Across
the yellow-orange display within my head, rhythmic, shadowy shapes drifting
across my inner panorama belonged to Evan. He was doing his morning yoga.
Judging by the intensity of the sun blazing across the living room and onto my
face, it was later in the morning than we had hoped to get started. But I
sensed this only through closed eyelids. My throbbing headache was somewhat diminished
since the night before, and Aunt Ellie’s couch and blankets enveloped me like a
womb. Her condo’s air conditioning simulated the chill of a winter cabin, in contrast
to the warmth of my body in its comforting nest. It had been a late night at
Tradewinds. It seemed like days ago.
“I
don’t get why you do that to yourself, dude,” said Evan, turning at the sound of
my groaning.
I
didn’t have a good answer. Evan didn’t drink. He claimed to be high on life and
said it dulled his senses. I admired him for that.
“Have
more fun when I’m buzzed,” I said, squinting briefly before covering my face
with a pillow.
“You
puked all night. Is that fun?” he prodded.
“Noooo,”
I said, swinging my legs onto the floor, folding myself forward onto the pillow
like a kid crying on a grade school desk. At least the room had stopped
spinning.
“…need
food,” I said, standing and staggering slightly on my way to the refrigerator.
“We’ll
eat on the way,” said Evan, giving me that look that said, “Don’t screw up my
day, man.”
It
had been like this since high school. Evan, the energetic free spirit. The Zen
master. Always on the go, driven, looking for adventure and testing his limits.
He was athletic beyond anyone else at Murdock High, consistently disappointing
coaches in their attempts to recruit him for team sports. I drew my strength
from him, and I usually grounded him when he needed it most. We were stronger
together in school and inseparable ever since.
*****
We
hit the river much later in the day than Evan had hoped. Already in the water
and sitting upright, straddling his paddleboard on the slightly brackish water,
Evan repeatedly dunked his hands into the river, combing and drenching his long
blonde hair with dripping fingers. The water offered refreshing relief from the
searing Florida sun as he rinsed the sweat from his face with a final handful. I
stood at the boat launch, nervously finishing a bagel and scanning the shore. Dense
foliage surrounded us, cascading in a hundred shades of green across the
river’s banks and onto the water, threatening to consume it. The Peace River
has a reputation as a kayaker’s haven. Clear, calm, and deep, it flows for miles
from its freshwater inland source to the salty Gulf of Mexico. A dark and
green wildlife sanctuary, the river meanders like a living thing, silently,
relentlessly through the surrounding junglescape, mingling
fresh and salt waters before spilling its secrets into Alligator Bay. Entering
the river on boards had been Evan’s idea, something he wanted to try. I
reluctantly agreed, but would have preferred to take the boats as usual.
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