That Message Hasn't Changed

I trudge the waters in late December near the shore of the Lake Spinswell in Calrenceville, Massachusettes, and the brisk waters don't bother me, the brisk air doesn't bother me. I do only this: reminisce.


I walk down to the dock to catch several of my friends before they leave to go out on the lake for the better half of the day. I spot Frances doing his best to put what looks like an extemely heavy cooler on to the twenty-five foot cabin cruiser that his dad is letting him use, or so he says. Before I get all the way down to the dock, I pull my pack of Camel Lights out of my pocket and light a cigarette. As I get to the boat I hear Mark ask Mallorie to put his Miller High Life in the red cooler next to the motor, but she doesn't hear him and lights a cigarette and sits in the captain's chair instead. I look around and for a moment taking a few drags from my cigarette, and once I am done taking in my environment I step onto the boat, say hi to Mallorie, and give her a hug. Mark steps up from the cabin where he was probably hanging out with Charles and walks to the back of the boat where his case of beer is still sitting untouched next to the cooler and ice.

"What the fuck, Mal?" he says to Mallorie.

"What?"

"I asked you to put my beer in the' cooler."

"No you didn't. When?"

"Just a second ago." A sniff, and nose rub.

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did... shit." This sentence is a little mumbled and unclear, then Mark goes directly to putting some ice in the cooler, next the beer, then the rest of his slightly melted ice. I chuckle a little and step off the boat to talk to Frances.

"Hey, what's up, bro?" I ask him though I can clearly tell he is doing absolutely nothing.
"Chillin'. Gettin' ready t' leave."

"Who are we waiting for?" I ask him as I finish my cigarette and try to figure out what to do with it because I don't want to throw it in the water.

He looks up at me for a second: "There's an ashtray in the boat. And I'm waiting for my sister and Marron." And at that I pause for a second on consider what has just been told to me. I had no idea that Marron Baroczki was coming, and if I would have known previously I don't know if I would've come. She and I have a short yet heart-wrenching history with each other, one that I would refuse to delve into even if I were to be paid beautifully by it. I swallow, and say:

"Oh, Sarah and Marron are coming?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Why? What's up?"

"No-nothing." I lie.

"Oh, yeah! Damn, dude, the whole Marron thing. Yeah. I'm sorry I didn't even think about that when I invited them," he pauses for a second while reaching into his pocket, "That girl is always fucking late." He pulls out some chapstick and applies it to his lips as he has done since I've known him. I look at my feet for a moment and gather myself and say:

"It's fine."

"You sure?"

"No, but I'm not going to ask you to make them leave."

"I wouldn't anyway."

"I know." I walk over and step inside of the boat and look around for the ashtray that I finally find on the counter next to the microwave in the cabin.

My gut has fallen, and I have to sit down for a few moments. I have to pull myself together today. I think to myself: I have to not let anything get to me. Have a good time. Ignore it... not her... it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignore it. Ignor... and that's when I hear her voice and I pause. My nerve sinks and I don't know if I can stomach today. But, no, no I am not leaving. I stand up, my knees wavering, my head racing, my gut doing flips and walk up the few stairs to the deck where my friends are greeting Marron and Sarah. Mark is sitting on his cooler drinking a beer and not being even slightly discreet despite the fact that he is only nineteen.

I stand back and don't say anything, letting everyone get their welcomes in before I say a word. I want to not be noticed by her. I want today to go perfectly without any kind of a hitch, but that unfortunately doesn't happen...

Sarah interjects my silence, "Hey, Payton, what's going on over there?" Fuck.

I slightly turn my head and look at her out of the sides of my eyes, "Nothing."

"What's wrong with you?" She asks. Marron hasn't noticed me yet, and for that I am relieved, and with my eyes I answer her. I barely make a motion toward her best friend and swallow with grief. My mouth straightens and thins and I look down and at an angle. I pull out another cigarette, but don't light it. I just roll it in my fingers and stare down. I don't want to think right now, but I have to.

