Page 48 of Chasing Stars
I grab the ribcage, connecting the wire that makes Bone Daddy’s eyes glow. I don’t answer her.
My mom’s voice softens. “You're a catch. The right girl will see that.”
“I am hopingshesees it enough to stay here,” I mumble, forcing the ribcage into the hip bone until it snaps into place.
“That’s what I’m worried about, Miles,” my mom says with genuine concern.
I puff out a defeated sigh. “Okay, Mom. I don’t really want to talk about this with you anymore. I’m sorry.”
“Fine, fine,” my mother relents, and we go back to assembling in silence.
We work quietly for a few more minutes, the only sounds the rustling leaves in the fall breeze and an occasional car passing by. At last, I snap the large skull into place and push him up to a standing position. “I have to stake him in, do you have them?”
She hands me the stakes, and once he’s secure, we stand back to admire our handiwork. Bone Daddy’s blue eyes glow in the dusk.
“Your dad is going to hate this!” My mother shrieks with glee.
“You’re insane.” I shake my head, laughing. But I have to admit, whatever my parents are doing, it’s working. They know the secret to a happy marriage, even if it is lovingly tormenting the other on occasion.
“I know.” She grins, and the crinkled lines around her eyes remind me that she’s not going to be around forever. “Thank you for helping me. Let’s get you some dinner, huh?” My mom links her arm through mine.
I need to cherish these moments, even when she relentlessly probes into my life. I grab Bone Daddy’s box and carry it to the porch. “What did you make?” I ask, holding the front door open for her.
“Beef stew, with your favorite biscuits.” She winks.
“You’re too good to me,” I follow her into the kitchen and sit at the same table my parents have had since I was a kid. Theyare creatures of habit, and if something isn’t broken, they’re not fixing it justfor the sakeof buying something new.Nate and I constantly tease them about this old, nicked table, but my mom waves us off, saying,why would I get a new one when this one is perfectly fine?
My mother busies herself filling a bowl, heating it up, and buttering a biscuit. It’s taken me all night to ask the question that’s been gnawing at me for days. I clear my throat.
“Ma, do you remember anything about the guy who rescued me?”
I don’t know why I suddenly need to know. I never have before, but now, it seems to be life-altering information that I am not privy to. Her back is to me but her shoulders stiffen.
The day I nearly drowned was a bad day in our house. Aside from the obvious, I had gotten an English paper back—and it wasn’t good. I was fifteen and only interested in baseball, parties, and girls. My parents and I got into a screaming match over my plummeting grades, and they grounded me. I stormed out, grabbed my shortboard, and hopped on my bike. Leo was on the beach when I got there. He looked as though he was done for the day, but he stayed when he saw me.
“What’s up, bro? You look pissed,” Leo greeted me.
“I am,” I snarled. “My dad sucks. Gonna surf it out.”
“It’s rough out there,” Leo warned, gesturing to the manic ocean.
“You leaving?” I asked. “Ride with me.”
“Well, I was, but…okay, yeah. You shouldn’t surf alone.” Leo’s warning did nothing to deter me. The weather channel had been calling for storms all week. They hadn’t arrived yet, but the ocean was raging, just like me. There was no one else on the beach at four thirty in the afternoon in late October, except a family with one child. I paddled out, Leo trailing behind. I got a few good runs in, and I felt invincible against the vast, angrywaves. My rage was already dissipating, but the waves were big—easily ten feet overhead—and crashed with relentless force. To get past them required every ounce of strength and focus I had in me, but I was up for the challenge.
“You done?” Leo asked after the last good run.
I glanced at the shoreline, where the family was packing up their things. It couldn’t be past five thirty. “Couple more,” I said, not waiting for Leo to follow.
“If you’re cool, I’m going to just watch. I’m beat,” he called from the shoreline.
“Whatever,” I called back, paddling out.
The ride started like any other. I was strong and had control of the board as my arms sliced through the icy water. I popped up on my board with practiced ease, catching the tip of the wave. I waited for the dopamine hit—that rush of fleeting freedom made even more intangible by my recent grounding. But this time, it didn’t come.
My foot slipped and I faltered. My board dug into the wave, throwing me sideways, the crash of the water swallowed me whole. I flailed as the force of the water sucked me under, the roar of the ocean drowning everything out. Disoriented, I fought to reach the surface, but each relentless wave dragged me deeper and further out. Every time I surfaced, I waved at Leo, hoping he realized I was in trouble. It felt like an eternity before I heard him screaming for help. I will always remember the burn in my throat from swallowing copious amounts of ocean water. The world was a blur of darkness, my strength was waning, and I was about to give up the fight when a strong arm grabbed me and pulled me onto a longboard. I sprawled on the front, and he paddled us back in. Beach patrol and EMTs waited on the shore, and I was immediately put on a stretcher, in pretty rough shape. I never saw the man again.
“Mom,” I say when she doesn’t reply. “Did you hear me?”
