The Easy Part of Impossible - Sarah Tomp Page 0,95
tour of Tustin University. It’s only ninety-seven miles away.”
“That’s great.”
“I’d like you to help me see it. You’ll notice things I’ll miss.” He looked into her eyes, searching. “Will you come with me?”
“Yes.” Not a lot of words fit around the ache in her throat.
“Good.” He frowned. “I can’t tell how you’re feeling. Your face looks wrong.”
“I’m happy you might go to college. But I’ll miss you.”
They both knew missing too well to pretend it wasn’t real. But missing meant you’d had something once. And maybe you’d have something again someday.
They moved into the family room. Without food to distract them, her house sounded overwhelmingly quiet. It was contagious, hard to interrupt. She faced him, not talking, not touching, not knowing what to do with her hands and arms and legs and the way she kept focusing in on his mouth.
“Do you want to watch something?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you want to listen to music?”
“No.”
He lifted his chin, looking left, as if the ceiling corner was the most interesting spot in the room.
“What’s wrong, Cotton? You look worried.”
The crease between his eyebrows deepened. “I like kissing you, Ria.”
She waited for him to explain the but she heard in the space around his words.
“When we kiss, my body gets in a hurry.”
“Mine too, Cotton.”
“I don’t want to squid you.”
“Do we need rules?”
“Yes.”
“Kissing. Sitting up. All clothes on. For ten minutes.”
They didn’t set a timer—although she had a feeling Cotton wanted to—but it was pretty close to exact by the time they came up for air.
“I like that.”
“Me too.” Her body was warm and trembly with proof.
She never used to think her head would be helpful in matters of kissing. But setting the rules, the step-by-step procedure of hands and hips and here-right-here, was incredibly freeing. Hands roamed over, then under, and between. All of it negotiated and tried and savored. There wasn’t worry and nerves and whoa, oh no. It was only yesyesyes, and thisthisthis in the moment.
Her mind was a swirl of senses, a melting of colors alternated with the awareness of four hands roaming, two mouths breathing short and fast. Both of them kissing, holding, thrumming. Their bodies had taken over. Her inner density had changed. They were both wonderfully rumpled and hot and wrinkled and messy, wrapped up in a tangle of two.
It was like following a map. Or being the map. Longitudes and latitudes. North, east, south, west, and everywhere in between. One place leading to another. Being both lost and found. It was the thrill and the fear wrapped around an unknown adventure, searching and exploring, only to find they’d been here all along. This was the place they knew best.
Epilogue
A year later, Ria had been to seven different countries, and within those, even more cities and towns. She’d managed to officially graduate from high school and had even made a quick trip home for prom, which was not at all a horror-movie bloodbath, though she’d ruined her dress when they’d gone caving after the dance. And then she’d had to board a plane in the morning. Cotton had given her a logbook, and in it she’d recorded the coordinates of each place, as well as sketches and notes to go with the maps and photographs she collected along the way. She sent menus to Cotton, highlighting the dishes she wanted him to try to make.
Following her therapist’s advice, she kept track of her feelings too, using colored markers and symbols when words weren’t clear enough. There was no right or wrong way to feel. Old memories turned into maps, where there was room to mark missteps and victories, the good with the bad. In the same logbook, she kept records of her scores for each of her many meets. Her placing within the ranks of contenders. Any bits of advice she’d gathered from her coaches or other divers. All of it combined would help her to remember where she’d been. There’s never only one way to see something.
Wherever she went, and whatever language greeted her, the pools welcomed her. The smell of chlorine and sunscreen, the rippled reflections across the water, the sound of splashing and talking and whistles and, most of all, the rhythmic ka-thunks of the diving boards made her feel at home.
This meet mattered more than the others. Added to what she’d already achieved, her scores would decide the next part of her journey. At the end of the day, she’d be pointed in a certain direction. Her future would take on a new shape. But she knew any journey has its ups and downs. There’s never only one way from here to there and back again.
Before reaching the board, she paused and waved her shammy toward the stands, where she knew a crowd was cheering her on, even if she couldn’t see their faces.
She stopped by her coaches for a last-minute instruction. They looked at each other, then back at her. “You know what to do.”
And she did. Everything she’d learned and endured was with her now. It was all up to her.
At the base of the ladder, Ria dried herself with her shammy. She checked the side of her leg, like she always did before a big dive. The cut from the quarry had left a purplish-blue scar. It looked like a river on a map.
She climbed, up, up, counting each step.
At the top she waited for the ref’s signal. There was no reason for Fear to be here.
She was ready.
Set. Breathe.
Four steps to her hurdle. Lift, and go.
She was in the air. Spinning. Too fast to breathe or see. Feeling lighter than she’d ever been. Gravity had been tricked. It hadn’t caught up yet. In this flash of a moment, anything could be imagined. Hope and faith and maybe kept her aloft between the board and water.
This was the easy part of impossible.