Page 83 of Summer, in Between
I walk across the rocks to where a natural gorge has formed, a channel of ocean water crashing through the rocks.I carefully lower myself down and sit with my back against the rocks, my feet in the ocean.There’s a perfectly heart-shaped hole in the rock formation above me, framing the sky’s incredible shade of blue, deeper than what could ever seem possible.The surfers crest their waves, and as Paul stands, he fills the heart.How freakin’ symbolic.
I’m surrounded by rock pools, and I turn onto my stomach to peer down into one, my chin resting on my forearms, the rock beneath me as warm as an electric blanket.A world lies beneath me, a city of shells.There’s the faintest ripple as my fingers twist and turn, choosing then discarding them.Buried beneath the shells is a perfect piece of sea glass.Boom!I jump up to show Tommy and as I step across a rock pool a boulder teeters under my foot, throwing me sideways and down the rock face across the mollusks.Three deep grooves in my thigh fill with blood; it runs down my calf onto the rocks and into the water.The heel of my hand is a swamp of blood too.My hip thumps as I push my hair back out of my face.I turn onto all fours, my sea glass gone, then slowly get up and limp to Dad.
‘What the hell?’Dad visibly pales and Tommy bursts into tears.
‘I slipped on the freakin’ rocks.’
‘Can you see?Are you dizzy?Here, sit down.’Dad guides me onto the rocks.
‘Look at my leg.’
‘That’s just a scratch,’ Dad says, ‘it’s nasty, but once you rinse it out, you’ll be fine.I’m more worried about your head.’
‘Why?What’s wrong with my head?’
‘Paul, Paul, come quick!’Tommy shouts, ‘Cat’s hurt!’
‘Are you kidding?’I hiss.‘Stop yelling!’
Paul’s suddenly standing over me, dripping with sea water, his shadow blocking out the sun.
‘Babe, you okay?’Paul’s fingers are against my hairline, probing and parting my hair.
‘Cat, how many fingers am I holding up?’Dad’s waving his hand in my face.
‘Paul!Dad, stop it!’I push their hands away.‘I’m fine, I slipped.No big deal.’
‘Your face is covered in blood.’Paul resumes his search over my head.‘It’s coming from somewhere.’
‘Stop!’I rear back.‘I didn’t hit my head, just my leg.And my hand is hurting like a mofo.’I turn it towards the sun, and warm blood runs down my wrist.
‘Okay, you’re swearing, so you must be fine,’ says Dad.‘Go clean yourself up; get the shells out of your skin.Tommy, Paul, give her a hand, will you?’
‘I’m not a baby; I don’t need rescuing.’I stand and as I put my weight through my hip the pain hits me.I buckle, and Paul puts his arm around my waist, holding me steady.I’m wincing, grimacing and covered with cold sweat.I swear I can feel the hair at the back of my neck curling, prickling my scalp.
‘Just relax,’ Paul says and lifts me into his arms.I balk at the red I have painted across his chest.
‘Don’t you drop her,’ Dad calls out.
‘Never,’ Paul returns over his shoulder, ‘I’m treating her like she’s toxic waste.’
‘That’s beautiful,’ I say, ‘but it’s pretty much true.Your wetsuit’s covered in my blood.’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing,’ he says, then frowns.‘Yeah, okay, that’s weird, you don’t have to tell me.’
‘And more than borderline creepy.’
‘Can you stand now?’
I stand in the shallows and scoop the water over my leg.I grit my teeth, the salt stinging, the shell fragments sharp under my hand.
‘Let’s go in a bit more,’ says Paul.
‘Why don’t you just give the sharks a written invitation?’
‘It will take a bit more blood than this, but you did a good job.Look at your face.’
I take off my glasses to look at my reflection.No wonder Dad flipped out.There’s a massive smear of blood across half of my forehead.I lean down and scrub my face in the shallows.
