Eleven Miles

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Confession #8

Shell Out

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In retrospect, this may appear too insane for truth. But believe me, it’s all true. It’s what I like to call Jetskius Magnetismo, which, translated into layman’s terms, means the attraction to aquatic adrenaline. I guess the best way to describe it is to compare it to a Vin Diesel movie, where the story sucks but the action is amazing. When one has a deep love for jet-skiing, he or she is willing to experience that love with anyone, regardless of feelings or having to watch a terrible story unfold. And that’s precisely what Rachel and I possessed. Frankly, I thought it was beautiful.

To the minds that don’t understand our relationship or the love of Jet Skis we share—shame on all of them—this whole setup probably seems like lunacy. It’s true our depth of substance might have difficulty sinking a gerbil, but that’s all it took to bring us together in the first place. And maybe it’s true that if what had brought us together is still strong in our lives today, then, hypothetically, we should still be together. But life doesn’t always work that way.

To make sense of our relationship, let’s examine this concept for a moment. Pretend a girl is sitting by herself in the park listening to the radio. For the sake of hypothesis, let’s pretend this girl is Abby. Now Abby has an easy-listening station tuned in, which, if I remember correctly, was her favorite kind of music. Imagine if Dude X came walking by, whistling some Neil Diamond, or Frank Sinatra, or some other popular old rich guy song. The tune wouldn’t be that interesting because who really listens to easy-listening? But think about it. If Abby is uninteresting enough to listen to that kind of music, and if Dude X is really Dork X, then maybe some kind of connection will take place. Hence, a version of Jetskius Magnetismo occurs.

It can be a beautiful thing. Maybe not so much in Abby’s case, but for most people it can be a beautiful thing.

But that beauty doesn’t help Rachel or me anymore. The problem is this section of road is nowhere near a lake, and that means Rachel and I are separated from our only real point of connection. And trust me, when the link between a man and woman’s heart is severed, it sucks. Not only does it suck that we have to find another way to adjust to our situation, but it sucks because we can’t have fun doing it. The truth is, we stopped having fun when the ride ended, and this forsaken highway isn’t the object meant to restore our passion. The only fires lit in our hearts are the ones that left me craving a turkey sandwich and her giving me the silent treatment. As far as I know, those fires aren’t even strong enough to brown a marshmallow.

So that more or less brings us to the present, or at least to the recent past. I know it doesn’t explain how in the world we ended up here, but it does explain how we ended up here together. Of course, if knowing how we got here is at all important, then I suppose I should discuss that now. After all, neither Rachel nor I have anything to do but sit alongside this craggy road, trying to figure out why we felt the urge to take this jet-skiing trip, reflecting on whether it was worth our becoming stranded together.

That much is also true.