Roxy

Her name was “Roxy” and she was the coolest person I’d ever met. 

“Do you like Zach or Cody better?” She asked me while digging a piece of driftwood into compacted sand. The twig split apart in her small hands, and she proceeded as if it hadn’t, just to spite it.

I fumbled for the right answer. These sorts of questions always made me anxious, I did not really crush on any boys, especially not blonde ones. But if I had to choose, driftwood shiv to my head, “Cody. I like him because he is nerdy.”

She looked up from her conquered sandcastle, its ramparts crumbling impotently. “Cody is my favorite.” Oh God. 

My heart started pounding as I realized the gravity of my mistake. A shot in the dark, most girls my age preferred Zach on account of his devil-may-care attitude and undeniable charisma. I thought Cody was a safe bet. I was simultaneously pleased Roxy was not a basic bitch, while also terrified that I did something to jeopardize our budding friendship. Before I could respond, she said, “We can just share him,’” and smiled. 

Relief flooded my nervous system. I felt the weight that had clamped itself down upon my ribs, like the vulture pecking at Prometheus’ liver, suddenly vacated its spot and soared up into the sky, never to be seen again. At least, until the next time I committed a grave social faux pas. I smiled back at her, missing teeth and all. 

“Let's play mermaids,” she said suddenly. She got up and her short reddish brown hair stuck straight up in the sunlight. Sand was congealed on the right side of her face, and she was wearing a two piece which I found to be exceptionally scandalous, and therefore I admired her. We walked over to the edge of the mountain where the creek pooled into a still and deep crevice. Water was my favorite thing in the whole world. I was on a swim team back home. I spent as much of my free time as possible in open bodies of water and chlorinated swimming pools. My skin perpetually wrinkled from the moisture, hair smelling of bleached fish. I was a true creature of the deep.

“I’m going to lounge on this rock and pretend to sunbathe. Lets pretend Zach and Cody are here too, and they can rescue us,” she said, laying on the rock like a mermaid straight out of Peter Pan.

“Okay!” I said, gutlessly. I did not care for being rescued. The sun made the sand white hot and blinding, while Roxy cooed on the rocks, calling for Cody. I found myself hating him. All of a sudden, I wished helplessly that I could be Cody. Not understanding where this feeling came from, only that I desperately coveted Roxy’s attention and found Cody to be the main barrier between her and I, vehement jealousy overtook me. I pretended to call for Zach, but mostly I just ducked beneath the surface of the water and looked at the tiny fish swimming around us. 

The sunlight waltzed with the current, creating dizzying shapes on the sandy bottom. While Roxy was talking to Cody, I found myself completely mesmerized by the way the light looked like diamonds underneath the water. Whenever I was in the pool back home, I would lay on the bottom, looking up at the surface from below. It was the only way to stare directly at the sun and not hurt your eyes. It looked like golden crystals and ballroom glitz, like the Beast’s castle from Beauty and the Beast. I could stare for hours and never get bored. 

“Abigail come on, Zach is wondering where you are!” dutifully, I returned to Roxy’s side. 

“My tail is green, what color is your mermaid tail?” I said, spitting out creek water.

“Purple. Cody says it’s his favorite color,” Well Cody can stick his preferences where the sun don’t shine. I was always hearing adults say this phrase but I did not know what it meant. I thought it best to keep it to myself. 

“Okay. Oh no! A sea monster is coming towards us, quick we have to swim away to escape!” While I abandoned Zach and Cody to being lunch, hoping their hubris would slow down the giant monster, I raced over to Roxy’s rock. 

“Quick! Let’s get out of here!” I grabbed her hand and led her out of the shallows. 

After we had successfully evaded the kraken, Roxy elected we boogie board. I sat up a little straighter, overjoyed at this turn of events. Now was the time to show off. Instead of going out to sea, we set our boogie boards at the mouth of the creek, where the ocean's tides went in and out. We stood atop our boards and pretended to surf. Like one might ride a mechanical bull and try not to be thrown off, we balanced precariously atop the plastic foam boards, and spoke like pirates to one another. 

“THAR SHE BLOWS!” I yelled about the oncoming wave. The tide was coming in, so the waves were getting more aggressive, and therefore more fun. Both boogie boards were mine. The one Roxy used had Hawaiian flowers ingrained in the fabric. I had named it “Ohana”, because of Lilo and Stitch. Mine was blue, and its cover was that of a huge, cresting wave. It was aptly named “Current Crusher.” 

“Come on Roxy, put your arms out like this to balance! This one is gonna be huge!” I spoke the words through a huge grin. I loved excitement. Despite my cowardly nature, things like boogie boarding, rollercoaster riding, or climbing to great heights, brought me immense joy. I was a little adrenaline junkie. Just a few days earlier my sister had yelled at me to get out of the ocean because sharks had been circling me. I hadn’t noticed, just glued to Current Crusher, blissfully ignorant of the two note theme song announcing the arrival of a threat in the form of a dorsal fin. 

Roxy was less inclined to risk. “This is too hard! I’m getting hungry.” 

I got off my board and hung my head like Charlie Brown, defeated and whipped. I could not deny the grumblings of my own stomach, though. 

“Okay, it’s getting late anyway. We should get back to camp. We can play in the creek tomorrow.”

Sunburnt and unburdened by the concept of time, we walked back to camp.

* 

The next day we met at the creek behind the campsites, where the water was a bit warmer and the nature more diverse. This part of the creek offered more shade. There were large trees hanging over the water, and the opportunity for watching the light flicker down through the leaves onto the surface of the creek was endless. There was just so much to stare at. Like Roxy, for example. 

