Cruel Summer (15 page)

Re: party pics

Hey Levi,

Thanks for sending those pics. I forgot all about that one bar, though I definitely remember those blue drinks we both had! I think I might still be feeling it—just kidding! (Well, kind of.)

To answer your question, I’ll be back on August 31, but after that, I really don’t know where I’ll be since my mom sold the house, and I’m not sure where we’ll be moving.

Anyway, it was good to see you too—

Enjoy the rest of the summer!

Colby

Cruel Summer

August 13

That’s right, CRUEL SUMMER is back, but only long enough to say good-bye. After a brief period of sunshine, the clouds have moved in and the forecast shows nothing but gloom and doom from here on, my friends.

Though maybe it’s just another sign that the end of summer is near, that my time in Tinos is over, and that I’ll soon be heading home—wherever that turns out to be…

So, thanks to those of you who took the time to stop by, read, and/or comment me.

I really do appreciate it.

Love,

Colby

Colby’s Journal for Desperate Times When She’s Feeling Really Desperate

August 14

So yesterday, just after I signed off from my stupid, depressing, loser blog I was on my way home, basically dragging my feet and alternating between hating myself and feeling sorry for myself, when I decided to quit acting like such a pathetic little baby, and just go to the hotel, find Yannis, and get to the bottom of things once and for all.

I mean, in just two and a half weeks I’ll be going home anyway, most likely never to return, so what does it really matter if I make a fool of myself, say something stupid, and/or end up looking like the world’s biggest dork? It’s not like anyone at home will ever know, so it’s not like I had anything to lose.

Besides, I just couldn’t bear the idea of returning to California and leaving things the way they were—messy, unfinished, just hanging. I mean, if Yannis had dumped me for Maria, then I really wanted to hear it from him. And if he dumped me for some other reason, then I needed to know that too.

It’s like, the whole thing was just so sudden, and unexpected, I guess I needed to make sense of it. Because according to both Tally and Tassos, he never even came by the house that night.

Which means they never had to lie to him.

Which also means there’s no way he could’ve known about me, Levi, and Mykonos.

Which means, whatever happened, happened because of
HIM.

It also means that technically, I’d been dumped well before I even got on that boat.

I just didn’t realize it at the time.

And once I had that all straight in my head, I gave myself full permission to stop beating myself up, to stop feeling so guilty about everything, since in the end, it really didn’t matter anyway. Apparently I was free and single, I just didn’t know it.

But even though shirking all of the blame did make me feel better, it was pretty short-lived. I guess because it also left me with the one, ugly, undisputable truth—

I’d been dumped for the Greek vixen otherwise known as Maria.

And even though the thought of that made me feel completely nauseous and sick, I still needed to have it confirmed. I needed to be able to face the truth so I could file it away and move on. I mean, since my summer already had a beginning and middle, I knew it was time to give it an end.

But if I’m going to be
COMPLETELY
honest, then I also have to admit the slightly embarrassing truth of how part of me just really needed to see him again—just one last time, before I went away and ended our story for good. I guess I just wanted to make sure that we really were truly and completely over. And to get myself some closure if it turned out we were.

So instead of going home, I grabbed a taxi and headed straight for his hotel, thinking it was early enough that he’d probably still be working, and hopefully not late enough that he’d be engaging in something horrible and heartbreaking like entertaining Maria by the pool, in the same way he’d done with me.

So after I paid the driver, I climbed out of the car and just stood there, squinting at this sprawling, dusty, chaotic construction site that seemed to just go on forever, since the hotel is built bungalow style as opposed to high-rise.

And not really knowing where to start, I just walked right up to a group of construction workers, cleared my throat, and said,
“Poo ee neh Yannis
?” Which to my understanding meant, “Where is Yannis?” But when I was greeted by a series of shrugs followed by elbow nudges and laughter, I started to get a little concerned that I might’ve gotten it confused with another Greek phrase.

But then this old guy came up, grabbed my elbow, and led me to the other side of the hotel, where he walked into a room and shouted,
“Ela! Yannis!”
Then he shook his head and laughed as he walked away.

At this point I would love to be able to write that Yannis turned, took one look at me, and pulled me into his arms, holding me tight, refusing to let go. But that’s the stuff of romance novels and sappy late-night movies, not real life. Because the truth is, he took one long, lingering look, then turned back around and continued his work.

I stood there, taking in his tan, muscled back that was dripping with sweat, his strong defined arms, their muscles bulging and popping as he hammered a nail, the cutoff jeans that Amanda would totally make fun of (but that’s only because Amanda’s an idiot), and my throat was so hot and constricted, and my heart felt so heavy and sad, that I closed my eyes and willed him to look at me, having no idea what I’d say if he did.

I mean, what do you say to the guy you just might have loved if only you hadn’t been so shallow, so unsure of yourself, so afraid of letting him know? How do you explain how having the approval of people who weren’t really your friends, far outweighed anything you just might’ve felt? And how because of all that, you ran off to Mykonos to meet up with someone who turned out to be so completely and totally unworthy?

But then I reminded myself how I didn’t actually need any of those words.

Because, it’s not like he knew any of that.

Which meant there was no reason for me to confess, since it was now up to him to confess.

Because the fact is, he was hanging in the port with Maria, long before my ship even sailed.

He was the one laughing and talking and having a great old time.

