Kiss Off

Chapter 10

Neither of us bothers to settle back into our previous positions. With the amount of debris circling us, there really isn't anywhere to 'settle' anyway. So, we stay exactly where we are, face-to-face, trying to hide the fact that we're both fighting off wave after wave of despair. But the truth is, there's no denying it. It's been at least eight hours since the tornado hit and we haven't even heard the distant wail of sirens. The possibility of getting out of this dungeon seems futile.

"What's one thing you've always wanted to do before you die?" The question is vulgar. I know that. But, at this moment, with the reality of that dreaded "D" word taunting us, it seems appropriate. Why not dive into the dark waters of our final hours? Why not tell one person something we've always feared verbalizing? What's the harm if we're not going to live to be embarrassed by it later anyway?

Bryson smiles at the question. There's no humor in the smile; just understanding—a sense of resignation. We're both on the same page, and there's no reason to hold back any longer. We're free to say everything we've always been afraid to utter into existence.

So we do.

"I've always wanted to learn to surf," he confesses, his face softening.

I can almost picture his thoughts: sizzling sun, hot sand, crashing waves, the silky sensation of water on his skin, laughter, seagulls. I feel it. I feel his desire to be free of this hell and I can't help but want it too.

"Sounds nice," I sigh, crossing my legs and then moving a board out of the way so Bryson can stretch his legs out beside me. We're still facing each other, our thighs pressed tightly together, but I can see that his thoughts are elsewhere.

"Tell me something you've always wanted to do that you've never told anyone else before?" I challenge, turning up the stakes of the game. Part of me hopes he'll decline because then I'll know he still has hope. Hope that we'll make it out of here. But he simply chuckles, his eyes skimming my face as he debates what he's willing to share.

"I've always wanted to get married."

I don't think much of the confession. Lots of people look forward to marriage, so I'm not sure why that's something he finds juicy enough to share with me. He must see that I'm not impressed before he laughs again and drops his attention to his lap. I see him wince before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as he clears his throat.

"Always," he repeats. "Like, since I was nine. It's not even because I'm obsessed with finding the perfect woman or having kids. I think I've just always craved having my own family. I've got a great family but we all kind of keep to ourselves. Both my parents work a lot, so I'm on my own most of the time and the relationship we do have is a bit shallow. That's bothered me for as long as I can remember, and as a kid, for some reason, I believed that I could do better. If I ever had a family of my own, we'd put effort into spending time together—bonding."

I watch Bryson's face as he talks about his dream and I can't help but feel lost. I have nothing comforting to say, no promises that will make him feel better. So, I remain quiet... watching.

"What about you?" he says, his palm pressed to the ground behind him as he rests his body weight into it. "What's something you'd like to do before you die?"

"Eat," I joke. "Take a really hot shower. Try sushi. Experience the intimacies of marriage. Be brave."

"Ha ha," he mutters sarcastically. "Those were horribly unimpressive. Plus, the never having had sushi before is just pathetic."

I see the glint of humor in his eyes but refrain from defending myself.

"So," he persists, "how about you choose to be brave now and tell me something worthy of my interest."