Reclaiming the Sand
Page 24
“Are you going to come by the art studio?” Flynn asked abruptly.
I remembered our conversation days before and how rudely I had turned him down. I had been hateful and mean. Clearly that hadn’t deterred him. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him where to shove it in the most inelegant way possible, but there was something in the air that made rejecting him seem impossible.
Maybe it was this place that had inexplicably always felt like a home. Maybe it was standing here, with Flynn, being reminded of a time when things made a perfect sort of sense.
Maybe it was the fact that I was still slightly inebriated and not in my right mind.
Whatever it was, my inhibitions were gone.
“Sure,” I found myself saying. Even though Flynn wasn’t looking at me, I thought I could make out the edges of his smile.
“Good,” he answered. He finally looked up at me and the ghost of a smile was still painted on his lips. “You look cold. You should dress better,” he said, indicating my bare legs and tiny top.
I snorted. “I’m cool. But thanks for your opinion,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
“You look cold. I’m going to get you a jacket,” he pressed and I shook my head.
“Flynn, I’m fine,” I assured him firmly, knowing that once he was stuck on an idea he wouldn’t let it drop.
“Why were you in the woods?” Flynn asked.
“Uh, I was walking home from a party,” I answered.
“A party,” he intoned in his oddly pleasing voice.
“Yeah. It kind of sucked,” I said, surreptitiously rubbing my arms, not wanting to admit that I was in fact quite chilly.
“Why did it suck?” Flynn’s eyes fell to where my arms were crossed over my chest. He stared long enough for me to know he was enjoying the view of my ni**les poking through my shirt.
“Dude, my eyes are up here,” I snapped, annoyed at the way I flushed under his gaze. Most guys would have had the decency to look embarrassed at being caught ogling. As I said many times, Flynn wasn’t most guys.
“Why did it suck?” he asked me again.
I shrugged. “Just the same ole’ same ole’, you know?” I said, not wanting to get into all the reasons I had left. Like it even mattered. I knew for a fact that it was most likely my friends hadn’t even noticed that I left.
“I don’t know. I don’t go to parties,” he responded.
I wasn’t entirely surprised by his confession. Flynn had always avoided social situations. When we were fifteen I thought he was ridiculous because he never went out. I had been in the midst of my own raging social life that involved delinquency and foolish decisions. But that was before I realized how hard it was for Flynn to be around other people. He struggled with daily interactions in a way the rest of us took for granted. And why would he choose to hang out with people who never once made him feel like he belonged?
Myself included.
“That’s not true. We went to a party once,” I said, before I could censor myself. My mouth fused shut and I wished I could take back my words. The last thing I wanted was to connect with him over that particular shared memory.
Especially one that was so horrible.
From the look on Flynn’s face I knew he was remembering that night all those years ago with perfect clarity. But unlike me, he wasn’t one to hold back what was on his mind.
“Your friends put my head in the cooler and then made me leave,” he stated flatly. I winced. Even though I had convinced myself I had gotten over my Flynn laced guilt, I still felt it rearing its shameful head.
I had taken him with me to a party at Stu’s, whose parents were out of town. Stu lived in a trailer park by the river and the drinking was primarily happening in his fenced in back yard.
It was in a less savory side of town so the typical collection of high school dropouts, stoners and preppy kids trying to seem hard-core were there. I knew better than to take Flynn there. He had been adamant that he didn’t want to go.
He had been anxious yet I had pushed him even knowing what kind of reception he would be given. I don’t know why I had done that; what I had hoped to prove by dragging him there. I had known that my friends would gang up on him. So why hadn’t I listened when he had pleaded to stay at his house and watch television?
Because I had always been selfish. I had always had a hard time thinking of anyone but myself. I had wanted to go. And that was the end of it.
I had been working overtime to keep my friendship with Flynn a secret so I must have been experiencing some temporary insanity when I had made the suggestion.
So we had gone to Stu’s party. And it had been a disaster. And I had done nothing to stop Flynn’s humiliation.
I hadn’t stopped my friends as they tormented him. I had actually joined in as everyone started changing “Freaky Flynn” over and over again. Flynn had gotten violently angry, turning over a table and kicking over lawn chairs. He had clawed at their hands as they lifted him up and dunked him in the ice-cold beer cooler headfirst. I had forced myself to laugh through all of it, encouraging Shane and Dania as they tossed him out the back gate and locked it behind him.
And I silently hated myself the whole time.
I had remained at the party like a coward instead of going after him to make sure he was all right. I had been thanked by everyone for bringing the night’s entertainment and then I proceeded to get wasted.
I had buried my guilt under a deep layer of alcohol and drugs.
And Flynn had forgiven me, even when I couldn’t apologize. He always did. I wasn’t sure who was the bigger idiot. Flynn for accepting an apology I could never verbalize or me for not being brave enough to say it.
