Axis

august 23rd

IT'S GETTING BAD AGAIN.

My mind reels, replaying the summer in an incomprehensible blur. Afternoon trips to the Book Nook with Jasper, serving at Sunken Treasure with Jasper, chilling inside Europa with Jasper, watching movies with Jasper, taking Willie to the playground with Jasper. Jasper, Jasper, Jasper. My best friend. My soulmate. My only relief.

And in eight short days, I'll be cut off from all that keeps me going.

My heart races in frightened anticipation at the prospect, and it takes some serious controlled breathing techniques to regain a somewhat normal heartbeat.

Not even Noah's sweet texts provide the comfort I so desperately need. I consider texting Meredith, to see if she wants to do something, but I don't particularly want to spend time pretending to be normal around her right now. I want to rage, because I don't usually do that. I want to do something rebellious, to let off this irrepressible anxiety attack I feel coming on.

Without thinking, I walk over to my desk, and pick up a black pen and an old notebook. I discard them inside of a raggedy bag that I never use anymore, and my feet take me downstairs, currently more in control than I am.

"I'm taking the kayak out," I call to Aunt Colleen, who I can hear in the kitchen playing with Willie. "Be back in a bit."

I don't expect her to have any reservations against me taking the kayak out by myself. I've done it before. But I still let the door clatter shut behind me without waiting for her response.

It feels oddly mechanical, like my body is programmed to go to the garage, pick up the orange kayak and paddle, and take it to the water. Very little mental processing or brain power goes into the whole ordeal, making it feel that much more natural and necessary.

It's like I'm not even here anymore, just a ghost inhabiting my body to fill the empty space that's been sucked away.

Lowering myself into the kayak, I'm overcome by the same icky gray matter feeling I had after my bad night with Derrick, and it occurs to me that the emptier I get, the quicker this uncomfortable feeling duplicates itself and fills those empty spaces up. Soon I'll be a hollow carcass comprised of nothing but a vat of discomfort and sadness. I've read so many books by now, but I'm not sure any of them adequately describe precisely the sort of grief and sorrow I feel. Nothing about this feels romantic or wistful like descriptions in books often make the emotions that come with someone leaving to be. It feels like dying, except I'm trapped in a very much living human body.

There are very few clouds in the sky and the sun beats down on my bare arms and legs. It briefly registers that I forgot to put any sunscreen on, but I refuse to turn back now. This is the closest to teenage angst I have ever been, and I want to feel this as completely as I can. I think I at least deserve that.

The trip passes by a lot quicker than I remember, but maybe that's because I'm paddling significantly harder than Jasper and I did in the canoe that day he brought me here.

Yes, whether I was initially cognizant of it or not, I have ended up at the same secluded little beach Jasper took me to that one day, nearly three weeks ago at the beginning of August. The one with the pinky promise tree he etched our initials into and dedicated to our friendship.

It's amazing to think of how much has changed between that day and now. And he hasn't even gone yet. But it's coming.

I slip out of the kayak, the cool water coming up to my mid-calf, and drag it the rest of the way to shore. Once I'm sure it's far enough inland not to wash away, I make the short trek to our tree, bringing my bag with me. Once I finally find the tree, looking as twisted and majestic as it did the first time I saw it, I do something so unlike me, it feels right.