BackWash

I take off my sunglasses as I glance up at the sparkling sky above. I'm temporarily blinded by the red sun. I tear my eyes away from sharp rays and let my gaze drift back to the view in front of me. The sea, some distance out from where I stay, remains calm. The waves are too small to surf but it's still absolutely stunning. The view is worth it. These are the kind of days I live for. These are the days where I'm thankful to live in a coastal city. I'll never relocate. This is home. I suck in a deep breath of fresh air and relish in the feeling of pure bliss. I can practically taste the salt coming off of the waves in viewing distance. The gentle breeze rides with the breakers before rolling off into the other winds, providing some type of relief from the blazing heat.  I readjust my position on the front porch to get comfortable. I pick up the weekly magazine and begin to skim through the articles on each page while soaking up all the sun.  "What are you reading there, Missy?" someone asks as I flip through the pages of the popular magazine that all the surfers here in Cali happen to enjoy reading.  I don't answer him immediately.  Brent takes that as a sign to flop down beside me on my front porch in order to gain my attention. I move my eyes from the magazine in my hands and set my gaze on my friend. His eyes are shining a vibrant green and his black hair is tousled by the flowing breeze. He places a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun as he waits patiently for me to answer his question.  It's a hot yet beautiful day. There's not a cloud in sight but Brent doesn't seem to be enjoying the heat as much as I am. He's the type who happens to thrive during rainy seasons. He's odd like that. I turn the next page before raising a single brow at him, a small smile on my lips. "What do you think?" He grins brightly before snatching the magazine right out of my hands. He shuts it closed to see the front cover. "BackWash magazine? Should've known. It's the most popular surfing magazine here in Half Moon Bay. Of course, you'd be reading it." "True," I nod, agreeing. I reach for my beloved magazine and grab it back from him. I have an entire collection of all the different BackWash magazine editions. As a previous surfer, you can imagine their value to me. I rely solely on the BackWash magazine when I get nostalgic about my surfing days. Brent clears his throat as his emerald eyes find mine again. "So, I'm assuming you heard?" I c**k my head to the side in response, a frown gracing my lips. "Heard what?" Brent furrow his eyebrows in confusion. "How have you not heard? Everyone is speaking about it." To answer my question, Brent takes the magazine back and flips the book open onto a specific article. "How did you miss this one?" He points to the heading of the article and my eyes widen in disbelief.  "I just bought the magazine. I've barely read anything in it yet," I answer Brent, my eyes skimming through the article.  My hands begin to subtly shake. I stand up in a rush and run a frustrated hand through my hair, my terrified expression giving me away instantly. Brent notices and stands up with me. The heading of the article: 'Chase Fuller, young surfing prodigy, to return back to Half Moon Bay.' This day is not perfect after all. He's coming home. "You okay?" Brent asks aloud from beside me, breaking me out of my trance. He watches me carefully as if afraid of how I'll take this. I nod, swallowing. "I'm fine," I lie swiftly. "Yeah right," Brent comments with a look that clearly says 'I don't believe you'. "It's been two years, Gabs. That's a long time. It makes sense if you're feeling a little overwhelmed with the news...especially, after everything that happened." "I-I have to get out of here," I stutter but recover quickly. I cannot be here when he gets home, not after having not seeing him for two years, not after the accident. Call me a coward but I don't want to face him. Brent's eyes leave my own and move to something behind me. I don't follow his movement, too lost in my own world to care to what caught his attention. I'm so busy stressing, so distracted, and lost to the world that I fail to see the shadow of someone towering over me.  Brent starts in warning, "Um, Gabs--" "Not now, Brent," I interrupt him. "I need to get out of here before he gets back. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see his face," I conclude bitterly, my past hatred resurfacing at just the thought of him. "Avoiding me already, Gabriela?" I spin around in my spot at hearing his voice. My head snaps up as I come face-to-face with the devil himself. He's got shades on and his famous white surfboard is resting under his right arm. His hair is wet and spiky, indicating that he's just been surfing.  