He was the one who allowed her to touch his arm, as she leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Right there in broad daylight.

Right where I could see.

When just the night before he’d said he’d be working all through siesta, which was why he couldn’t go to the beach with me.

Which was pretty much the ultimate final thing that made me decide to get on that boat in the first place.

So if anyone had any explaining to do, it was he.

I opened my eyes, cleared my throat, and said, “Hey, Yannis? Um, hello? Are you trying to ignore me?” (Talk about stating the obvious.) Then I continued to stand there, watching as he pounded the heck out of another nail, acting as though I didn’t exist.

So then I cleared my throat again and went, “Hey, Yannis, listen, I know you’re mad, but I also know you can hear me, so I’d really appreciate it if you could just stop hammering, turn around, and give me the courtesy of ten minutes of your time.”

He kept pounding.

“Five minutes?” I said, knowing I was in no position to bargain since I was on his turf and would end up settling for whatever I could get.

More pounding.

“Fine. One minute and thirty seconds, final offer,” I said, unaware I’d been holding my breath until he set down the hammer and I gulped some air.

And even though he still refused to look at me, I knew I had to take advantage of the moment while it lasted, and with no time to waste, I took another deep breath and dove in. “Why won’t you talk to me?” I asked, my eyes searching the back of his head, willing him to turn around and acknowledge me once and for all. “Why’d you stop coming by and answering my calls? Are you mad at me? And if so, why? I mean,
WHAT HAPPENED?
Because I think I deserve an explanation. Because you can’t just string someone along, whisper
I love you,
then act like they don’t even exist,” I said, immediately growing all red faced and shaky, my heart crashing against my chest, as my mind raced back to the
I LOVE YOU
part, which I tortured myself by playing over and over again.

And when he finally turned to look at me, my eyes went straight for his, hoping to find them soft, warm, and caring, the same way I’d left them last week. Only now they were different, changed, alien even. Their cold, hard detachment providing all the answer I needed.

And then he shrugged. And then he shook his head and said, “Listen, Colby, you’re leaving in what? Two weeks?”

“Two and a half,” I said, my stomach going all twisty and turvy and awful.

“Okay, so we had some fun, but now it’s over. You go back to your life, I go back to mine.” He shrugged. “Another summer is finished.”

“So that’s it?” I asked, my eyes stinging, not expecting to be brushed off and discarded so easily.

I mean, who was this guy? Did I ever even know him? Was I really so naïve to think I was anything more than just some stupid summer fling?

He shrugged.

“So that’s why you decided to dump me?” I said, amazed that I could even speak with the way my throat felt so hot and constricted. “Because the summer’s over? I mean, no long good-bye at the port? No postcards or e-mails? You just go cold turkey? Decide to get a head start and dump me two weeks early, without notice?” And then I tried to laugh, tried to make it sound as though I cared a lot less than it seemed. But in the end I didn’t fool anyone, because it came out sounding really false and lame.

But even after all that, even after my whole tirade, all he could manage in response was a shrug.

Which turned out to be a really bad choice.

I narrowed my eyes, placed my hands on my hips, took a deep breath, and went full steam ahead. “Because I’m actually kind of wondering if it’s maybe something else? I’m actually wondering if it might have something to do with the fact that I saw you at the port with Maria,” I said, the sweat transferring from my palms to my shorts, not sure where I was headed, but unable (unwilling?) to stop. “I saw you guys together, by the harbor, at the fish market, the same day you couldn’t be bothered to go to the beach with me because you said you had to work straight through siesta. And then the next thing I know, you stop coming over, won’t take my calls, and pretty much ignore me.”

And while I was waiting for a response, he did the strangest thing—he just shook his head and laughed.

LAUGHED!

And I was so surprised by his reaction it took me a moment or two to get that it wasn’t the kind of laugh that was inviting me to join in. It was more the kind that was directed at
US.
How we were standing there together, in that room, sharing a moment that was so small it couldn’t possibly be anything other than funny. As though the two of us together, was so unworthy, so insignificant, it became a big fat joke.

And when he finally stopped laughing, he said, “It does not really matter anymore, does it?”

I stood there, staring down at my suntanned feet, my eyes focused on my peach-colored polish, my silver toe ring, and the tiny star tattoo my mom still doesn’t know about. Because even though I’ve always known we would end, I never imagined it would hurt like this.

So after biting my lip so hard I practically drew blood, after blinking my eyes so many times I finally chased away the tears, I brushed my hair off my face, tucked it behind my ears, and said, “You’re right, none of it matters anymore. So…”

I wanted to finish with something light, and pithy, maybe even sarcastic. Something that would let him know I was right there with him, that I thought it was funny too, that I was perfectly okay, despite all outward appearances.

But in the end, I didn’t say anything. Because my throat was searing again, my vision was blurred, and since I couldn’t afford to let him see me like that, I turned and ran straight out of that horrible, dusty room—and all the way home.

Or at least back to my summer home.

Tally and Tassos’s home.

I guess I’m not really sure where home is anymore.

Cruel Summer

August 17

Okay, I know that just a few days ago I swore the blog was history, over, kaput! But since there’s still two weeks left of summer, I figured I may as well see it all the way through to the bitter end. Partly because it gives me something to do, but mostly because I’m turning over a new leaf, so to speak, which means I am newly committed to finishing the things that I start.