Page 74 of Collision
“Do you like the sea? You seem like the kind of person who would hang out on a seaside cliff, searching for meaning. Maybe with some bummer song in the background,” he teases me. I pinch his side in answer.
“I like the sea but…”
“But?”
“Okay, confession incoming.” I prop myself up with my elbow and rest my cheek on my palm. “First, though, you have to swear you won’t laugh at me.” I give him a menacing look.
“I never make promises I can’t keep.”
Go figure.
“The truth is, I…I don’t know how to swim.”
I hear him stifle a laugh and close my eyes in shame.
“How is that possible?”
“I don’t know. I love the sea, but the idea of swimming in deep water gives me a panic attack.”
“You are such a wimp. I learned when I was three years old,” he boasts. It’s so funny, almost endearing.
“Wow, do you want a round of applause, Captain Nemo?” He laughs and the low sound of it warms my heart. I want to take a picture of him in this moment and keep it under my pillow so I can fall asleep every night with a smiling Thomas underneath me.
“It wasn’t as fun as you might imagine. My uncle took the ‘rip the Band-Aid off’ approach. Without telling me anything, he took me to the water and threw me in. No floaties,” he adds.
I look at him bewildered. “Seriously?”
He nods. “Bit of a crude method, but effective.”
I want to ask him more about his childhood, but I know it’s difficult to break through the walls he’s put up. So I offer up something else about myself. “I do, however, know how to ice-skate. When I was little, my father used to take me to the ice rink every Sunday, and we wouldspend hours there. Until one day I had the bright idea of improvising a loop jump. Instead, I fell and got this.” I show him a small scar on the back of my left calf. “The cut wasn’t very deep, but there was enough blood to scare my father. I don’t know if he was more worried about the wound or about having to tell my mother. After that day, he never took me to the rink again.” I laugh along with him, and the domesticity of this scene feels so surreal to me. Something about the situation makes me want to tell him about a tradition that Alex and I have been carrying on since high school. “And then there’s the thing I do with Alex, my best friend: we collect tickets.”
“Tickets?” he repeats skeptically.
“Yeah. Train tickets, theater tickets, movie tickets. At the end of the year we have this tradition of looking at them all together.”
“That’s bullshit, you know,” he snaps, hurting my feelings.
“Excuse me?” I murmur, dismayed. His phone is audibly vibrating in his pocket, but he ignores it.
“You heard me. That whole collection thing is ridiculous. Your little friend probably just wants to get in your pants, but he hasn’t had the balls to try.”
I sit up and give him a dirty look.
“How dare you insinuate such a thing? Alex and I have known each other for thirteen years. We’re like brother and sister. We love each other with all our hearts, without ulterior motives. It’s called friendship,” I emphasize. “And, believe it or not, not every human interaction is about sex! But I don’t think you can understand, ‘Mr. I Don’t Do Relationships.’ And for the record: our collection is not ridiculous. You’re the ridiculous one, Thomas,” I snap back, offended.
“Are you mad now?” He heaves an annoyed sigh and shakes his head.
“I opened up to you and you immediately assumed the worst. On top of that, you take it as a given that a guy could only want one thing from me.” I cross my arms and look away. He has ruined a perfect moment.
“You’re acting like a child.” His phone starts vibrating again but again he lets it go.
“And you’re a superficial asshole.”
“I’m superficial? Need I remind you that I’m in here because your crazy mother is out there and you don’t want to run the risk of her seeing me because who knows what would happen if she found you with ‘a boy who isn’t Travis’ who is ‘covered in tattoos.’”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. “For your sake, I will pretend that you didn’t just insult me, my best friend, and my mother all within the space of two minutes,” I say sourly. “And for heaven’s sake, pick up your damn phone!”
He huffs but answers the phone. “What do you want? I left. No, I’m not on campus. None of your damn business. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Your place.” He hangs up.