I remembered our conversation days before and how rudely I had turned him down. I had been hateful and mean. Clearly that hadn’t deterred him. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him where to shove it in the most inelegant way possible, but there was something in the air that made rejecting him seem impossible.
Maybe it was this place that had inexplicably always felt like a home. Maybe it was standing here, with Flynn, being reminded of a time when things made a perfect sort of sense.
Maybe it was the fact that I was still slightly inebriated and not in my right mind.
Whatever it was, my inhibitions were gone.
“Sure,” I found myself saying. Even though Flynn wasn’t looking at me, I thought I could make out the edges of his smile.
“Good,” he answered. He finally looked up at me and the ghost of a smile was still painted on his lips. “You look cold. You should dress better,” he said, indicating my bare legs and tiny top.
I snorted. “I’m cool. But thanks for your opinion,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.
“You look cold. I’m going to get you a jacket,” he pressed and I shook my head.
“Flynn, I’m fine,” I assured him firmly, knowing that once he was stuck on an idea he wouldn’t let it drop.
“Why were you in the woods?” Flynn asked.
“Uh, I was walking home from a party,” I answered.
“A party,” he intoned in his oddly pleasing voice.
“Yeah. It kind of sucked,” I said, surreptitiously rubbing my arms, not wanting to admit that I was in fact quite chilly.
“Why did it suck?” Flynn’s eyes fell to where my arms were crossed over my chest. He stared long enough for me to know he was enjoying the view of my ni**les poking through my shirt.
“Dude, my eyes are up here,” I snapped, annoyed at the way I flushed under his gaze. Most guys would have had the decency to look embarrassed at being caught ogling. As I said many times, Flynn wasn’t most guys.
“Why did it suck?” he asked me again.
I shrugged. “Just the same ole’ same ole’, you know?” I said, not wanting to get into all the reasons I had left. Like it even mattered. I knew for a fact that it was most likely my friends hadn’t even noticed that I left.
“I don’t know. I don’t go to parties,” he responded.
I wasn’t entirely surprised by his confession. Flynn had always avoided social situations. When we were fifteen I thought he was ridiculous because he never went out. I had been in the midst of my own raging social life that involved delinquency and foolish decisions. But that was before I realized how hard it was for Flynn to be around other people. He struggled with daily interactions in a way the rest of us took for granted. And why would he choose to hang out with people who never once made him feel like he belonged?
Myself included.
“That’s not true. We went to a party once,” I said, before I could censor myself. My mouth fused shut and I wished I could take back my words. The last thing I wanted was to connect with him over that particular shared memory.
Especially one that was so horrible.
From the look on Flynn’s face I knew he was remembering that night all those years ago with perfect clarity. But unlike me, he wasn’t one to hold back what was on his mind.
“Your friends put my head in the cooler and then made me leave,” he stated flatly. I winced. Even though I had convinced myself I had gotten over my Flynn laced guilt, I still felt it rearing its shameful head.
I had taken him with me to a party at Stu’s, whose parents were out of town. Stu lived in a trailer park by the river and the drinking was primarily happening in his fenced in back yard.
It was in a less savory side of town so the typical collection of high school dropouts, stoners and preppy kids trying to seem hard-core were there. I knew better than to take Flynn there. He had been adamant that he didn’t want to go.
He had been anxious yet I had pushed him even knowing what kind of reception he would be given. I don’t know why I had done that; what I had hoped to prove by dragging him there. I had known that my friends would gang up on him. So why hadn’t I listened when he had pleaded to stay at his house and watch television?
Because I had always been selfish. I had always had a hard time thinking of anyone but myself. I had wanted to go. And that was the end of it.
I had been working overtime to keep my friendship with Flynn a secret so I must have been experiencing some temporary insanity when I had made the suggestion.
So we had gone to Stu’s party. And it had been a disaster. And I had done nothing to stop Flynn’s humiliation.
I hadn’t stopped my friends as they tormented him. I had actually joined in as everyone started changing “Freaky Flynn” over and over again. Flynn had gotten violently angry, turning over a table and kicking over lawn chairs. He had clawed at their hands as they lifted him up and dunked him in the ice-cold beer cooler headfirst. I had forced myself to laugh through all of it, encouraging Shane and Dania as they tossed him out the back gate and locked it behind him.
And I silently hated myself the whole time.
I had remained at the party like a coward instead of going after him to make sure he was all right. I had been thanked by everyone for bringing the night’s entertainment and then I proceeded to get wasted.
I had buried my guilt under a deep layer of alcohol and drugs.
And Flynn had forgiven me, even when I couldn’t apologize. He always did. I wasn’t sure who was the bigger idiot. Flynn for accepting an apology I could never verbalize or me for not being brave enough to say it.