Sarah inhales, "Ooohh." She walks over to me and gives me a hug, "I'm so sorry, hunny."

"No, really, it's fine."

"You're lying."

"So?" It doesn't matter what I think because no matter what I think it will not change the possibilities and my chances. It's simple: she is not the one for me, but I cannot accept that outcome.

"Don't do this to yourself."

"I can't help it, Sarah." She just looks at me with those sympathetic eyes and I light my cigarette. I don't say a single word. I sit and comtemplate the situation.

"I'm sorry. It's nothing you did or didn't," she tells me. I know it's not, but all I can think is that it has to be something I did and didn't do. Something I am and am not. Something I guess I cannot be.

After a while I stand up and walk over to Mark and ask for a beer which he seems reluctant to give but does so, anyway because he can't be angry or irritable right now. He stands up from his point on the cooler and I open the lid and retrieve a MHL for myself.

"Hey, Payton, will you hand me one of those?" asks Mallorie.

"They're Mark's. Ask him." I am in no position to give or take what is not mine, though I want to terribly.

"Mark?"

He shrugs, "Yeah, whatever." I grab another can out of the cooler and when I stand up and close the cooler Marron is standing near me.

"What's up, kid?" I'm older than she is.

I hesitate and then answer her, "Nothing." I feel sick.

"What's up with you?" I ask her.

"Coming to have fun."

"Me, too." I can't now. My stomach is turning.

I hear Mallorie behind Marron, "Hey, how about the beer, Payton?" I don't really take in what she said at first. My cigarette is un-touched and burning.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." I lick my lips and walk past Marron paying attention to not bump into her or rub shoulders or anything of the sort, and I hand Mallorie the beer. I crack mine open and take a drink then a drag of my cigarette and realize the filter is slightly wet from perspiration on the can; I dry my lips so they can absorb the moisture and I take another drag. I turn around.

"So, do I get a hug or what?"

I scrunch my eyebrows and have a half-smirk, "Of course." And we hug, and I can feel it inside of me. I close my eyes and think back, and then I am fast-fowarded back to the present when she starts to pull away and I let go and we stop.

"Everyone ready?" asks Frances.

"Aye, aye, captain," answers Mark, and I just look at him. Frances starts the engine, waits a moment to make sure everything sounds right, and then puts the throttle into reverse and the boat slowly begins to make its way backward, and we head out onto Lake Spinswell for a glorious day of fun in the sun that has already begun to darken.

On the way out into the lake, I can't do anything but subtly stare at Marron from the otherside of the boat, and when I think she is about to see me I change directions slowly or act as if I am looking over her out into the clear, smooth waters. Almost there, she is talking to Mark and their flirtatious discourse and acting is literatlly making me sick to my stomach and I go down into the cabin to get away from it. I try to clear my head of everything, but it always ends up back at Marron, and I come to the verge of tears, and while lying on the bed down there I hear footsteps and don't look up, but am hoping for it to be who I want it to be. And, yet, it is not.

"Are you alright?" I hear Mallorie's voice in my ears.

"No. I'm not." I feel like throwing up.

"What's wrong?" Does she even give a fuck? "I really care about you, Payt. So what's wrong?"

"Marron."

"Oh." That's all she can say because there is nothing more to be said about it. She knows the background, however brief it may be, and she knows my feelings. There is nothing more to be said.

"You know she didn't mean to hurt you, right?" I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"I know. That doesn't make it any less hard." It makes it much harder. If she meant to I could hate her. Hate is much weaker an emotion than...

"I know, and it sucks, but you can't be like this."

"..." I can't say anything to her. I don't have any words to describe how I feel inside.

"You know? I brought something I didn't tell anyone else about. It might help." She speaks lowly, almost a whisper. I know exactly what it is, and I've had horrible experiences with alcohol and talking to Marron, but I don't have anything else to do right now, and it could very well help me cope. My fellow teenage alcoholic comes to the rescue.

