealt with it by becoming distant. I don’t like to talk about it—that’s what my long list of therapists was originally for, and it’s the reason I moved out here with my dad. When I found out, Scott was with me, waiting for my brother to come home, just like me.” She took a long pause, and I didn’t say or do anything. But I didn’t need to. “They died, Eric. My mom and older brother. They’re dead.”
And then, because I promised her that I wouldn’t pity her, I did the only thing that I could think to do, no matter how impulsive or inopportune: I kissed her. And kissed her. And kissed her. And when my lips first met hers, she kissed back, and it was amazing. I couldn’t think of any better response, and as our lips moved together with a built-up passion, everything just felt right. Ari was pouring her heartache from both her life and loss into the kiss, and I put all my internal issues into it, not stopping for even a moment.
Kissing Ari Remon was the most magic-like thing I had ever experienced. She was a good kisser—the best I had ever encountered, probably—and wasn’t sloppy or needy. With every move of our mouths, the desire to continue kissing each other only grew, and as we went on, the basic need to never stop kissing her surfaced. I didn’t want to stop kissing Ari Remon, and I physically couldn’t. There was a connection between us. Even if indirectly, we shared something. We were both just two messed up kids with pasts and the power to move forward.