Free In Honor by Jessi Kirby

Rusty were right there to scare the crap out of him, and I was unceremoniously blown off. So, while Lilah got sunscreen rubbed onto her back, I swam. My favorite moment was always the one when I reached the bumpy bottom of the pool, where the only sound was the crackling of the turquoise water all around me. It was well worth the tangly hair and smudged mascara.
    As we descended, I wondered if I could have talked Lilah into scuba diving in the dark with a stranger, in a mask that even made cute, cute Wyatt look silly. I watched our hands leapfrog each other down the rope, brushing each time they did, and figured probably not.
    When Wyatt’s hand landed on a black line, he motioned for me to stop, and I realized we must’ve hit twenty feet. He pointed to his ears again, and I pinched my nose and blew gently, relieving a bit of pressure. I gave him the okay sign, and he pointed to his light, then up to the surface, asking me with his eyes if I was ready for him to turn it off. I took in one more slow breath, let it out, and nodded, just as it went dark.
    For half a second, I panicked.
    But then Wyatt’s hands found mine on the rope, and he held them firmly enough that I relaxed. He waited a moment, then let go. Water swirled by as he swam behind me and grabbed the rope again, so that his arms were wrapped securely around me, anchored by his hands on mine. I wondered if he could hear the unevenness of my breaths at that moment. Our legs tangled languidly there in the dark, and we stayed like that, suspended vertically together, for a long moment before he peeled my fingers, one by one, off the rope. I let him, and when the last one was free, his hands went to my waist and gently pulled me back with him until I was lying back with my eyes to the surface. They caught a tiny light, waving down through the water, and then another and another. Stars twinkled in the paling sky, sending light from the past all the way down to us.
    Suspended as we were, with no horizon line or landscape or anything else to draw a separation between the water and sky, I pictured us up there with the stars. Another story written in tiny lights. We were a constellation put in the sky—two people holding hands, floating peacefully above everything else, in a beautiful, perfect moment.
    Finn told me once, as we sat on the porch watching the sun go down, that one thing he remembered our mom telling him was that life sometimes gives you a tiny moment of peace when you need it most. And that you had to be careful and look out for it or you’d miss it. He’d said it just as the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon, leaving a flaming pink summer sky behind. We sat quiet in the still heat, and I’d thought I understood what he meant then, because it felt so good and safe to be sitting there with him next to me. Now though, I understood it with a depth that made me want to laugh and cry at the same time, and I wished more than anything I could tell him.
    Wyatt squeezed my hand, and it was light enough now that I could see his free hand pointing to a tree silhouetted against the pale morning sky, one tiny star barely visible above it. I blinked and it was gone. The others dissolved into the morning almost as quickly and were replaced by a cloudless swath of pale sky, tinged blue around the edges. Above the surface, it might have been a moment where I glanced over at Wyatt and he understood. He would’ve maybe even leaned in and kissed it softly into my memory. It might have made me feel less lonely and lost. But beneath the water, we didn’t move and we didn’t speak, and my moment of peace faded slowly into the blue around us.



8
     
    “That was amazing! Wasn’t that amazing?!” Corrie lifted her mask, clearly euphoric as we bobbed on the surface.
    “Best idea you’ve ever had,” Sam agreed, sending a spray of water droplets high in the air.
    “Hands down, best moment of this trip. Aside from meeting my dream girl, of course.” Wyatt