Surface Tension (11 page)

Eliza is quiet. Her voice gets soft, like she's trying to coo a baby back to sleep. “Mike. Mikey.”

Oh. I wonder what they're fighting about. She goes on, “Mike, you know me. I would never do that. I would never do that to you. I love you. Don't you love me?”

A pause. Like a second. He must be saying that he loves her too.

Her voice gets lower and she whispers something that I can't hear and then giggles.

I want to get out of here. I want to go back home and hang out at the lake. This isn't what I thought I was getting into. This is annoying.

I go back into the living room and sit in the pancake chair. I want to get out of here. I want to disappear. I guess I'm just going to have to wait until Eliza drives me home.

I grab the remote and turn on the TV. I can't wait to get back to the lake.

We're going to the minor-league baseball game in Geneva. It's kind of a long drive, but it's something we do every year.

It's actually pretty cool. We park right next to the stadium and pay a couple of bucks and walk right in. We find seats on the third-base line with a whole bunch of regulars who give us a funny look because we're not wearing Geneva Cubs hats.

It's got that whole summer-baseball thing going on. Old-time baseball goodness. There's this kid walking around, probably not older than eight, with a voice louder than a heavy-metal singer's. He's just screaming the same thing over and over: “Pepsi. Popcorn. Peanuts and Cracker Jacks.” Then he pauses like he forgot to say something and yells, “And lollies.”

I always laugh when he does that, because it's the same way every year. Like he's always forgetting about the lollies.

“Dad, can I have a lolly?” I say it a little louder than I should, just to make myself laugh, but Dad thinks I'm trying to embarrass the kid, so he gives me the evil eye.

The kid turns around and walks the other way, back toward the first-base line. He'll be back. Maybe I'll get a lolly later. We already had dinner. We stopped at that old-style diner up on Route 13. The one where the waitresses actually come out to your car and ask you what you want. They must have thirty flavors of milk shakes there. I got butterscotch because I like those candies that old people eat, but it was gross.

A bunch of baseball players are already out on the field playing a game called pepper under a sign that says No Pepper. Dad explained it to me a long time ago. Three guys take turns throwing a baseball to a guy with a bat just a few feet away. And the guy with the bat has to bunt it back to them. It's fun to watch because the guys with the ball have a whole bunch of tricks, like throwing it behind their back or over their shoulder, trying to trick the guy with the bat.

They look like they're having a lot of fun out there. Makes me wish I were a baseball player. Dad buys a program and starts filling out all the different raffles and prizes and stuff. This is really the best part, because between every inning there's some crazy minor-league baseball stunt.

I scoot over to Dad and help him decide what names to put in what spaces. I want to win the Carvel ice cream cake, so I put my name there. Dad can do the One-in-a-Million Shot—where you try and throw a baseball through a hole from a hundred feet away, and if you do, you win like a hundred bucks or something.

Dad flips through the pages, and finally he gets to the Dizzy Bat competition.

I give Dad a look and then I look at Mom, and Dad gets the idea. He writes her name down on the piece of paper for the Dizzy Bat competition.

I can't wait until the seventh inning. That's when it's going to happen. This is going to be great.

Finally, it's the seventh inning. I already won the Carvel ice cream cake and Dad didn't get picked for the One-in-a-Million Shot. Some guy almost won a lobster by trying to catch a plastic lobster they shot out of a cannon toward center field, but he didn't catch it, so he didn't win.

The announcer comes on over the loudspeaker: “Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention. Cathy Weeks, please come to the information booth under the grandstand.” I don't think Mom has any idea what she's in for—I think she just thinks that she won something.

Mom is on the field, and her competitor in the Dizzy Bat competition is an eight-year-old boy. The ball boy is on the field explaining what she has to do—and she's laughing. They both have to put their head down on the end of a bat and spin around a bunch of times, until they get really dizzy, and then they have to run down the first-base line toward a pizza delivery guy. Whoever gets there first gets the pizza.

The kid is a lot shorter and probably has better balance, but Mom is so competitive, who knows what's going to happen?

