Cape Cod Piers and Jellyfish

"The best night of my life happened to me right here when the love of my soul asked me to spend the rest of my life with him and now he's gone. I will always love you and only you. I spent my whole life waiting for you. You will never be replaced."

Five years earlier

I sat on the end of the pier, kicking my feet in the muddy water. Unlike most people, I wasn't bothered by the intense salty smell or the nearly swamp-like bay. I loved it out here, where hardly anyone else came. The too-cool-for-summer breeze swept across the bay, rippling the water and making the seagulls fly screeching from their perches. I leaned my head back to look at the sky above me, and thought back to the boy I had seen yesterday.
I was at the popular beach, down by the two docks that lay side-by-side. The storm had carried in hundreds of moon jellies as well as large jellyfish. While my friend Bree was trying to poke some of them with a stick, a boy and three younger kids rode their bicycles down the pier next to us. The boy went first, yelling words of caution to his sister and brothers. While the younger kids knelt and looked into the water, counting jellyfish, the boy gazed out at the open waters, watching the boats and jet-skis, getting lost in the horizon. Only when one of the kids yelled his name did he look back at them, warning them against touching/poking/grabbing a jellyfish.
"Do they bite?" the youngest brother asked.
"No, stupid, jellyfish sting. Can't you see the tentacles?" the sister answered, hands on her hips.
I giggled, and Bree pulled her attention from counting moon jellies to watch. She quickly got bored and started to re-count the jellies. I watched the brother tear his eyes from the water one last time before shooing his siblings along back up the ramp of the dock, calling cautions and following right behind them.
I smiled as I remembered the wistful look on his face as he looked back toward the parking lot and the hesitation as he rode away.
Pulling my thoughts from my reverie, I heard footsteps coming up the pier behind me. I didn't bother looking to see who it was; they would leave in a few moments anyway, there wasn't much to see here.
Instead, they sat beside me--he sat beside me. A boy who looked familiar.
"Come here often?"
"Every day."
Silence.
"Have I seen you around here before?"
"I don't know. Probably."
He frowned at my answers, obviously frustrated that his conversation wasn't moving. I looked over at him, sitting to my right. I asked the next question.
"Were you at Playa Beach yesterday?"
He looked a little surprised, "Yeah. Yeah, I was. Were you?"
"Yep."
He sighed, "I thought we had a conversation going for a second there."
He smiled at me. He had one of those half-smirk dealies that I just melt for. I smiled back.
"Where are your siblings? They were with you yesterday."
His surprise turned to realization, "So that's where I saw you! On the docks yesterday! I knew you looked familiar. I'm Rory."
He held out a hand.
"Jess." I took it.
"Jess...is that short for something?"
"Nope. Is Rory?"
"...Yes."
"Is it bad?"
"...Yes."
"Huh. Well," I said, standing, "It was really nice to meet you Rory, but I should probably go."
He stood as well, and looked down at me, "Already? But I just got here."
"I've been here for a few hours. You don't have to leave, you know."
"Yeah, but what's the point when there are no pretty girls to talk to?"
He was trying to charm me, I could see it in his eyes. I don't get charmed.
"There are plenty of pretty girls down at the beach," I said as I started to walk away, "You could always head down there."
He said something I couldn't hear, and I kept going down the thirty-foot pier. I was about halfway down when he caught up.
"Do you want to get ice cream sometime?"
"Maybe. Next time I see you, we'll talk."
"Okay. When will that be?"
"I don't know. I'll see you when I see you, I guess. Bye."
I started down the road to my house, listening to the sound of bike chains as they went the other way.

I didn't see Rory again until nearly a week later. I was walking to an old bookstore, my favorite, when I saw him walking out with a stack of books in his arms. He must have seen me, because he stuffed those books in his bag faster than I've ever seen.
"Jess. I haven't seen you around in a while."
"Bad scheduling I guess."
He smiled at my attempt at humor. I didn't. Not that I was grim-faced or anything it just wasn't that funny.
"You come here often?"
"Is that your favorite opening line?"
"Yes."
"I do."
"You what?"
"Come here often."
"So do I."
"What a coincidence."
"Guess so."
We kind of looked at each other for a minute, neither of us really smiling, but his eyes were, and that was enough to make me grin.
"So you going inside?"
"I was planning on it."
"May I accompany you?"
"If you don't get bored."
"I'm never bored."
"That's a lie if I ever heard one."
"You don't even know me."
"I don't have to know you."
"But I have to know you."
"You have to?"
"That's what I said."
Again, neither of us outwardly smiled during our exchange, but our expressions were playful. The corner of his mouth kept twitching with the effort to keep a straight face.
When we had been staring at each other for a good minute, I turned and went into the bookstore. He followed.

