Undertow (6 page)

Nine

A
sleep in her mother’s guest room, Marissa was trapped in the dream. She was at that tantalizing moment she never reached beyond, leaving her frustrated each morning when she awoke and realized she’d gotten no closer to reliving her rescue. No closer to Him. She writhed in her sleep.

Soon, she would die. With this certainty the consuming panic ebbed away and peace took its place. Marissa could no longer forestall her fate. She was through with the effort of trying to stay alive, of trying to force her frozen limbs to propel her to the surface.

Surrendering, Marissa sensed the implosion about to occur. The heat in her core was draining away; her body was becoming as cold as the deep ocean water. The transformation, fast though it must be, transpired in an incremental fashion, each cell exchanging its warmth for cold, like a chunk of wood crystallizing bit by bit until at last it was petrified. While Marissa succumbed to the icy waters, a strange fire burned in her lungs. They ached for the oxygen that would never come.

Marissa observed these phenomena as a scientist might study the twitching muscle fibers of some unfortunate laboratory animal in response to electrodes shocking its neurons. Curious, but detached. Unconcerned. Having capitulated to her impending death, the pain receded as she was drawn to the stream of memories playing before her now. Scenes cut back and forth across the short history of her life like a film produced by an amateur cameraman.

She saw herself, ringlets bouncing as she skipped toward her father. He’d just stepped from his car; he slammed the door and smiled at her. Daddy, with his arms flung wide to catch her. Another scene: Marissa, sitting cross-legged on her bed, tears streaming down her face as she stroked Angel’s long white fur and wished that Bethany was still alive.

In a kaleidoscope of memories, the facets of her life paraded before her. Tottering across the room in her first pair of heels, trying to appear elegant as she greeted her prom date; vomiting from her first bottle of wine, shame burning more than the acrid fluid in her throat; standing on stage with her high school choir under the brilliant lights which blinded her to the audience; kissing Drake for the first time, then kissing him over and over again.

New lips, soft and silken, pressed against her, insistent. They pried hers apart, forced her mouth open. Fused with hers. Heat filled her mouth, her lungs.

Curiously, this made the crushing pain stop, as if some evil spirit had escaped her. Marissa felt weightless. She was floating in the abyss.

A new pressure, unlike that of the ocean, blanketed her in warmth. The lips were still on hers, delectable and nurturing. Marissa wondered at these new sensations. Was this death, then?

Suddenly, her body torpedoed through the water, parting the liquid curtains. Despite the speed she was moving, she felt relaxed and serene. It was though she was transported across a river while lying tucked into a cradle, safe and loved.
Heaven
, she thought.
I am going to Heaven
.

There was a dim light some distance ahead, and she became aware of the improbability of the presence beside her, wrapped around her body, its mouth tightly clasped to hers. It seemed bizarre that she would be escorted to heaven in the embrace of an angel.

The light grew brighter and narrowed to a thin beam. Vision began to return, and she could discern the outline of a gap ahead, a doorway perhaps. As she neared this entrance, she was filled with bliss. Thrust forward, she found herself lying on a soft, wet surface that yielded under her weight. She tried to focus her eyes in the diffuse light. She was disoriented and struggled to sit upright, like a convalescent too long in bed. Her fear grew as she surveyed her surroundings and noted the black stone walls around her, illuminated by a vaguely red florescence. The room was dank. Marissa panicked as the ache returned to her chest. In an instant, it came to her: she’d gone not to Heaven, but to Hell.

Marissa opened her mouth to scream and someone rushed to her side. The hand that grasped hers was cool and silky, comforting. She turned toward its owner, and gazed into a pair of almond shaped eyes the color of the gray sea, iced with froth from waves that beat against the rocky surf. Before Marissa could speak, his lips were on hers. Consciousness drained away as she fell back to the ground and slipped into an ecstasy that only Heaven could contain.

Ten

B
y midmorning, the residual elation from last night’s dream was gone, replaced by a sense of profound loss. Yesterday’s grimy jeans and sweater still hung on her as Marissa paced the floor in the tiny room. He
was swimming in that watery paradise, longing for her. Why else would he have rescued her? Maybe she was destined to become his wife, like the girl in the Indian legend.

On the dresser, her phone began vibrating and she lunged to pick it up before it transferred to voicemail. Kelly’s number was on the display. “Hi Kels! Wow, I’ve missed you! What are you doing today?” Her words tumbled out like river rapids cascading over a cliff.

“Hell, Issa,” she said, “how come you didn’t call to let me know you were going to be at your mom’s for Christmas? I called your apartment in Corvallis when you didn’t answer your phone—Erin told me.”

Marissa ignored the peevish reproach. Her sadness at the fading of her dream was gone. Now she was thrilled, dying to tell her friend, but decided to wait and tell her in person so she could see the surprise on her face. “Sorry. Phone was off, didn’t want it to wake Mom. So, when are you coming over?”

“There’s no way I’m coming to your mom’s place. Jeez, Marissa. Meet me for coffee at our usual. How soon can you get your butt there?”