The announcer tells them to start and Mom starts running in circles around her bat. She's getting dizzy already, I can tell, because she's starting to trip over her own feet. The little kid is running in circles and it doesn't seem to bother him. He's done with his circles and Mom is still working on hers. Dad is cheering and whistling, but I am just cracking up too much to even say anything.

Now the kid is trying to run down the baseline, but he's so dizzy he just keeps falling on his face.

Mom has finished her circles and is running down the baseline, but she's running sideways. I've never seen anyone run sideways before. She's looking where she wants to go, but she's having trouble figuring out how to make her body do it. Oh my God. That's the funniest-looking run I've ever seen.

The kid is back on his feet, but he still can't run. He must have twisted himself so fast that he really got out of balance. Mom is zigzagging down the baseline. She's about halfway to the pizza guy. She's getting her balance back and she's trying to straighten herself out, but now the kid is getting his balance back too. And the kid is much faster than Mom.

Mom is almost to the pizza guy, but the kid is picking up a lot of speed. The kid is sprinting and Mom is just kind of jogging to the finish line. I scream,
“Go,
Mom!”

Dad yells,
“Go,
Cathy!”

But the kid is too fast, and he reaches the finish line right before Mom does. They both collapse at the end, and the announcer comes on and says something about Sal's Pizza being the best pizza in town.

Oh well, that was kind of exciting. When Mom finally
makes her way back to us, we give her a hug and tell her, “Good job.” She seems disappointed that she didn't win, but that's not the point. That was one of the funniest things I've ever seen, watching my mom compete against an eight-year-old in the Dizzy Bat competition.

We're having drinks on the Richardsons' porch, and the minister is piling seaweed into a small mountain on the beach.

Mr. Richardson takes a sip of his whiskey on the rocks and I can hear the ice cubes rattle inside the glass. He says, “The day he lights that seaweed …” He doesn't finish the sentence, but he pours himself another.

Dad says, “It was just a lump last week—now it's as big as your pile.”

Mr. Richardson is just staring out through the screen. The women get up and go into the kitchen to get everyone some snacks. I sip my ginger ale and wiggle in the rocking chair. I'm waiting for someone to say something, but nobody does.

I got Mike and Eliza's phone number from Mrs. Richardson. I just want to give them a call and see if they're coming down in the boat anytime soon. I just think it would be cool to see them again and hang out like we did that one time.

I dial the number on the party line phone and wait for it to ring. I get nervous sometimes when I call people on the phone, especially girls, but I usually practice what I'm going to say before I call. This time I didn't do that, but I wish I had. I guess I'm just going to say hi and ask if Eliza is there. Hopefully, it'll be Eliza and I won't even have to ask.

“Hello.” Shit, it's Mike.

“Hello, is Eliza there?”

There's a pause on the other end. I think it's maybe too long of a pause. He might be handing her the phone, or he might be waiting for me to say something else. Should I have said something else?

“Who the hell is this?”

Wow, he's really angry. I should have probably said who it was. I try and get it out, but I wasn't expecting him to be so angry. I start to say my name, but he's screaming into the phone so loud I have to hold it away from my ear. “Who the fuck is calling my house? Answer me!”

I didn't know he was going to be like that. I wouldn't have called if I'd known that.

I should hang up, but I'm afraid he'll just call me back. I say my name, but he doesn't hear me. He says, “What?”

I say, “Luke.”

He pauses a long time and says, “Sorry, Luke, she's not here.”

I try to say, “Okay, can you tell her I called?” but he's already hung up the phone. Did he find out about the
Playboy
or something? I hope not. I hope Eliza didn't tell him.

We all got up early so we could hike up to the waterfall. Mom's got her backpack filled with snacks. Dad has his camera.

I think we all just want to get away from the minister and the Richardsons and all of that shit. The old car is still there, except this year it looks like someone tried to set it on fire.

But it still feels magical here, even though there's hardly
any water in the creek this year. I just want to feel the way I did when I was little. When I was in awe of everything.

