18 Jun Chapter 2: Water (Unedited)

They took a detour from their tenacious love cycle and veered off onto a coastal highway, caressing both the intricacies of mountains and the flat smooth pavement constructed upon the granulate sand of the seashores.

They drove a 4 x 4, hemi-powered, piston punching, all-terrain automobile with a splintered trunk full of crisp campfire logs along the majestic road compassed toward the beach like a bright star in the night’s sky.

He was driving and she was partnered in on the passenger side. He was cool, calm and collected, fashioned in stoic garments, with both of his hands firmly gripping the power steering wheel, half of his focus on the windy road, the other half upon his goddess of a woman. He always wore casual, for his girl was the star and he liked it that way. She was dressed from head-to-toe in classy, yet sophisticatedly promiscuous beachwear, giggling along the ride as if her toes were already in the sand. She seemed to be in an abnormally pleasant mood this voyage and he noticed with his slick mind.

Taking this as his entrance into a sultry conversation, he pulled the brim of his sunglasses down, turned to the woman and in baritone said, “Hey darling, I wrote something for you.. I was going to just keep it for when we got back, but since you look so damn dandy, I think now is a good time to sweeten you some of my romantic candy.”

She was an independent, feminist type of gal, but she enjoyably devoured the time they got to spend with each other and loved when he wrote things for her with even more joy. She full body turned to him and with a morning-arousal like tone she said, “Oh yeah? Let me read it!”

Broadening his shoulders he continued to stare into the open road, but out of the corner of his mouth with a northeastern swag told her, “It’s on a piece of paper, in my front right pocket, I would grab it, but I really should focus on the road.”

Without hesitation, she reached into his pocket and grabbed around for a few sturdy seconds before pulling out the ink-stained paper. His handwriting was typically illegible, most of the time even to himself, but she seemed to always be able to cruise through it like it was open, still water.

She leaned back in her chair and unfolded the paper as if she was about to read it, but paused, and with a big smile suggested, “Will you read it out to me? I like it better when you read it out to me.”

Without giving him any time to respond, she curved over the gear-shift and held the paper up. He wasn’t the type that often liked to read out his own writings, or even re-read them ever, but for her, he would always make a robust exception.

He began to get a bit fidgety, cleared his voice and dug into his soul for the right tone, the tone she likes to hear, and read from his paper,

“She has the type of eyes that seem to be newly painted with every blink, as if every time her eyes opened, an artist with a fine brushstroke was amused by the muse, with a frequency that never fatigued with boredom.

And her hair in the presence of an approximate sun-setting ocean breeze told a story of her unapologetic beauty, one that not even the most observant camera could properly explain.. and her body, well her body, it’s presence, was traced by the fine-lace of a sundress that seemed to fit as if it was sewn on the spot by someone who seemed to know her body as if it was the only one.

Her particular persona only made her movements more mesmerizing to eyes that have been blind for far too long. Dancing in the crescendos of the moon-riding waves, she got wet, dampened by the water that she was in a constant, ponderous search for. She wore the beauty of her internal soul quite well, shaking up his mind, out of a dry spell, into her wishing well, wishing for.. well.”

She had a look on her face that was as if it was the first time they ever met; a love and passion with a sacred harmonious tranquility, She always had that look after she got a dose of what he wrote for her, that was the only reward he ever needed and the reason he enjoyed writing to her, about her and around her demeanor.

Just as she was about to say something, they pulled up to the closest parking spot to the beach line, an unusual rarity for the season and time of day.

There was a tap on the glass of the driver’s side window. There was a man standing there with the stereotypical facial features of a weathered homeless person. He decides to roll the window down and it got about halfway before the man says, in a crackly rasp voice, “Do you have a few dollars I can have? I have to catch the bus somewhere..”

He decides to reach into back left pocket and reach for his wallet. He stops once it is in his hand and with a curious tone, looks over to the homeless man and asks, “If you don’t mind me asking.. why did you come up and ask us? There’s plenty of people strolling up and down the sidewalk..” he unfolds his wallet and takes out a $5.00 bill, as he hands it to the homeless person, he continues what he was saying, “I’m just curious thats all, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

The homeless man looks down with a concentrated stare. At least 30 seconds go by, the awkwardness was pungently in the air, but he smiles a big, bold smile, then looks up and says, “No reason really. You all just seemed like the type that would maybe help me out. Ya’ll have a nice day now, thanks again.”

