#oceanfrontwill

He’d gotten the closest he had ever gotten to telling Annie how he had felt tonight. 

That is to say, he thought about it hard for a good twenty minutes before deciding that he shouldn’t. And it turned out being a good thing, because as soon as he’d come out of the heated debate session with himself, there she’d been: standing in a corner with Will Selznick. 

He’d just made her laugh and her hand was resting on his arm. 

They were so natural together. Why did Colin think that he could go up against Will and win? He needed to just resign himself to the fact that Annie was never going to go for him. She might not even go for Will. But how could she pick someone like Colin, when she could have any guy in this room? 

He looked over their way again. They were standing closer. 

Their babies would be so beautiful. 

The night was winding down now and most everyone was going home. Colin had had more than enough (only a beer and a sex on the beach, but that was more than enough to make him just a little tipsy). Luckily, he had had the foresight to walk to Alan’s, instead of drive, so he was going to walk home. 

He said goodbye to Alan and then he left. And he left at the same time as Will. 

Would you like to order? Can I get you something? Is your friend still coming?

Each time the waiter returned, he grew more and more impatient. He tried to hide it, at first, but Valerie was suspecting that he no longer cared if he was being polite or not. It had been over an hour and there had been no sign of Lex.

She couldn’t blame the waiter, really. She’d been in his position before (only she liked to think that she had handled it better). But she knew what it was like to live off tips and she knew firsthand the frustration when a customer didn’t order; when a customer didn’t leave … and here she was: doing both.  

To be honest, she’d been afraid to order anything, at all. None of the menus had prices (that’s when you knew when it was expensive: when the patrons were beyond caring how much something cost). She wondered if Lex never showed, if she’d even have enough money to pay for it. She didn’t like the idea of letting him pay for her, but she liked the idea of having to explain to them that she didn’t have enough money even less.

She wondered how she could have been so stupid. Why did she think that Lex could have anything to say to her, that he couldn’t have said to her right there, at the bar? Why did she think that he had anything left to say, that she would even care to hear? Why did she think that he would even bother to show up, at all?

He had only ever been there for her, if there hadn’t been something (or someone) else better to do.

She was so tired of all of this.

She was so tired of him.

She wasn’t going to wait anymore. She was going to order the least expensive sounding thing on the menu and then she was going to leave. She’d been reexamining the it when she heard the waiter say, “Here you are, sir.”

She looked up, expecting to see Lex … but it wasn’t him at all. It was Will.

“What are you doing here?” She blurted, as soon as the waiter had gone. But she knew. She knew as soon as she had said it that this wasn’t by chance: he was there for her.

Will looked even more out of place than she felt, as he took the seat across from her. She could have hugged him. She almost did.

A wave always returns...

The sand felt like freedom between her toes. She wiggled in the grains, her head falling back as though she was basking in beams of relief. Leslie Mann had returned to the sea. The moonlight hit her softly. All she could hear were the waves crashing onto the shore. She used to hear them in her nightmares, louder and louder they grew until she was gurgling and screaming for help. The waves had crashed into her and taken her out to sea, unable to return. Leslie thrashed around in bed, her sheet drenched in sweat when she finally woke up. Even in bed, she realized, she couldn’t keep dry from the sea. 

What Leslie looked upon now wasn’t a violent ocean; it wasn’t coming for her, just towards her, asking for her to come back. Although she smiled, tears welled in her eyes in anticipation. One step forward, then she wiggled her toes. One step forward, then she stripped off her shirt. One step forward, then the water chilled her from her feet to her spine. Salt water dripped from her eyes, not made by the sea of the earth, but by the sea of her own body. She didn’t bother to wipe them away; soon enough she would be wet all over. 

Leslie continued to wade into the water until she was up to her shoulders in cold, salty aqua. She looked skyward to the moon. It was full just like the night Bridget had died. The light hit her skin, and when it reflected onto the black water, Leslie imagined it was Bridget looking back at her. You can do this, the smaller sister encouraged. Under now. Leslie couldn’t catch her breath--maybe in fear of drowning in a sick coincidence, maybe too caught up in her emotions. It didn’t matter... it was time. Leslie watched a wave clear Bridget’s reflection away. The moon was bright, and Leslie knew she was watching. Leslie knew that Bridget had been watching this whole time, waiting for her sister to come back. 

Not counting down, Leslie plunged down into the water. She swam out farther and farther until she couldn’t touch the sandy bottom below. She swam into nothingness. Under the gentle waves she was simple and free. Not an orphan, not a patient, not a heartbreaker. The water rolled over her skin. She could feel it seeping into her pores, returning home to a body dried out for far too long. Leslie let the water take her where it wanted. She floated to the top, trusting her home to keep her safe. And it did. Her belly button popped over the top of the waves, and when Leslie’s face joined the cold air above she gasped for breath. It felt like the first time her lungs had been filled since she’d laid flowers down at the funeral. She was crying now, her tears flowing from the corners of her eyes, down her face, and into the water. Slowing but surely, Leslie could replenish the sea. But not tonight. Tonight, she was born again.

She was Leslie Mann again: friend, sister, girlfriend. Leader, fighter, survivor.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Leslie stretched out her left hand as if to hold hands with someone floating beside her. It was Bridget. Leslie liked to pretend that Bridget’s spirit was the reason for her ability to pull through her darkest days, but Bridget’s spirit never actually visited her. All along, it was Leslie who helped herself. She was the one who dragged herself to work. She was the one who portioned out pills every week. She was the one who dropped the knife from her stomach. “Thank you,” she said again, but this time her right hand floated up to her chest, and Leslie squeezed her collar bone. This was all that was left of the Mann family: one girl floating in the ocean at dark. She’d been abandoned by a mother, ignored by a father, and left by a sister. But Leslie was still here. 

Leslie floated like this for a long time until her back once again felt the cool surface of the sand beneath her. For so many years Leslie was afraid to walk back into the ocean; she was sure she too would drown, but here she was, safe and sound on the line of the beach. Leslie looked toward her left, slightly disappointed that her sister was not actually there beside her. She choked back another set of tears, this time more melancholy than before. Leslie rolled over onto her side, her fingers digging into the wet sand. She was okay. 

When Leslie sat up, she didn’t feel the need to move any further. The water brushed up against her toes every so often, reminding her gently that it was still there, still able to set her free. When she looked up at the moon again, she saw a shadow approaching from behind. A familiar voice followed the familiar shape. “Les.” His tone sent chills down her spine, but the chills were... refreshing, like another wave. A different wave.