Théodora Armstrong - Clear Skies, No Wind, 100% Visibility

“My shift is almost over,” Jet yells over the music. “I’ll come hang.”

“Great,” I say, sarcasm lost in the bass thumping from the speakers. I take the shot and throw it back. “Happy?” I say to Carin.

“Be nice,” Carin hisses in my ear.

We barely interact the rest of the evening. Carin sits with her back to me, bowed deep in conversation with Jet. Every time I get to the last inch of my drink, Jet’s friend behind the bar whisks it out of my hand and gives me a new one. For that reason, at least, I always have something to do. At some point during the evening, my neighbour turns on his barstool and takes interest in me. He’s of the gelled crunchy-hair variety with a tight T-shirt sporting the lettering “Wingman” across the chest. He spends most of the night talking about his speedboat. I must look bored, because Carin taps me on the shoulder and asks me if I want to leave.

“This is my sister,” I tell Wingman, motioning to Carin with a floppy hand. I can’t remember his name, so I don’t introduce him.

“I’m trying to get your sister to come out on my boat,” he says, squaring his shoulders and drinking from his pint.

“Fat chance,” Carin laughs, thumbing in my direction. “Queen Prudent over here.”

“Her?” Wingman rests a meaty hand on my shoulder and gives me a shake as if he’s known me for years. “No way.”

I grab his wrist and remove his hand, shooting Carin a look that says, keep going and die .

“A dinghy, maybe,” Carin says, cracking herself up and spilling some of her drink on my skirt.

“All right,” I say, dabbing at the wet spot with a bar napkin. “That’s enough.”

“She’d mess up her hair,” Carin says, raising the pitch of her voice a squeaky octave. She hoots and slaps Wingman on the back.

“Fine,” I say, finishing my drink in two large gulps. Carin’s eyes widen and I smile at her. “Let’s go for a boat ride.”

CARIN STANDS AT THE edge of the dock shaking her head and for a quick second looks disturbingly like our mother. Wingman turns on the boat and drowns out whatever Carin is shouting at me. The night is warm and star-speckled, and as Wingman unties the moorings I wave goodbye to Carin again. “Don’t wait up,” I call to her. Just as the boat pulls away, she jumps in and sits down beside me. “Because you’re drunk I feel I should tell you, you’re acting like an idiot,” she shouts into my ear over the noise of the outboard motor.

“I’m having fun.” I trail my fingers through the water and flick the droplets in Carin’s face. “Isn’t this what you want?”

The lights along the strip shimmer and warp as the boat cuts through the water. We turn away from the beach and pick up speed, Wingman grinning back at us. Within minutes we’re surrounded by darkness, black sky and water. I can barely see Carin sitting next to me. The desert hills stretch around us, sucking the moisture from the night air. Above, stars spin shapes across the sky. Wingman’s laughing; the boat skips and accelerates. “He’s wasted,” Carin yells.

“Faster.” I shout the word several times at Wingman’s back. Carin digs her nails into my arm, but I push her hand away and stand up, letting the dry air rush past my limbs and through my hair. With the speed of the boat it’s easy to let go of everything — the flower arrangements and seating plans and balloon penises. Carin stands and grabs my shoulders, trying to force me back into the chair. “What?” I say. The word is lost, the wind whipping my hair around my face. The boat carves the water and we stumble, trying to regain our balance. “Sit down, you idiot,” Carin shouts, grabbing at me again.

“Get over yourself,” I shout back, shaking her off. “This is you,” I say, pointing to myself. “This is what you look like.”

The boat takes a sharp curve and rocks to one side. In one quick flip Carin is in the water. The spray from her splash hits my face and then the darkness eats her up. The boat keeps going, Wingman not realizing he’s dropped her, and I lurch up to the front screaming at him to stop the boat. He cuts the motor and the whole lake is swallowed in silence.

“You asshole.” I peer over the edge of the boat and call out for Carin. “You were going too fast.” Wingman passes me a flashlight to shine into the water, but all that’s reflected back is more darkness.

“You were the one that wanted to go faster,” Wingman says, looking over the other side of the boat.

I turn around and kick him in the leg. “Shut up.” I lean out and scream Carin’s name. After a moment and from what sounds like a great distance, I hear the slap slap rhythm of messy strokes and call out again. I see the white of her shirt first. She swims slowly and steadily to the boat, climbing the ladder, her clothes sticking to her and draining water over the deck floor. Without pause, she clomps heavily right up to me and punches me square on the chin. I lunge at her and we roll around in the boat, pulling each other’s hair and slapping. Carin bites my shoulder and I twist her arm. Bitch! Cow! Eventually we tire ourselves out and sit in the dark, panting on opposite sides of the boat. The lap of water against the hull and the illusion of the stars fixed in space make me feel a bit better. Blood thumps through my temples and I start to laugh, tears rolling down my face. Wingman’s disembodied voice comes from somewhere in the dark. “Do you girls want me to take you back to the dock?”

CARIN LEAVES A TRAIL of water behind her as we walk back to the trailer park. She’s soaked, hair dripping and mascara running, her favourite white slingbacks floating somewhere in the lake. I walk several paces behind her. When I ask her if she wants to wear my flip-flops she doesn’t even turn around.

We cross over the dam that feeds the channel. Orange floodlights illuminate the bridge, casting a light thick with winged insects. Papery moth bodies brush against my bare limbs. When we get to the other side, I try to catch up. “Carin?” She quickens her pace. “Come on. Slow down.”

Carin spins around suddenly and I almost bump into her. “You could’ve got us hurt. I could’ve drowned.”

“I’m sorry.” I shrug my shoulders, surprised at how good it feels, how freeing to be helplessly wrong.

“Sometimes sorry is not what someone needs to hear,” she says, turning and walking away from me.

“Carin, I’m really sorry,” I say. My giggles return and I try to choke them back. I try to make them sound like tears.

She whips around with her hands on her hips. “Are you laughing?”

“No,” I choke, laughing hysterically now, doubled-over with the effort of trying to conceal it.

“You’re the one who’s crazy.” Carin yells at me and stomps off down the dark street in the direction of Sunnyside. My laughing fit settles into gentle hiccups. All I can hear now is the gravel under the slap of my flip-flops.

THOUGH I’VE NEVER TOLD her, I was thankful for Carin that day on the channel when we were kids and we tied our inner tubes together. As we floated, a storm was building off Skaha Lake and the clouds were blowing in fast. We were tired from the ordeal under the bridge and shivering from the cold, so we decided to get out of the water to find a payphone and call Mom to pick us up early. Grabbing onto the long grasses edging the channel, we hauled ourselves up onto the steep bank. I ran up the incline, dragging my inner tube behind me, determined to leave Carin to chase after me. The grasses grazed our thighs, and the rocks and prickly weeds bit at our bare feet, but Carin never whimpered, scurrying to keep up with me.

When she suddenly dropped her inner tube and grabbed my arm, I turned and slapped her. It was quick and instinctual. She didn’t flinch. Her eyes remained focused beyond me on the ground, the insistence of her hand enough to keep me still. A few inches from my feet, a large rattlesnake rested, wrapped in a fat, lazy spiral. Another step would have landed my foot in the middle of its coil. My stomach shot into my throat and for that moment while Carin’s hand gripped my arm, I felt our hearts racing together. She guided me as we slowly crept around the snake, and back on the path we walked side by side to the gas station. We didn’t speak a word to each other, but I could feel Carin’s pride, her delight at having saved me.