Several weeks later we sat on the pier, licking melted ice cream off of waffle cones. His treat.
"How's your ice cream?"
"Melted. Yours?"
"Same."
He finished his first, and tossed the end of his cone to a seagull that was staring us down.
"They'll never leave you alone if you feed them."
"Who says I want them to leave me alone?"
I shrugged, "Just don't be mad at me for laughing when one of them poops on your head."
He grimaced, "You may have a point."
"I know."
I tossed my last bit of cone at him. I missed and a seagull swooped it up before it hit the water.
"You have terrible aim."
"I'm aware."
"As long as you know."
"I do."
I splashed my feet in the water, scattering the minnows.
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Put your feet in there? It's so mucky and gross."
"It's no worse than than the ocean water."
"It definitely is."
"Prove it."
"I can't."
"Then there you go."
"Are you always this stubborn?"
"Are you always this argumentative?"
"Yes."
"So am I."
"Fine then."
"Fine."
I pulled my feet out of the water and tucked them under my knees.
"What is Rory short for?"
"A very ugly name."
"Roran? That's not ugly."
"It's not Roran."
"Then what is it?"
"I'll tell you next summer if I see you again."
"No fair! How do you know that I'll be here next summer?"
"I don't."
"How do I know that you'll be here next summer?"
"You don't."
"Fine then."
"Fine."

The fact was that he wasn't there the next summer. I wasn't there the summer after that. But the next summer we were both there. We were both nineteen, fresh out of our first year of college.
I saw him at the bookstore.
He was ringing up an elderly woman's order, very patiently and slow.
When it was my turn at the register, he didn't look at my face until he told me my total was $11.94.
"Hey Rory."
"Hey Jess."
"You weren't here that summer."
"You weren't here last summer."
"You never told me what Rory was short for."
"I never got the chance."
"I'll see you later then."
I walked out of the bookstore. We both knew where we'd see each other.
Only he didn't show up on the pier that night. Or the night after.
It wasn't until nearly a week after I saw him at the bookshop that I did see him. On TV.

Nineteen-year-old Rory Prescott still in the hospital tonight after a drunk driver hit him on the corner of Maple Street and Oak. Prescott was riding his bicycle home from work when the car came out of nowhere. The intoxicated driver, stayed long enough to call an ambulance before fleeing the scene. Prescott's condition is still critical, but he is reportedly more stable. The family hopes he will recover soon.

I procrastinated going to the hospital. How bad was he? Did he even look the same? What if he didn't remember me?
When I finally did go, I wasn't allowed in. Only family.
I watched the news every night for updates on my friend. It had been almost a month since the bookshop, and there were two weeks of summer left.

Rory Prescott, victim of a hit-and-run, is being released from the hospital tonight after nearly a month in the hospital. His family says they are very relieved to finally have him home.

That night I went to the end of the pier and dipped my feet in the water.
I didn't hear him behind me.
"Jess? I'm sorry I didn't make it before."
I stood and turned to see him, instead finding myself having to look down at my friend in a wheelchair.
"Oh, Rory..."
He shook his head.
"Don't worry about it. I'm fine."
"Yeah. Just dandy."
He opened his arms and walked right into them. It had been three summers since I had done this last. I hadn't realized how much I missed him.
"Tell me what Rory's short for."

The next summer we met on the pier. Rory still wouldn't let me push him. He was permanently paralyzed from the accident, but he did anything he wanted. Now I sat on a bench by the end of the pier, Rory sitting next to me. We fed the seagulls waffle cones. They didn't poop on our heads.
When the cones were gone, and the sun started to set, he wheeled himself around to look at me.
"Jess, will you marry me?"

Three nights later, a bone spur left over from the accident punctured his left lung while he was sleeping. When his family woke up the next morning, there was nothing they could do.
They found me on the pier, and watched me as I carved these words into the bench:

"The best night of my life happened to me right here when the love of my soul asked me to spend the rest of my life with him and now he's gone. I will always love you and only you. I spent my whole life waiting for you. You will never be replaced."