"Oh, yeah?" I already know what it is.

She reaches in her bag and pulls out a fifth of rum. A bottle of Captain Morgan. "You wan" and she is cut off by another voice.

"What are you guys doing down there?" asks Mark.

"We're talking."

"About what?"

"None of your damn business."

"What do you mean 'none of my damn business.'" He uses the quotation fingers.

"It's none of your business."

"Just tell me and I'll..." he starts.

"Get fucked, Mark! and close that door behind you, you fuckin' shit!" He grumbles only slightly. The rollercoaster he is on has not come to an end, yet. And that almost makes it worse because I know he is going back to Marron to sit and talk and touch and flirt with her. She hands me the rum when she knows he's not near the door.

"Here," she says, and she reaches back into her bag for something else. "Here's some Dr. Pepper." She looks back at me, but I'm already throwing the bottle back drinking as much as I can before I start to gag. Mallorie just looks at me, then offers me the Dr. Pepper, but I reject it, the flavor helps to ease my churning abdomen for some reason.

"Thanks."

"You want some more?"

I think for a second. "Yes. I do if that is okay."

"That's fine." And I take a second pull this time more. In two drinks I've had nearly a pint of the fifth, and I feel that should suit me just fine. Mallorie and I continue to talk, and I don't really feel much. As we talk she sips on the bottle chasing it with the Dr. Pepper, sometimes making a face. We talk until we feel the boat come to as much as a stop it can come to without the anchor out.

"Well, shall we?" she asks slightly slurring her words.

"Yeah. I don't see why I shouldn't enjoy this beautiful day." I say pre-emptively. She stands up and slightly sways as she walks to the stairs. Then, I stand up and that is when it hits me like a punch in the face. I have to stop to catch my balance and have to hold on to the counter as I make my way to the stairs and door. I open the door and the sun hits my pink-tinted eyes; I squint and have to put my hand up to block its rays, and when my eyes come into focus the first thing I see is Marron with her arms around Mark giving her a kiss, and the terrible feeling I am oh-so-used-to comes back and I have to sit down.

Frances lays anchor not far from an angled cliff that is a local favorite for kids to jump from. They challenge each other by going higher and higher to see who is tougher. The highest point lies about sixty-five feet above water-level. I look over and see several beer cans lying next to the cooler where Mark has haphazardly tossed them about, both crushed and un-. Mark, Frances, Sarah, and Marron all strip down to their bathing suits and they all but Frances jump in off of the side. Frances stands on the back of the boat facing backwards, holds on to the railing and does a backflip into the water. I, still sitting, begin to take off my jeans so I can get in the water, but pause when I look over and see Mark and Marron hanging on each other in the water.

He has to know about us; everyone else does, and that's when I realize it. He's doing this to spite me. I can't believe I didn't notice any sooner. He has always been like that, ever since we were young. Absolutely no regard for anyones feelings, and I feel as if she has none either.

After twenty or thirty minutes, Mallorie finally coaxes me into the water and we begin to wade over to the cliff with our orange life preservers. As we come upon the monstrous natural occurence, I just gaze up at it's enormity and am in awe. She and I make our way up the path to about thirty-five feet as best we can, holding on to branches, helping each other up as we fall and stumble, laughing. for some reason this piece of rock that I have jumped, dove, and flipped off of has some hypnotic effect on me. I walk up to the edge and look down at the smooth water that is soon to be rippled by me, and I throw my life jacket in. I back up from the edge and run toward it's sheer end, and as I hit the last step loose rocks make me slip-up and I fall, slowly flipping, into the water. I hit my shoulder and neck on the glass smooth water and suddenly don't feel as I fall through the water. I try my hardest to make my way to the surface, but to no avail. I cannot hear anything. The pressure begins to build first in my ears, then in my head, and most likely in the rest of my body if I could've felt it. As I struggle, I take in a breath.

"For the most part, that message hasn't changed a lot over the years - love is still love, and heartbreak is still heartbreak."
--Casey Kasum