It's not surprising that surfing would be the first thing he does upon his arrival back into town. He takes his shades off and flashes me a cocky grin. He hasn't changed a bit -- personality-wise and appearance-wise. My eyes travel down his form to study him properly. His beach outfit screams laid-back. He's always been the epitome of the 'cool' and 'go with the flow' kind of guy. The boardshorts and lose v-neck says it all. Of course, it wouldn't be Chase Fuller without his silver dog tags intact too. He still has the same arrogant smirk and the same messy brown hair sweeping just above his piercing blue eyes. I mutter a few curses under my breath before crossing my arms over my chest. I take up a protective stance as if to defend myself from him. I make a point to sigh loudly as I glower up at him defiantly through my lashes. I don't bother greeting him, or offering him words of any kind, for that matter. He chuckles humorlessly at me, spitefully. "Oh, don't look so upset, Gabriela. I'm only here for the summer." "Thank goodness, I wouldn't survive otherwise," I mumble just loud enough for him to hear, though I can't help but wonder why he'd come back here. In the past two years, he hasn't been back once. Why now? He flashes me a smirk as his familiar blue eyes rake over my stature shamelessly. "And here I thought I'd come home to a warm embrace from you. Surely we're past our past. At least, I was hoping so," he says coldly but even through his mockery, I can make out the deep hatred he holds just for me. "Other than that, you're looking good," he grins cockily and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. We'll never be past our past. I close my eyes at the sound of his voice, wondering when the hell he got here. How had I not noticed him? How had I missed his presence? He must have got back earlier than expected. He's caught me off guard. I open my eyes again to slap his hand away. "Don't. Touch. Me!" I snap at him through clenched teeth. "Chase, now's really not a good time," Brent replies, interfering on my behalf. He's trying to put me out of this anguish that I'm currently feeling. "In case you forgot, Brent, I happen to live here too," Chase says nonchalantly, motioning to his house next door to that of my own. It's then that I have the courage to speak up again, his blue glare already set on me. "Nice to see you again, Chase," I lie, trying to be the better person after all this time. We're adults now. We're supposed to be mature. Maybe I can pretend that we're past our past. "Liar," Chase replies point-black. He's never been one to sugarcoat or beat around the bush. He's always been straight forward. I'm glad to know that some things never change. But...there's something missing. There's something different about him. It's his eyes. They're no longer a bright hue filled with warmth and playfulness. Now, his eyes are coated in grey; they're cold and detached. Then again, he hasn't been the same ever since it all happened. Neither have I. "Chase, please," I beg helplessly, "can we, at least, try to be civil when we're around each other? There's no point in avoiding each other. Our families are close. We're bound to see each other. All I'm asking is that we put the past in the past and just be courteous and polite in the presence of others," I say in desperation before adding another 'please'. Chase seems thoughtful for a few seconds before he nods. "I think I can do that." "Thank you," I whisper in gratitude, hoping that we start off better this time. Chase lingers around for a few minutes and it almost feels like the air thickens in tension.  Well...this is not awkward at all. "You can go now," Brent says aloud, directing his statement at Chase. "Or I can stay," Chase suggests solemnly, standing his ground. He always has to have the last say. He always has to win. Somehow, he always does.  Chase is not impressed with Brent being here. The two of them never did get along. "Gabriela?" Chase whispers almost hesitantly as if cautious. I glance up at him. "Mhm?" He contemplates saying whatever it is he wants to say for a few seconds longer before his mouth closes on its own accord. Clearly, he's changed his mind. He isn't going to say it then.  I know what he wants to say and I've been waiting two years to hear him say it but he never does. He always backs out at the last second. I don't bother getting my hopes up anymore. He's disappointing. That's all I can say about him. Things between us will never be the same again. "Stay out of my way as much as possible and I'll stay out of yours," he settles on saying instead. With that said, he's gone. I watch in silence as he walks away from me to his own house.  It isn't a mere suggestion. I know better than that. It's a command. In other words, 'stay out of my way...or else'. He always resorts to threats when he can't just come out and say the three words that have been haunting him and me for the past two years. I sigh sadly, dwelling on the past. Brent sees this and wraps his arm around my shoulders in a comforting gesture. "Hey. This is good. This way he will leave you alone. He can't hurt you anymore," Brent tells me, his green eyes burning in a fire of compassion.  