Page 76 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
He laughs. “Why the hell not? Are you secretly a God-fearing Christian and I didn’t know?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then what?”
I sigh. “It’s like you said.”
“What?”
“It’s not like I loved him.”
—
OUR LAST FULL DAY ONthe island, Manuel and I wake up earlier than we usually do. Earlier thananyonewakes up, except maybe the loons. We slip out of bed and scamper up to Sunny Sunday. We turn the cabin over. Mom drinks only beer and wine, and Dad hasn’t touched booze in almost thirty years, so finding hard alcohol isn’t easy. But finally, in the back of a cabinet otherwise filled with canned beans and maraschino cherries, we locate a yellowing bottle of brandy. A milky crust leaks out from under the cap, nearly sealing the bottle shut. If anyone ever cared about this bottle, that time has long passed.
“Jackpot.” I wiggle my tongue at Manuel.
We secret the bottle back to our room and slip it under the bed.
That night, after the sun sets and the dishes are done and the old adults head for bed and the young adults settle in for wine and card games, we fetch the bottle and sit with it on the end of my bed. I claw at the cap, trying to pry it from its thick crust.
As I do, Manuel asks, “Have you ever been drunk before?”
“You know the answer to that question.”
“No, I mean like…drunkdrunk. Not buzzed, like at Karma’s wedding.”
The cap breaks free. “Oh. Well, in that case—yeah, all the time. Speedy and I split a six-pack before bed every night.”
“I’m serious.”
I put the bottle right to my mouth and take a big gulp. “Jesus.” I shove it into his hands and gasp for air. “People drink this shit for fun?”
We pass the handle back and forth. One shot. Two shots. Three shots, all straight to the face. When I hand over the bottle, I do it gingerly, like a new mother afraid to drop her firstborn. Before thefourth, I hesitate. Do I feel anything yet? I don’t think so. One more, then, just for good measure.
“All right,” says Manuel after the brandy burns a fourth hole in my esophagus. “I think that’s enough.”
“Eughhh.” I rake my fingernails down my tongue. “Does every hard alcohol taste like this?”
“Pretty much.”
“How the hell am I supposed to make it through college?” I glance out the window; a bright orange harvest moon peeks through the treetops. “You know what? Let’s go run around.”
Outside, the moon casts a hazy orange glow over the rippling waves of the lake. Manuel and I weave carelessly about the boardwalk. We stick close to the harbor, away from the trees. I come to a halt at a place that feels like standing atop water. I hear waves. The sky is wide and open. The Earth sways. I look down and see that we’re standing on the floating dock. How did we get here?
A voice says, “Tell me the real reason you broke up.”
I startle. I turn to the left and there’s Manuel, standing right next to me atop the swaying earth, peering down into my eyes.
“Hi,” I say.
He smiles. “Oye, gringa.”
God, he’s tall. Has he always been this tall? “I already told you,” I say. “Diverging interests.”
“But were youreallynot interested in that?” Manuel asks. “Or were you just not interested in it withhim?”
The waves are gentle. They rock the floor beneath us; I wonder if this is what it would feel like to live inside an actual cradle. My eyelids are heavy, but I’m not tired. In fact, I feel better than I have in a long time. What is this feeling? What’s happening to my body? Hazy, slippery thoughts. Numb skin and a racing heart. Desire to do absolutely everything, all at once. Realization—brand-new andwonderful—that I can. That I can do anything I want, because nothing matters—not now, not ever.
