Page 70 of Freedom
Jake licked his suddenly dry lips. “Hey, Toby.”
Tobias angled his face to him, his hazel eyes sparkling with colors that couldn’t possibly be ones Jake had never noticed before. “Yeah?”
Jake had to close his eyes before he could go on, choosing his words deliberately. “You know how we talked before about it being okay to like who you like? I mean, the Romeo and Juliet way, but less batshit and bloody, no accidental suicides?”
“Yeah.” This time the word was softer and did something inside Jake’s belly.
He swallowed and made himself continue. “I just wanted to say, ‘cause I’m not sure I did back then. It’s okay to make the first move, whenever you’re ready. I mean, you can kiss whoever you want, as long as you’re getting a signal they like you back. There’s all kinds of signals, but the clearest ones are when they say, ‘Yeah, I like you too. I wanna go out sometime.’” He paused, then spoke each word like an incantation for protection, for safekeeping. For love. “And I do like you too, Toby.”
After a moment, Toby’s fingers squeezed his. Jake didn’t know what would happen next, what should happen, or if he’d officially gone off his rocker and should be taken away in a straitjacket, but he didn’t regret saying it. This felt okay. This felt right.
~*~
For the last few hundredmiles, Tobias had listened to Jake talk about it nonstop: the ocean, the beach, how it was gonna be like nothing Tobias had ever imagined before, not even close to when they crossed the Mississippi or glimpsed the Grand Canyon. It was enough to cautiously, guardedly, raise Tobias’s expectations, though he most enjoyed listening to Jake talk, how he gestured and glanced at Tobias every few seconds for his reaction.
They had coasted I-20 east into South Carolina, where it would still be warm enough even in November, Jake said. Warm enough for what, he didn’t say, and perhaps Tobias could have asked, but he didn’t mind waiting to find out. Tobias liked what he saw of the state, though that had been true of everywhere they’d gone since leaving Colorado. He could never tire of the green, wide-open spaces, the thick forests or tan fields, the Southwest’s craggy red-brown desert.
They had lunch in North Charleston, then headed south of the city, where crowds would be even sparser on a weekday. Tobias caught glimpses of the blue-gray water but was content to lean back and watch the palm trees passing, waiting for Jake to pick the right place to show himthe ocean.
Jake finally parked in a grassy lot off of the road. The moment Tobias opened the door, he inhaled a strong, unfamiliar scent, sharp with salt and other odors harder to identify. He was so preoccupied with what his nose was telling him, he didn’t notice at first the different type of earth shifting under his feet. Where they had parked it was mixed with grass, but farther out he could see it plainly: tan and fine-grained, packed at first but then sinking under his feet. Sand. This must be sand. It would be very difficult to run across, Tobias noted. He could also hear a muted, continual roar that he tried, in vain, to compare to some of the noises he’d heard in Intensive Containment. Jake didn’t look alarmed, though, so Tobias supposed the sound was usual for this area, a part of the ocean no one had mentioned in the various resource documents when he had read about marine supernaturals or that one book about whales.
They walked a ways across the sand, past the small hills (dunes) and a few ramshackle houses and sheds on stilts, the steady roar and tangy saltiness of the air growing louder and stronger, until there was nothing but flat sand before them. Then Tobias lifted his eyes and looked at the ocean.
He had known the Atlantic Ocean was second only to the Pacific in size. He could name most of the countries it bordered. The Vikings had crossed it in the north from Greenland, and the Portuguese in the south to Brazil. He even recalled reading that the Atlantic Ocean was the saltiest of the five oceans, which accounted for how he could taste it in his mouth now. But nothing he had read had prepared him for what it actuallywas.
The ocean was vast. Vaster than the highways and plains that seemed to stretch to infinity when he first walked out from Freak Camp’s walls, because for the first time Tobias had an uninterrupted view of the horizon, that line dividing water from sky, cutting between and sealing the boundary between them. He couldn’t even begin to estimate how many miles stretched between him and that line, because the more he moved toward it, the farther it would recede. It was easy to believe then that the ocean really was infinite. That was simpler, easier to grasp than the idea of more oceans, continents dwarfing the one that lay behind him, and the countless people dwelling in them, beyond what his eye could see.
