Eleven Miles

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Remastered Edition


Confession #9

Shell Out

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I have no idea how it happened. We weren’t eager to ride together. I didn’t like her and she didn’t like me. Yet somehow we found ourselves traveling in my SUV, hitching a small trailer with our solo Jet Skis attached, heading back to town—because we were stupid.

Now, we weren’t stupid because we’d spent the day jet-skiing together. Realistically, we’d jet-ski with Hitler if he were alive and knew how to operate one. We were stupid for leaving the lake. Sure, the decision had to come eventually. But it forced us to enter a situation that required us to talk to each other. And if we weren’t required to talk, then we were required to sit in silence, or worst of all, spend several miles on the road alone with each other.

When two people share no common interests other than aquatic adventure and a few stupid things, trying to make do with a measly road trip would be like licking the fires of hell without a glass of lemonade on hand. For anyone who has sensory deprivation, I should probably clarify that that’s an awful thing.

Now, I’m no masochist; I didn’t place myself in this vehicle with this woman to punish myself. After all, it’s my vehicle. But I bit the bullet with her because I didn’t want to jet-ski alone. To this day I’ve never ridden solo and I have no intention to start. Therefore, I had to invite the only girl I knew who shares my passion because that was the only thing that made sense to me.

I should’ve known that opening the door for her would’ve caused major problems down the road. I did it anyway because I’m the moron and because I’d hate to leave my Jet Ski alone on the trailer without the company of another Jet Ski. Most guys in my situation would’ve called me a patriot. I love my Jet Ski—so much, in fact, that I park it inside the house every night to protect it. To let go of my selfishness, to let the woman into the vehicle, and to return to town with her was my visual labor of love for my watercraft. And what kind of man would neglect the one he loves?

Of course, all I’ve done here was to talk about my SUV and my Jet Ski. I realize that doesn’t paint things in the proper context, so, once again, let me clarify. Our real issues began inside the vehicle—inside with Rachel. It all started as soon as we pulled out of the lake’s parking lot.