We’ve been here waiting for a while now. There’s still a couple hours of daylight left, but the sooner someone comes driving through here, the better. Neither of us wants to be stuck here during the night. We need this light to last as long as possible. I occasionally stand in the road, flashing the rare passing motorist my tattooed chest, hoping to get his attention, but he keeps driving. My hope for rescue fades by the minute.
To be honest, I miss the good times Rachel and I had together. Sometimes I think it would’ve been nice for us to share a few more moments in the sun. Even when her feelings intensified, we still had our laughs after experiencing our spills. I guess to hear the four-letter L-word every once in a while could’ve been a nice bonus. I suppose there was even enough room in me to reciprocate it, had I just been a little more open to the seriousness of it. That, more than likely, would’ve erased a few of her tears.
I’m not sure how things would’ve been different had I just given a little more of myself—if I had been nicer to her. I’ll admit the questions stir in my mind, questions that ask how she’d react to me if I hadn’t fallen into a spiral of “coolness.” Sometimes it’s hard for me to care about the future because she pisses me off so much and I cannot always fathom how long I’m willing to live with that. But I suppose a lot of that is just my interpretation of who she should be. My friends used to try convincing me she was a great girl, despite her occasional sadness, and I just needed to see it. They accused me of not wanting to. Of course, they had their blind sides, too, but their comments got me contemplating her from time to time. Deep down, I would’ve liked to have seen her smile more without having to fake it—Jet Ski or not. Sometimes I hope that maybe she would be truly happy at least once, and that I might be part of the reason for it.
I guess it’s funny that on an afternoon like this, I wonder if it’s too late to give her what she’d once desired. As I glance at the side of her face, watching her contemplate her own life and situation, I see something that looks like resolve. As much as I resist the thought, I find it confident, and somewhat attractive.
It might be worth it to give her, and us, another chance. After all I’ve put her through, and after all that she was willing to endure today and every day since we’d met, I think she deserves some happiness. I wonder if she’d hate me for bringing it up, though, especially after what I had done to our Jet Skis, and to our relationship.
I guess there’s only one way to find out.