Tobias wasn’t aware that he’d started shivering, his arms crossed tight over his chest, until Jake stepped close enough that Tobias could feel the warmth of Jake’s chest against his back, solid and reassuring. Slowly, Jake wrapped his arms over Tobias’s, pulling him back and holding without confining.
Tobias let out a long, shaky exhale, feeling himself unwind. He was not alone, even in the vastness of the world. Jake was with him and never letting go.
They stayed there for a few more minutes. Tobias was more at peace than he had ever been or thought he could be, feeling the steady beat of Jake’s heart against his back, but he felt he had to say something, some acknowledgment that Jake had given him this day. More than that, Jake had given him everything, andgratefulwas too hollow and weak a word.
“You’re right,” he said at last. “I couldn’t have imagined this.”
Jake released him, but he caught Tobias’s hand as he dropped his arms, and he was smiling as he stepped forward to stand beside him. “C’mon. You haven’t really been to the ocean until you get your feet wet.”
Tobias blinked. “Is—that allowed?”
Jake laughed, but he ducked and turned his head in a way that was unlike him, like maybe he didn’t want Tobias to see his face. “Of course it is. Let’s go.” He tugged on Tobias’s hand again, drawing him after.
When they were close enough for Tobias to see the whitecaps of the smaller waves racing fast and faster, overlapping each other, and crests crashing at the shore, Jake stopped to unlace and kick off his boots, followed by his socks, and rolled his jeans up to his knees. Tobias copied him. The texture of the sand under his toes startled him; he would have stayed there longer to analyze and adjust, to see if it was easier or harder to move across the sand in bare feet, to run, to tumble, but Jake was moving steadily to the waterline, and Tobias was drawn inexorably after him.
He stopped again as they reached the wet sand—packed differently, though it still sank under his feet, every step leaving its mark behind—where the leading waves stretched farthest, as though yearning to touch him, before being sucked backward.The moon, he thought.The moon’s gravity draws the oceans, creating tides, and he could not look away from the water, away from the next filmy wave rolling in. He couldn’t even have said where Jake was.
Then he heard a whoop, which broke the spell, dragging his head up. Jake was wading into the waves beside him, kicking at the water. “Not too bad!” he yelled. “It won’t freeze your toes off, Toby, c’mon!”
Tobias took one step forward, closer to the smallest waves, and watched his toes sink halfway into the wet sand. He could probably bury his whole foot in it if he tried. It likely wouldn’t be difficult to pull out. He took another step forward, realized he was holding his breath, and forced himself to exhale and inhale. He didn’t know why this seemed so monumental. Seawater was no different from tap, apart from its high salinity. Perhaps because this water moved unceasingly, waves churning back and forth as though each curl of propelled water was sentient, with a will of its own, obedient to the greater, endless whole.
Tobias’s eyes were fixed to the nearest, flattest outpost of waves, tracking their pattern as they overlapped and receded, where the most ambitious one would touch next. He took another step in, then another, planting his feet carefully where the waves had already been, until he was deep in their territory and there would be no retreat. He would choose, however. He would choose where they took him.
He set his foot into the next V where two past waves had left a faint foamy outline and let his foot yield to the soft suction of the sand, grounding and bracing him. He wouldn’t flinch. He was ready.
The next wave roared up, cresting, spilling, rushing forward with its remains, a half-inch thick when it smacked directly into his ankle.
He didn’t audibly gasp, but his mouth opened, watching in amazement as the clear water rushed over his foot—both his feet—then sucked back again. It was chilly, but it felt good in a way that caught him completely off guard. He could have watched the waves for hours and never have predicted that it would feel like this, cool and sharp and smoothly embracing his bare skin.
Without thinking, he took several quick steps forward, eager to feel it again. The next wave obliged him, breaking forcefully over his feet, and he felt the churning energy of the water. He was part of it, part of the ocean.
