Washed Up (Bayside Heroes)

Her voice fades, but she doesn’t have to finish the sentence for me to understand.

She was pregnant at fifteen.

She was still a kid herself, but she had to make adult decisions.

I tilt my chin toward a bench facing the pond. “Want to take a break?”

Amanda nods, and we pull over, propping our bikes up before she takes her helmet off and fusses with her braid a bit. She hangs the helmet on her handlebars and stretches, hands reaching up for the sky.

“Ugh, I forgot how much these things hurt your butt,” she says, rubbing her cheeks to emphasize.

I try not to stare at how round and tempting those cheeks are.

“Try having a pair of balls between your legs,” I complain.

She snickers.

We stand for a while, stretching and letting our bodies adjust to being off the bike. Then, Amanda takes a seat on the bench, and I sit next to her, letting the comfortable silence surround us.

“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.

She swallows, her eyes a bit glossy when she turns to face me. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Amanda smiles, and then with a sigh, she leans her head on my shoulder and threads her arms around mine.

I close my eyes, savoring the touch, wishing I could comfort her in the way I really want to.

“It’s scary,” she admits softly. “Starting over. Trying to figure it all out. Living on my own, school, a career, dating…”

I swallow at that. “You’ll figure it out.”

“How are you so sure?” she asks, lifting her head to peek up at me.

I frown, trying to think of how to explain it. “Because that’s what we do. We’re humans. We think we know what we want, go for it, realize that wasn’t right, try again. We get hurt, betrayed, let down — by others and by ourselves. And through it all, we… learn. We adapt.” I look at her then. “We go on, and usually, we find an even better chapter waiting for us.”

She smiles. “I like the sound of that.”

Her head rests on my shoulder again, her arms around mine, and for a while we just stare at the fountain, feeling the breeze growing cooler and cooler.

“Greg?” Amanda says.

“Mm?”

“I think you’re my best friend.”

My next breath is strained, chest burning with an unfamiliar emotion I can’t even begin to untangle. I cover her hand with mine, rest my chin on her head, and hope she can feel how much she means to me without a single word being spoken.

I don’t have time to dwell on that longing, though, because in the next breath, a big, fat raindrop hits me on the forehead.

I blink at the contact, reaching up to touch the wet spot. “Uh-oh.”

Amanda sits up, her worried eyes finding mine. “What?”

I don’t have to answer, because the distant sound of rain falling through the trees hits us first, and then we hear it on the pavement, the pond, and before we can even stand, it starts falling on us.

“Shit!” Amanda hops up, clamoring for her bike while I rush up behind her and do the same.

“Come on, I think we can cut through this way!” I holler over the rain, and then I mount my bike and take off toward a small street behind the garages of a dozen houses.

The rain goes from a light shower to a full-on downpour in a matter of moments, and the thunder getting louder and louder tells me we’re not too far from lightning. I pedal faster, turning around to check on Amanda and make sure she’s right behind me.

“Greg!” she screams, and she stops pedaling, her bike gliding along and slowing down as she stares up at the rain.

I slow down, too, and turn back to get her, ready to ditch her bike and have her climb on the back of mine if necessary.

But then...

She laughs.

In the middle of the pouring rain, she stops her bike, kicks one foot down to hold herself steady, stretches her arms up overhead, and she laughs.

I pause, marveling at the sight, at the sound of the joyful, free laughter echoing in the empty street. The rain is blasting sideways, highlighted by the streetlights above, and it casts her in a wet, orange glow like she’s the center of a universe, a golden source of light and heat and energy.

The knot in my throat makes me realize that’s exactly what she is to me.

With her arms outstretched and eyes closed, her hair getting drenched and falling out of the loose braid, she’s a goddess. A wild child. A free spirit. A charge so fierce it could never be tamed.

She laughs and laughs, shaking her head and squealing with joy at the water she makes dance off the ends of her hair. Then, her eyes lock on mine, her chest heaving, and she sighs, happy and content.