As the man begins to walk away, she leaned over and stuck her head out the window and with an honest tone says to the homeless man, “Hey, we were about to have a little campfire. If you’d like to join us.”

The homeless man stops and puts the five dollar bill in his pocket then spins around with an apparent centripetal interest. He whispers under his breath, “I suppose I could take the later bus..”

As he begins walking back towards them, they both get out of the car and head to the opened trunk to get their campfire logs, food and other essential outside evening supplies. The homeless man joins them and grabs as many logs as he could hold. They are able to carry everything in one trip, amongst them three, so they close the trunk, lock the car and proceed to walk towards the beach.

The sky was beautiful at that point, about forty-five minutes before the actual sunset and right at the point where the colors of night and day begin to blend like an oil-painted mural. The temperature still felt warm with a few spurts of gust and wind interluding the zen-like oasis.

They all walk for a little while before he stops and looks at the group to say, “How about here?” The other two look around and then nod their heads in approval. They put down everything they were carrying and they began to dig out a hole in the sand. After a few minutes pass-by, they turn around to go grab some of the logs to suddenly notice that the homeless man was now in the far distance, walking away.

They both look at each other puzzled but continue to pick up the logs. At some point, while he was splintering the logs to create some kindle to start a proper campfire, she breaks the silence and says, “What are you thinking about?”

He gives an extended chuckle and says, “Nothing in particular really..”

She inches closer and cups her hands over where he is lighting the kindle. After a few tries with a few matches, the kindle lights and they proceed to lay the logs in a traditional campfire fashion.

As she is placing the last primary log into the fire, she looks up at him with a slight frustration, “I don’t believe you. I know when you’re thinking..”

He got slightly offended, the type of subtle offended one gets amidst a pet-peeve injunction, but he is also an observant person and knows that when she fiercely ties her hair back while speaking, that she means business.

So he relaxes his tone, “What makes you think that I’m thinking about anything specifically? Don’t we all think about things, all the time? Aren’t you thinking about something? What are YOU thinking about?”

She’s the type of woman that is in the top echelon of intelligence, but this seemed to insult her a bit, “Well.. obviously we all think about things, and I think about different things all the time, but I also know when you’re just thinking versus when you’re seeing what you think. You get a different look.. and I just like to know these things..” softens her tone, “.. is that so bad?”

He walks over to one of their book bags, reaches inside and pulls out a wrapped sandwich. He takes his time unwrapping the sandwich, takes a bite, then with an inviting smile looks at her and says, “Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

She walks over, pushes him and with an annoyed tone says, “You know I hate when you do that!”, folds her arms and walks towards the ocean angrily.

At this point, the sun is about five minutes away from setting. He takes a seat near the campfire and quietly finishes his sandwich while watching her standing there in the distance.

His heart:

The dangerous part about her is that she is eerily beautiful when she is slightly annoyed.

But, she is dangerously pretty when she is happy. I suppose there is no conundrum for her soul transpires regardless when she feels emotionally safe.

After finishing his sandwich he places the trash into the same book bag. He gets up and starts to walk towards her.

He puts his hands around her lower back, but she shrugs him off. Standing there, next to each other for a few moments, he reaches into his left pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, he tries to hand it to her, “Hey, I wrote something else for you.. by the way.”

She grabs the paper, crumples it up further and throws it into the ocean waves, “I’m good. Thanks.”

He gives off a careful laugh and with little haste says, “It’s okay. I’ve got it memorized anyway.”

She turns toward him with a happy, beaming look and says, “Well.. let’s hear it then.”

At that point, the sun had set and the moon was crystal clear in the night’s eye. The tide began to roll in, up to their ankles so he grabbed her hand and they started a slow walk back to the campfire. The wind appeared more forceful through the campfire flames than it actually was.

The evening had a mellow appeal, one that seemed to match their fondness for each other, on that particular evening.

Somewhere along their silent, but energetic walk back he noticed, well, felt something, but as he was about to say something to her they had wandered to the campfire. He grabbed a blanket from one of their bags and laid it out next to the warmth of the lit logs.

Laying there on their backs, looking up at the possibilities of constellations, he looked to her and with an obviously joking tone said, “Look.. I’m not saying I’m sorry, but my bad..” She flared her nostrils while giving an obvious eye-roll, “Just tell me what you wrote.”

“Well..” he sits up and leans in to give her a quick, but passionate kiss, “There’s something I noticed about you.. specifically.”