I cover my mouth because I have a sick feeling in my stomach that I know exactly where this is going. These things never end well for anyone involved.
“There was a family of five on the pontoon and a little girl was playing on the dock. Everyone was pretty severely hurt, but she,” he leans forward a bit and clears his throat, “she didn’t make it. She was gone before EMS even got there. We were on scene first, so we tried to do what we could for everyone.”
I close my eyes and my hand goes to my heart. Jason’s face enters my mind immediately and I try my best to shake it off.
“Oh my God, Isaac. That’s awful. I’m so sorry you had to be a part of that.”
“I knew when I took this job as a first responder, I would see things like this, but that doesn’t mean it gets easier. It gets harder, actually.”
“I’m sure it does, but it takes a special person to be able to do it.”
“And here I thought you hated firemen.” He forces a grin.
I look down at my bowl and push the pasta around. I don’t hate fireman, not all of them at least. I just wish the ones who came to help in LA had tried harder to save my brother… but they didn’t. They let him die.
I don’t say that, of course, because I don’t want the looks. I don’t want the pity and sadness that is always present in their eyes when someone finds out how Jason died. I can’t go there. Not with him. Not yet.
“I think one in particular is growing on me.”
Isaac
I’ve been inside of her home for nearly four hours. It’s nearing eleven and I feel like I’ve only been here a few minutes. Being around her is different and so much easier than the other women I’ve been with over the years. Work takes up most of my time, so having anything more than a quick romp or two is a rare occurrence.
After one of the most incredible meals I’ve ever eaten, we migrated to her living room with more drinks, a bit stronger now in the form of some gin mixed drink she whipped up. Her home is quaint, small, and somehow perfectly her with the bright white walls and deep hardwood floors. There are pops of color in her pillows, candles, and artwork. It’s fresh and light. It’s her.
As we sit in her living room, talking about everything under the sun, we slowly end up moving closer and closer together.
She started on one side of her L-shaped sectional and me on the other, but now, a few hours later, we are so close together in the curve of the sofa that our legs are touching.
“What’s your favorite memory?” she asks, tilting her head curiously.
“Memory in regard to?”
“Life. Anything. Just your favorite memory.” She shrugs one shoulder and takes a sip of her drink, letting the ice clink against the glass.
It’s a loaded question, and it doesn’t have the easiest answer. There are so many memories in my life I could consider positive, but I don’t know if they’d qualify as my favorite. There is one, however, that pops into my mind rather quickly.
“My family and I went up to the mountains for Christmas when I was ten years old. I had never seen snow before, and I remember thinking it was the most incredible thing. My granddad even tried to teach me to snowboard.” I laugh. “And that’s how I broke my first bone.”
She giggles, “And it’s still your favorite memory?”
“I wouldn’t change a thing about it. It was my favorite Christmas.”
“I love that, actually. You know it’s a great memory when the good outweighs all the bad that happened.”
I place my glass on a coaster on the coffee table in front of us and reach down, pulling her feet up and into my lap, resting my hands on her ankles.
“What about your favorite memory?”
I watch as she lays her head back on the cushioned sofa with her eyes closed for the briefest moment before a smile appears on her face.
“My brother, Jason, always wanted to go skydiving. He talked about it constantly. Obviously, since he was under eighteen, he wasn’t allowed. Not even with a parent signing off. God, that made him so upset.” She swallows more of her drink, crunching on a small piece of ice. “Anyway, we went on vacation to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee one year. I had just turned eighteen and was going to college that fall in California. We wanted one last summer vacation as a family.”
I can see the sadness blended with happiness at the memory building in her eyes in a mixture of tears and smiles.
“Jason was twelve at the time, and since he couldn’t actually skydive, there was only one option. Indoor skydiving.”
“That’s a thing?” I ask.
“It is. It’s this big, cylindrical tower with a giant fan in the floor. They put you in all the gear, let you step inside, turn on the fan and up you go. Anyway, my parents surprised Jason with a chance to do it while we were on vacation. I don’t think I had ever seen him so happy.”
I squeeze her ankle then rub from there up her calf and back down mindlessly, comforting her. “I can see the memory in your eyes. Your face is lighting up thinking about it.”
“It’s nice to remember him like that.”
“If it’s too much, you don’t have to tell me. You can tell me to mind my own fucking business and that’ll be the end of it, but… what happened to him?”
She stares down into her glass, which has now built up a bit of condensation and slides her thumb over it, sweeping away some
