Come on, tell me your ocean secret.
mockingbird:
It’s not as spectacular as it sounds. It’s probably how a lot of people feel about the ocean.
eastcoleman:
I don’t mind. Tell me what’s up with you and the ocean.
mockingbird:
When I’m by the ocean, everything is quieter. I feel like I can breathe properly and that everything will be okay. Because the ocean is endless and I’m so small in comparison. Then my problems feel a little smaller, and a little less bad. Pretty cliché, huh?
eastcoleman:
No, not really. Just honest.
mockingbird:
Shall I tell you the truth?
eastcoleman:
Always.
mockingbird:
I want to see the stars. It’s always dark enough to see them at the beach, no matter where you are. As long as it’s not cloudy, at least. My parents gave me a star for my sixteenth birthday, and whenever I’m at the beach I can see it. Okay, I admit it’s hard to tell exactly which star is mine, and it’s probably just my imagination, but I like to pretend I can see that star from anywhere. Then it always feels a little bit like Dad is with me, even when he’s away.
eastcoleman:
You have your own star?
mockingbird:
Crazy, right?
eastcoleman:
Just a little. You’ll have to show me sometime.
mockingbird:
Yeah, maybe someday I will.
Chapter 19
Rayne
Overflow—Marianne Beaulieu
Easton is taking me to the beach. I’ve known it since we left the city. As soon as the darkness swallowed us up, broken only by the headlights of oncoming cars, I knew exactly where we were headed. We’ve left the lights of Boston behind us, and it’s dark and quiet now. It gets even darker and quieter when he steers the van into an empty parking lot and turns off the engine. We’re in the middle of nowhere, not a soul in sight.
Easton smiles. He gets out but still doesn’t say a word. I’m silent too, because there’s a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, which I’m frantically trying to blink away. He brought me to the ocean. He remembered what I wrote to him that night in June, when he messaged me in the middle of the night asking me what my favorite place was. The three-hour time difference between LA and Boston never stopped us from writing to each other.
“Are you coming?”
I look up, realizing only now that I’m still sitting in the passengerseat, staring out the windshield into the darkness, while Easton has been waiting outside for me. I nod and open the door. The cold wind hits me and I shiver, hunching my shoulders. I’m glad Easton gave me his hat.