She was less interested in the sunbeams than the fish that swam around our ankles. She shrieked, “A fish just nibbled on my big toe!” and we raced to the bank. Even though we had only met a few days prior, I felt like I would defend Roxy with my life. I scanned the murky depths for the accused, but only found dead leaves. I felt like one of the lady knights I always read about in books, like Alanna of Tortall. I pictured myself in chainmail holding a greatsword, bravely defending Roxy from the behemoth below, while Cody ran away like the spineless mudman he is. 

“Oh thank you, brave lady knight! You’ve saved me from the sea monster!” Roxy would say, clasping her hands together in a show of gratitude. Then she’d anoint my head with a crown of flowers, and we’d ride off into the sunset and—

“Abigail, come on!” Her voice cut through my daydream and jolted me ungently back into my body. Like the devoted servant I was, I obliged without complaint. We trudged onward upstream. We splashed and played the whole way, alerting the campsites directly to our left of our presence. We didn’t care, or notice even. Eventually we came to a huge rock etched into the side of the sandy bank. Trees hung over it, and out far beyond their branches were large blackberry bushes, and beyond that, the highway. 

The stillness of the place stopped us in our tracks. Conversation died down almost instantly, as if an adult had shushed us. All we heard was bluejays calling above and water babbling below. 

“This place is like a mermaid lagoon,” I said, dumbstruck. The previous winter had brought heavier snowfall than normal. The idyllic, boring creek that I had been accustomed to in the years before had been demolished. What was left was a meandering, inconsistent labyrinth of fallen trees and contradictory geography. A mysterious area to our right looked like an enclosed tree canopy, almost nestlike. But it was the large rock that jutted out that drew my attention. 

The water was up to my chin when I stood alongside the rock. The creek had always been no higher than my knees, at most. Together, we climbed the large rock, as it had two perfect ledges to sit on. Almost as if it had been waiting for us. A Throne, I thought. We sat atop it, surveying our kingdom of filtered sunlight and twisting currents. We felt like princesses. 

“This is so pretty! Ugh, I wish I wasn’t leaving tomorrow. I want to come back here and swim everyday!” Roxy chagrined. 

All of a sudden, the birdsong ceased. The stillness that had been so attractive before now mocked me with its quiet contentment. My whole world came to a grinding halt as I willed the sun to stop descending. 

“You have to go tomorrow? Couldn’t you ask to stay one more day?”

Roxy frowned as if the idea had never occurred to her. “I could ask, but my mom is really strict. Maybe next year when your family comes here we could play mermaids again?” 

I felt an encroaching hand upon my shoulder. It was a hand I knew all too well, and I cringed under its clammy grip. Loneliness beseeched me, and I saw my summer vacation dimming in real time. As the sun began to set on my last day with Roxy, I settled back into my loneliness like a hand-me-down coat that was far too big but my mother insisted I wear anyway. 

“We always come this time of year,” I mused, watching the way the sunlight made shapes on her ruddy cheeks. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you just weren’t looking?”

Our meeting had been pure coincidence. Our mothers recognized each other outside of the bathroom, and got to chatting. I clung awkwardly to my mom like always, hiding behind her thighs. Roxy stood next to her mother, who looked far too old to be a mom (her hair was completely gray!) and stared at me. We were both wearing hot pink shirts. Her eyes were bright as shooting stars and they terrified and delighted me. While my wavy hair hung past my waist, her auburn hair was cut to her chin. A straight-laced bob that refused to stay neat and orderly. She looked lonely. She smiled at me. 

Every little girl I met after I compared to her. At vacations, neighborhoods, church potlucks, and birthday parties. No one really ever measured up, but every friend I ever made had something of her in them. The short cropped hair, the gaze that can go from forlorn to defiant in seconds, and the penchant for trouble that comes from an excess of imagination. She was the template.

We walked back down the creek towards our families. My step a little slower, as I began to dread our arrival back at camp. I felt I had nothing to look forward to anymore, and I wished someone had warned me how fleeting my time with Roxy would be. But would it have made a difference? Maybe I would have savored our games more, participated instead of getting distracted by the way light falls on moving water, or reflected off her hair. Still, there was always next year. 

We walked on with the current, which propelled us forward faster; blissfully ignorant of the direction of our futures. We said goodbye to each other the next day, and hugged briefly. My mother and her mother chatted about their old church and what they were up to now, and when they’d be coming back next year. I waved goodbye to Roxy from the side of the road, pavement so hot it singed my bare feet. I had been in such a hurry when I heard they were leaving, I ran out of my tent barefoot and blameless. Her car slowly disappeared down the bend, her red head poking out the side, looking at me looking at her. 

After she left I boogie boarded and read my books, but I had no one to play mermaids with. I had no siblings my own age, they were all significantly older than me. I resigned myself back into lonelinesses’ embrace, and watched the sun descend upon the horizon like a pocket watch swinging back and forth. Before I knew it, our vacation had ended. 

I waited for Roxy the next year. And the next. And the one after that, just for good measure. She never came back, at least not while I was there. I never saw her again.

-Abigail Ray

Abigail Ray was born in Portland, Oregon and derives a lot of inspiration from the city and the surrounding natural areas. She has her Bachelor's in English and Writing from Portland State University. She has been published in Fruitslice, Same Faces Collective, Maudlin House, Low Hanging Fruit, Call Me Brackets, Prosetrics Magazine, As Alive Journal, Deep Overstock, and Echoz Magazine. She has an upcoming poem in Raiya Magazine, as well as two pieces in a Portland-based publication, Pile Press. Her painting was displayed at Radius Studios for their Self Portrait Gallery, and her photography was featured in Blue Sky Online Gallery: The Trick Photography Show. She is a multimedia artist and writer.