I still love the feeling of getting closer to the waterfall. The walls of the gorge rising up as we walk. The sound of the water. It starts like a hum in the distance, and then it keeps getting louder until it's roaring right in our faces. But there's just not that much water in the creek this year, so all the rocks are bleached white and covered in dried seaweed and we can't hear the water yet. We wind around the final turns. We're almost there and I'm excited.

We turn the last corner, and I see the waterfall, but I also see Sophie standing underneath the water, letting it rain over her shoulders.

I've never been here when there was anyone else here. It's weird having someone else here. It's like she knows our secret.

We walk over to the other side of the waterfall so we don't bother her. I could swim in the little pool, but it's probably cold. I could get near her, but I've never talked to her before, so it would be strange to start now.

She sees us and smiles. I think she's smiling at me, but she could be smiling at my parents. I nod back, but I don't know if she is paying attention. Dad calls out, “Hello!” Why does he have to be so loud?

She's got this long black hair that looks so pretty when it's wet. It comes all the way down her back. And her eyes, she's got these huge eyes. They look like cats' eyes. I wish I could think of something to say to her.

I throw a stone at the shale wall, so it comes down in a mini avalanche. This feels so awkward. I don't know what
we're doing here. There's nothing to do if we can't stand under the water.

Dad says, “Climb up there. I'll take your picture.” I know what he means. He wants to take a picture just like the one from last year that's on our fridge.

I take a step up onto a small ledge on the side of the waterfall, but the shale doesn't hold under my weight like it used to. My feet slip and I have to grab a plant by the roots to keep from falling back. I stand up straight and say, “Here?”

“No, a little higher.”

I turn around and climb a little higher. This seemed so easy when I was smaller. I get high enough so that he can't complain that I'm not high enough.

“Okay, now put your arms up like you did before.”

I do what he says and he takes the picture. I can see Sophie looking at me. I know it's not going to be as good as the first picture. Nothing is as good as it used to be.

There's a little bit of rushing water toward the top of the waterfall. I could keep climbing up there and put my head under the water. The cliff isn't that steep—it's just wet and slippery. I can climb it.

I put my hand on a piece of rock and work my way up onto the first wide ledge. I slide across to my left, up the slippery stone. I've got a good hold on the rock, so I can keep myself from falling down.

My feet want to slip, but I'm holding myself up with my arms. I'm strong enough to hold myself up with just my arms. I reach up to the next ledge and I pull myself up. I'm getting pretty high up here. I'm not sure how I'm going to make it down without slipping.

Mom says, “Are you sure it's safe?” She sounds worried.

“I'm sure.”

I glance down at the rocks below. If I fall, it's going to really hurt. My parents are watching. Sophie is watching. I climb higher. I'm up to the next ledge.

There's a spot where the water has carved a natural bathtub in the stone. This is so cool. It's like a little hot tub, except the water is cold, but it shoots in from above and spills out below. This is the coolest thing I've ever seen.

I step into the bathtub and put my feet over the edge. My parents can't see me anymore. I'm alone up here. Dad calls out, “Son! Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“Are you coming down?”

“I guess.” I could sit up here forever, but I won't. I should go down. I'm going to go down the opposite way I came up. There are all these little ledges I can climb down, even though they look slippery.

I have to hold on to the shale to make my way down the side of the waterfall. I don't know if I should face the wall or just put my butt down and try and sort of slide down. That'll look stupid. I can't see if Sophie is still down there.

The water is making it hard to get a good grip on the wall. Plus the shale is pretty crumbly. I'm trying to hold on. This is like man against nature. I just have to hold on. I think I can hold on, but my grip is slipping.

My hands are wet and the shale is starting to pull out of the waterfall, but I can't let go, because I'll slide right down. I don't want to fall down the waterfall. Oh shit, my hands are slipping. I don't want to do this. I don't want this.

Shit. I'm slipping. I'm falling. I can hear my mother
screaming. Oh shit, I'm falling. I hit the rock hard with my back and put my arms down to try and slow myself. I'm still sliding, and my arms are getting all cut up. I flip myself onto my stomach and try to stop myself with my knees and fingernails.