Captive - FourTris

Ten

MAY 31
9 MONTHS, 1 DAY

With my high school career unofficially complete, I become listless. Classes are over but the graduation ceremony hasn't been held yet, and I haven't picked up any shifts at Subway, my usual summer job. Tobias is at work, and I end up wearing my running shoes, a windbreaker, and track pants. My iPod is turned on full blast and I'm ready to leave every shred of stress behind.

It's windy today and the surf is frothy with foam, each wave breaking violently as it nears the shore. Seagulls bob along the surface and the sand is littered with debris.

It's a perfect day to find sea glass. There is so much on the shore that I decide to run a few miles first and pick it up on my way back, or I won't even be able to raise my heart rate.

I run along the wet section of the sand, where it's firm, and leave my footprints behind as I pick up a full sprint. I shouldn't push so hard so quickly; I should warm up and stretch and take my time. But I don't want to.

It's been so long since I've been able to run. It's been so long that the passion has been buried down inside me, twisted up and hidden until I tried to pretend I never ran at all. But as soon as my muscles warm and my breathing picks up that familiar rhythm, everything starts to float away.

Why did I stop doing this? Why did I give it up?

Tobias wants me to be happy. He would understand if I told him I was leaving to go for a run. He'd probably encourage it, if I told him what it meant. But somehow something more important is always in the way.

No more. I want to run like this every day. I'll wake up at four a.m. if I have to. I want it back.

I want me back.

I run much further than I'd planned to, until the fine yellow sand turns rockier and a big jetty extends out into the water. I turn away from the waves and circle back, slowing to a walk as I pant for air. Adrenaline courses through me.

I feel confident. Alive. How did I forget all this?

Back at Tobias's, I empty out the canvas bag onto the work bench in the little garage. I have at least a few dozen pieces of glass, in blue and green and amber. Enough to finish my project. It's been so hard to find the time to work on it. I thought I'd be done months ago.

I put on rubber gloves and then sort out the glass, putting it into little piles based on size and color. I need small pieces for the spots where the sculpture curves, and then bigger pieces in the large flat spots.

I pick up the bottle of glue and a little red piece. I have three hours before Tobias will be back. If I'm lucky I can finish it and give it to him in a couple days, after the glue cures. He would like that. He needs a pick-me-up these days.

I reach over and flick on the radio, and an upbeat country song blasts out. I hum along as I pick up another piece.

Yes, I will finish this today. It has taken eight months of work, and it has grown along with my love for Tobias, a physical symbol of how I feel for him. Finally, he will understand how much I love him. He will see it.

And then he'll know that I mean it when I say I'll never leave him.

MAY 28
8 MONTHS, 28 DAYS

I can barely stay awake today. Tobias had a bad night last night. His mom called, freaking out, but when he went to her house, no one was home. And he spent the rest of the night worrying about her. I didn't sleep at all.

I'm leaning on my hand, my hood pulled as far over my eyes as possible, when something drops onto my desk.

Note cards. Dozens of them, with a neat little scrawl filling the lines.