Rivalry [Pogue]

I listen to the words that Hammil says to me with as much attentiveness as I can muster. I realize that. I realize it. But I don't want it to be true. I want every single word he just said to be false. Well, except for the first sentence.

"I know. I never said that we had to hang out. All we'd have to do, the absolute minimum of what I'm asking you is to just stop looking at me as an enemy. And I will do the same. That's all that I want." I say. I almost beg. The pain that is now flooding my body from standing too long is beginning to catch up with me. We must reach the beach soon. So I can swim.

Can you swim with stitches in? I don't know. I don't care. I just want to swim. To wash off all of the hate and worry and embarrassment. Let the ocean strip me of my sins and wash them into the deepest trench there is. All I want is to be forgiven. I know that is too much to ask for, but it still doesn't stop me from wanting it.

As Hammil finishes those cold blooded words I stare into the ocean. The sweet, gorgeous, unforgiving ocean. What I wouldn't give to just be wrapped up and carried away in it, all my cares and worries left on the shore.

"Yes." I say. "This truce is between us. Although our sisters would probably join in, it's between us." Should I turn to look at him? The ocean is too incredible for me to look away. How can I feel like this after seventeen years about an inanimate...well, it's not an object. "At least you've changed your view. Now would you please go before I change my mind about you? I have better things to do now with that off my chest."

Those words. What were they? They didn't feel natural. They did actually, I loved saying every single one. It tasted sweet, like victory and satisfaction. But they weren't right. They weren't good. They went against what I said. I guess that'll turn out however it turns out. I proceed to the lapping waves of the sea to douse the pain. Hopefully.

The pleasure my words brought me are instantly taken away as Hammil hisses his insult. As he storms off, I turn, midway to the beach and I contemplate what happened, watching him leave. Why would I do that? I'm the one who brought the peace on us, the one who invoked the truce. Yet I reverted to my old self and spat a comeback at Hammil. How could I do that?! Why couldn't I hold my tongue like the first two times. I hope this next move works, because I'm in no shape to chase Hammil, no matter how slowly his wounded body moves.

"Hammil! Wait!"

"I wanted to say sorry. I don't know what came over me. I admit. "But more importantly, I don't know if this is too big a step, but would you like to go swimming with me? Maybe the water will help with something."

I extend that invitation in almost full knowledge that he will decline. I do this because I want the truce to go into action, not just be an agreement we made that hangs in the air around us. I motion towards the water with my cane.

Before he gives an answer I begin to walk to the waters, saying over my shoulder, "If you're answer is yes, just follow!"

I look behind me as I walk across the shore, sand pouring over my sandals and filling in under my feet and between my toes. I see Hammil following. That's a surprise. I stop and wait for him so that he can catch up to me a little, but continue walking once he's close enough. Right before I hit the water I throw off my shirt, drop my cane and kick off my shoes. I try my best to charge into the water, but end up tripping and falling in as I did when I was a child. I splash into the water face down and at first experienced the most calming and cooling relaxing feeling I've ever felt. Then I feel it.

The salt on a wound feeling. Like utter torture. It's coming from my arm! My left arm! I jump out of the water like I was catapulted and I scream. My arm burns. I look at it after parting my finger enough to see. It's the stitches. The salt got in my stitches and then my cut. Looks like I'll just have to sit in the shallow end and make the most of it.

As I plop down in the soft wet sand, I realize that it feels almost just as good as swimming. I close my eyes and sigh a sigh of relief as the salt-on-a-wound feeling dissipates.

As we sit there in the sand, half submerged in water, I think to myself. I know it's kind of awkward to sit in silence, but I'm perfectly fine with it. I don't know if he is. Is this ever going to work out? Do I have the social skills to repair intense hate to a friendship? If I do, how will I do that? I start coming up with thousands of different plans in my head before I realize how stupid it is to pre-plan interactions with another. If I'm going to repair this I have to make it because of my actual trying, not because I responses for everything he does already mapped out in my head. I open my eyes slowly and I look to Hammil. He sits far enough away where you could tell that we weren't friends yet. We aren't.

I really hope this works. I think as the pain in my bruised shoulders sets in once again.