Brent has always been one of my closest friends, perhaps not my best but he's always been around. He's been here and there for quite some time. Then when Chase left, he stepped up to the plate and we grew closer as friends.  Before I can even process it, Brent is already leading me back inside the house. We were standing on the front porch when he told me of Chase's arrival. He assumed I knew. My mother purposely kept the news from me to prevent me from having another anxiety attack. It's not much better when someone bursts your bubble out of nowhere. I didn't even have time to prepare for Chase's return. I would've been better off knowing about it. "I thought you two were off to a college party," my mother states as she busies herself from somewhere in the kitchen. She can't see us but she still knows that it's us. We are the only ones coming in and out of this house, these days. "Change of plans, Mrs. Hill," Brent takes the liberty to answer her for me. I shoot him a thankful smile for always saving me from having to speak up when I don't feel up to it. However, my mother doesn't catch the hint that something is up. She continues on with her interrogation as she walks into the room where Brent and I happen to be standing. "How come?" she asks us. As if she has no idea... "Chase Fuller is back in town," I come out with it, not able to deal with an argument right now. "I assume you knew this entire time?" I pose my statement into a question in order to get a legit answer from her. I need her to confirm it. "Yes," she sighs. At least, she isn't going to lie to my face this time 'round. I notice how her brows furrow and I notice the wrinkles between her eyes. It's an indicator of how old she's been getting; the stress has taken a toll on her. Ever since the accident, it seems she's been aging quicker -- perhaps it's the depression. "I knew you wouldn't be prepared to see him," she confesses. "So, you thought that me running into him by mistake would be a better way for it to come out? That was rather foolish and impulsive of you. I guess you're none the wiser than dad," I reply back brutally, tired of this lifestyle. It never ends; it's always ongoing. My mother closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. When she opens her eyes again they're ablaze in immense pain, pain that she's been hiding beneath those pools of green for months. "Gabriela, I don't want to discuss this now. I've had a long day as it is." "Well, maybe I want to talk about it. Did you ever consider that?" I hiss bitterly. She isn't the only one who is hurting. This whole family is. Brent shoots a look between us and backs off slowly. "I'll catch you later, Gabs," he says softly, deciding to let us sort out our issues on our own.  I nod, letting him know that I won't mind if he feels he needs to leave. I can only imagine how he must feel, standing here and listening to an ongoing debate that has lasted for precisely two years. Of course, he's grown used to it but still, he doesn't deserve to be put in such a position with me and my family.  "Call me later," he says before leaving. I'm brought back to reality by my mother's sharp voice, "Watch your tone, Gabriela! You still live under my roof," she goes on to remind me like she always does. It is always her fallback plan. "Not by choice," I remind her as well.  After everything happened, my family was put under a lot of strain. Then, to top it off, my father packed up and left us. Yes, I pity my mother. She's lost too much but so have I. She never acknowledges that we're suffering together. She's not the only one who lost everything that day...I did too. "No one's forcing you to stay here, Gabriela. You can walk out that door..." she trails off as she points to the door, "whenever you want. I never asked you to stay." 'You didn't have to,' I think to myself. How could I have left my mother to fend for herself when she's was unstable? It's simple really, I couldn't.  I made the choice to get a job instead of studying. It was always my dream to study marine biology, considering my family's history with the ocean, however, circumstances had it otherwise. My mother needed me at the time and she still does. I will always be here until she can stand on her own two feet again. That's what family does for family. Despite our debates, I still love her. She's the only family I have left in this world. "That's a real slap in the face considering all I've done for you," I say begrudgingly. I gave up my dream for her -- not every daughter would be prepared to do that. I put my mom first. I chose her over myself. "You act like it's my fault that he's not with us anymore!" my mother snaps at me, having finally lost her temper. "Who? Dad or Matt?" I ask accusingly, even though I already know to whom she is referring to. "Don't mention his name," my mother says quietly, a sign that she is incredibly angry. "Don't you dare ever mention his name." That's the problem, I never get to ease my pain because I never get to talk about my problems. I can hear how she's hurting. Her tone is an indication of the pain she always hides, the pain we both share in. "It's not your fault, Mom," I whisper aloud into the air, hoping she hears.  