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“The point is,” he continues, “it made me realize that life’s too short and to go after what you want while you still can.” The sadness leaves his face. “And for you, that means standing up for yourself and making your own decisions.”
I’d like to think I already do those things, but I know Dean’s right.
“And what did that mean for you?” I ask. “Haveyougone after what you wanted?”
“I’ve tried to. I quit soccer, even though I’ve been playing my whole life and my parents were pushing me to go pro, because even though everyone said I had a decent chance, I just didn’t care about it.”
I play with the end of the towel that’s still wrapped around me. “Weren’t you scared?” Maybe his parents are different than mine. Maybe they haven’t spent every waking moment talking about soccer, but something tells me that isn’t the case.
He pauses for a minute, his expression contemplative. “I was always a scrawny, shy kid, at least until I hit my growth spurt in tenth grade and started playing sports other than soccer to bulk up a bit.”
I stare at him, trying and failing to picture Dean, this large man who owns his presence and fills any room he enters with it, as a shy, scrawny teenager. My mind remains blank.
“Anyway, before I hit my growth spurt, this older kid always bothered me and Dustin because of our stutter. We hadn’t stuttered in years, but by that point he picked on us regardless. A month after Dustin passed, that older kid was saying some really horrible stuff about us. Even though he was bigger than me, and even though I’d never been in a fight before, something in me went ‘fuck it.’ I went over and punched him right in the face.”
My eyes are wide. “You won the fight?”
A laugh escapes him. “No, I got my ass handed to me. But I got some good hits in, and I didn’t regret it.”
I press my lips together to hold back a confused smile. “So, the moral of the story is to go around hitting people if that’s what I want?”
He laughs again, and it’s less constrained this time. “No. I’m not promoting violence, and I don’t make getting into fights a habit. I don’t think I’ve been in one since like, tenth grade, which feels like forever ago now.” He shakes his head with a shy grin. “But I’m saying sometimes it’s better to face your problems head-on instead of skirting around them, even if you’re scared. As I said, life’s too short not to go after what you want, and to answer your question, sure I was scared about disappointing my parents, but it’smylife, not theirs, and I should spend it how I want. So, if deep down you know you’ll regret not fighting to travel, then that’s all the reason you need to not just lie down and accept your fate.”
From the way he’s talking, it’s like he knows I don’t even want to go to med school, but all I’ve told him is I want to take the year off. His words resonate with me, though. Life reallyistoo short to let my parents dictate how I live it, and maybe it’s best if I face them head-on and tell them I’m not going to med school. But that’s easier said than done now that there’s an ocean between us, and I’m not staring right into their expectant eyes.
“Other than quitting soccer and beating up bullies, are you still going after what you want?” I ask him, and my joke makes him smile.
“I think so,” he says, and the playfulness in his eyes makes me blush and stare at the sand. He clears his throat. “I’m getting my BA in linguistics, and then hopefully I’ll be accepted to get my master’s in speech-language pathology. I’d really like to help kids the way my speech pathologist helped me and Dustin. I’m currently volunteering at the clinic I used to go to, and I love it.
I’m already learning so much and I’m mostly only watching and assisting.”
“It sounds like you’re pretty passionate about what you do.”
That’s what my parents sound like when they talk about their work. On the other hand, I sound like I’m being tortured when I talk about my future. “Did you always know that was what you were going to do?”
“Not really, but we’re kind of forced to pick early on, aren’t we?” His gives an awkward laugh. “I’m just lucky to really love what I do.”
Weareforced early on, some, like me, more than others. “I wish I could feel like that about my future.”
He playfully bumps his shoulder into mine. “Well, hopefully that year off to travel will help you with that.”
That was the plan. Too bad my parents shot that dream down faster than I could even bring it up.
—
Dean and I walk and talk for what feels like hours, and before we realize it, it’s two a.m.
Back at the hotel, he stops in front of the door to my room.
“So um, about that snorkeling excursion . . .” Dean trails off.
“Snorkeling excursion?”
He displays his perfect smile, although it’s a little hesitant.
“Before you became a hero tonight, I asked you if you wanted to go on a snorkeling excursion that the resort runs tomorrow.”
Dean wants to go do a fun activity with me?Me?The girl who blew on his face and slapped him right in the sunburnt chest? Is this a trick question?
