Needed to Get Away for a While
This week I’m writing from rainy Seattle. My apologies for not mentioning it sooner, it was a last minute idea to come here to visit my parents.
Two days before coming here, the Hot Mess called me and asked if I wanted to grab a drink after work. “We can drink on the beach near my house,” she explained. “The resort has a bar here and they let you drink on the beach.”
So after work, I made the long drive to Turtle Bay, sitting in traffic for nearly an hour and a half. By the time I pick the Hot Mess up to head down to the bar, it’s dark out.
She’s different tonight, a little distant and pre-occupied. She doesn’t reach for my hand during the short drive to the resort parking lot and instead just asks me about my day without really caring about the answer.
“Are you all right?” I asked, while we walked down to the beach.
“It’s been a bad couple of days,” she sighed.
“Go find us a spot to sit,” I said. “I’ll grab us a drink.” I tried to remember what she ordered the last time we shared a drink, but instead settled on one of those tourist-y drinks just because it looked girly. I guess this is one of the disadvantages to NOT being in a serious relationship, we don’t come to each other first for any of this stuff. She had a crappy few days without me even knowing it and strangely, I feel really bad. It’s not that I’m emotionally unavailable, trust me, just that girls like her usually have a long list of people to call before my name comes up.
“Sorry, I have no idea if this is good,” I said, handing her her sweaty drink.
“I’m sure it’s fine–thank you.”
I sat next to her, pushing down into the sand and letting it cover the top of my shoes. “What’s wrong?”
“My ex called me today.”
“Are you two still friends or something?”
“No, it’s complicated.” She took a long sip of her drink before continuing. “We broke up a couple of months ago. We were together for like…two years.”
I could tell this was going to be a long night and that I’d probably need another drink soon.
She continued, “she was really abusive. This one time she got mad at me for interrupting her while she was playing poker with some friends. So she threw one of those ceramic mugs at my head.”
“That’s fucked up,” I said, swishing my cup around. The ice was already starting to melt. “How long since you two broke up?”
She looked embarrassed. “About a month or so.” Which means they had JUST broken up when we met. “She always told me that she’d kill me if I left her. I asked my friend, Jamie, to pick me up so many times and finally Jamie said, ‘next time you call, we’re leaving, I don’t care. You’re not going back to her.’ And that’s what happened.”
“Well, I’m glad you got out of there. There’s really no excuse to hit your significant other.”
“She called me right before you came,” she said. “Saying how much she missed me and how she’d never hit me again.”
“Ah.” I didn’t know how to respond, so instead I asked, “how do you feel about it?”
“I feel kind of drunk,” she laughed, leaning her head on my shoulder. She wrapped her arm with mine, kissed my cheek, and then jumped up. Nearly toppling over, she exclaimed, “I just want to be free!” She started running towards the water, kicking off her shoes in my direction.
“What are you doing?” I called out.
“Swimming!” she yelled back, running into the water. From what I could tell, she was about mid-calf deep and spinning around.
“Come back here! You don’t have a swimsuit on!”
“I don’t care!” she laughed.
“Do you know how to swim?”
“Not really! Come join me!”
I weighed out my options, then slipped off my jacket, shoes, and socks and walked to the shoreline where the sand and black water met. The Hot Mess looked happy, but I swear I could hear her crying. I rolled up my jeans and followed her, the water feeling surprisingly warm.
“Come on,” I said quietly. “Let’s get out.”
She was dancing in the water, her clothes practically soaking wet. “Doesn’t this feel good?”
When I got close enough to see her eyes, I could see she had been crying. Her mascara ran down her soft cheeks and onto her neck. “Come on, let’s get out,” I repeated. “You’re gonna get sick.” I scooped her up in my arms, letting her clothes dampen my own. She leaned her head against my chest, as if counting my breaths.
I put her down near our stuff and I wrapped my jacket around her, then collected the rest of our belongings. When I stood up, she grabbed me by the front of my shirt to kiss me. This time her lips felt heavy. “Thank you,” she whispered.
On my long drive home, I saw a dead cat on the road. I winced and felt like crap until I got home.
Now I’m typing this entry from my old bed in rainy Seattle. I feel far from my life in Hawaii, but part of me wants to call the Hot Mess and ask about her day.
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