She freezes and looks at me with a soft smile -- it's barely there but it's still there. She never genuinely smiles anymore. Dark days call for dark moments. "You need to let go," she advises quietly. My mouth falls agape at her accusation. How dare she point fingers at me? What a hypocrite? "I've let Matt go, Mom. You should try too," I use his name even if it makes her cower and cringe in fear. The fact that she can't even say his name shows me that she hasn't let go. His name was Matt and he was my little brother. He shouldn't have to be forgotten. I will take the liberty to acknowledge that he once lived, breathed, smiled, loved...because that's who Matt was. He was our light and now he is gone. He didn't just survive, he lived. He didn't just live, he thrived. My mother shakes her head at me, her faint smile being erased at the mention of his name. "I'm not talking about letting go of your brother. I know you've come to terms with what happened to him." I raise my eyebrows in confusion. "Then what or who are you referring to?" Perhaps my father? I haven't quite forgiven him for being weak when we needed him to be strong.  "Chase Fuller," she answers blatantly. "You need to stop blaming him for your brother's death. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone. It wasn't Chase's fault. You need to realize that and accept it. Stop blaming Chase. Your blame is going to kill him one of these days." I nod. "When it happened, I'll admit, I blamed Chase. I believed it was his fault for encouraging Matt to enter the ocean that day, despite the storm," I reply truthfully. There is no point in lying when my mother already knows the truth. I'm an open book, anyone can read me. "Maybe I still do." "You could have died that day, Gabriela. He saved you," my mother reminds me, siding with Chase. Yes, he did save me. No, he didn't save Matt. He was too late. "I know, and for that, I'm eternally grateful but I still hold a grudge against Chase. I want to say I've forgiven him but I haven't. I know that it wasn't his fault. I just needed someone to blame, and at the time, I took it out on Chase. I'm trying to let it go but it's hard," I explain to my mom. "How can he let go of it all and move on when he still believes it's his fault?" my mother asks me, shifting position to place her hands on her hips.  I'm not stupid. I've considered her exact question many times before. I even picked up the phone during spring break to call Chase and apologize. However, every single time, I ended up hanging up the second he answered. "You made him believe that it was by his misdoings that your brother ended up dead," my mom clarifies, making me feel so guilty. A tear escapes and runs down my cheek. I'm quick to wipe it away but my mother sees it. Knowing that she's right, I don't say anything more and rush upstairs to my room. I close the door after me and lean against it, placing a hand over my beating heart.  The new Chase, the jerk one of today, was created by my hand. He carries guilt because of me. He's been carrying the heavy burden for me, even when it isn't his to carry. Slow tears flow down my cheeks. I crumple down to the floor, failing to compose myself. Matt would never have wanted this. He would have wanted us to move on with our lives but we're all stuck living in the past because each of us holds the other back. My sixth sense kicks in. I happen to glance up and meet his blue gaze from across houses. For a second, his eyes express a hint of concern at seeing me break down but as soon as my eyes meet his own, they turn cold and stony again. Fortunately, I've grown accustomed to it. He reserves his endless supply of hatred just for me.  The con about living next to him is that he can hear and witness everything that goes on inside my home. He's been gone for a long time. He must've forgotten all about my personal hell back here. Even now as he sits on his windowsill, staring into my room at me, I can't help but feel responsible. It's my fault he's this way now. I did this to him. I made him like this. I killed the Chase that everyone once loved. Left in his place is this cold, heartless, hollow jerk.  I hold his gaze, unable to turn away. He has seen me crumble before but never has he seen me so...so very broken and torn. No one has. I don't often cry, especially not in front of people. However, Chase has now just seen me at my weakest. I never wanted anyone, especially not him, to see me like this. He hops off of the windowsill and stands up. I watch him shut his curtains closed so that I can no longer see him.  I can't forget that piercing gaze. Sometimes it feels as if he's looking right through me, seeing past me; other times, it feels as if he's looking directly into my soul, seeing all of me. Either way, that intruding gaze of blue always leaves me painfully breathless.