Marissa glanced down and realized for the first time that her clothes were filthy. She caught her reflection in the dresser mirror across the room. Holy Crap, she thought, I look awful.
“Um, I’m moving kind of slow today, slept in late,” she said. “Give me an hour or so to shower. Eleven good?”

Hanging up the phone, Marissa stared at herself in the mirror. She hardly recognized the girl. Her long auburn hair, streaked with cobalt, was starting to clump together; a few weeks more like this and she would  wind up with dreadlocks. Her face looked tired, haggard. And the eyes. Kind of crazed or something. All together, she looked wild. No wonder her mother acted like she’d seen a circus freak when she saw her yesterday.

Marissa recoiled from the memory of last night’s encounter with her mother and that new man in her life. Seriously. Even her mother could do better than some old dude like George.
She stole through the hall to the shower, making as little noise as possible. With any luck, she could make it out of there before her mother woke up.

Marissa admired the swirl of brown in the foam topping her cappuccino as she waited for the drink to cool. She was mulling over Kelly’s revelation and struggled to follow the words which flowed from her friend’s mouth.

“Actually, Drake didn’t seem all that torn up over Amy,” Kelly was saying. “When I ran into him in the bookstore last week, he asked about you. He tried to act all casual about it, but he didn’t fool me. He misses you, big time.”

Kelly droned on, describing her encounter with Drake. Marissa could picture him standing in line, books in arm, waiting for the cashier so he could sell back his texts. He never kept his texts; for Drake, college was all about getting the degree. Once class was over and grades were posted, the books went out the door almost as fast as anything he’d managed to learn that semester. Yet another difference between them Marissa had come to recognize during the months since they had parted: she treasured her books as tangible evidence of her hard-won knowledge; Drake didn’t give a rip about their symbolism. Or the education, for that matter.

“He misses you, Issa. You should give him a call while you’re up here,” Kelly said.

 “You’re kidding, right?” She paused, expecting Kels to crack up, like she did whenever she’s faking her out. Her friend just sat and gave her a pleading look, like Marissa should be feeling sorry for the guy. Disgusted, she said, “There’s no way on earth I ever want to talk to him again, let alone see him. I don’t give a crap whether he misses me. He should have thought about all that before he hooked up with Amy.”

“Okay, okay, relax,” Kelly said. “Forget it, alright? I just thought that maybe you miss him too. You guys were great together, you know—before Amy.”

“Yeah, I guess I thought so, too. But obviously we weren’t all that great together, or he wouldn’t have gone and messed around with her.”

“Marissa, you know guys are like that. Can’t help it . . . they’re like dogs that way.”

“Yeah, well, excuse me if I don’t want to be with a dog anymore,” she said.

Kelly sniffed at her latte. Marissa wondered if her cropped hair was a sign that Kelly and Johnny had finally split up. Maybe that explained why she was grilling her about Drake – she’d set her sights on him and was sending out feelers for whether Marissa cared if she ate her leftovers.

“Look, Kels: Drake is history. Past tense. There’s no chance we’re getting back together. Zilch.” She eyed her friend carefully, weighing whether she should say more.

“Okay, okay. Got it already. Just forget I said anything,” Kelly said. “So, you’re getting pretty serious with that new guy . . . what’s his name?” She sipped her coffee, poker faced.

Marissa laughed. “Jim. His name is Jim. And no, we’re not serious.”

“Oh, like, ‘we’re’ not serious, or
you’re
not serious?”

The way Kelly stressed the “you’re” about sent her over the edge. She began to lose patience with the whole conversation. An excitement boiled in her like water in a pressure cooker, about to explode if she didn’t release it soon. She
had
to tell somebody.

“Look, I can’t really get serious with Jim. I’ll tell you why, but you have to promise to believe me,” she said, testing the waters.

Kelly’s eyebrows arched and she leaned forward, eagerness lighting her face. Marissa knew how much Kelly loved a juicy story. But what she was about to spring on her might be more than the girl could take. She decided to plunge anyway.

“You know when I left Drake?”

“How could I forget? You didn’t call me, scared the living hell out of me, Drake too. We thought you’d gone and done something crazy.”

Drake again,
she thought
. God, Kels, give it up.
“I went to the beach. Remember? I told you that,” Marissa said.

“Right. After the fact. You told me after the fact. Would have been nice to know before Drake and I worried ourselves sick.”

“Please don’t ask me to give a rip how Drake felt.”

“Well, how about me? Do you give a rip how I felt?” Kelly asked, sticking her lips out.

“Alright, alright. Stop already. I’m sorry you were worried, okay?” Marissa should have expected this; it was always all about Kelly. “Listen, I never told you what really happened that night,” Marissa said, trying to corral her friend’s attention.

“What happened?” Kelly asked, her eyes growing wide in fear. “Did somebody hurt you? Did you get raped? Oh, Issa, I’m so sorry, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Seriously, no!” As usual, Kelly jumped to some wild conclusion and was off and running before she could stop her. “Nobody hurt me. That’s not what I’m trying to tell you.”

Kelly slowly exhaled and relaxed her body. “That’s good,” she said. She pretended to cross herself and say a prayer. “So, what did happen?”