Saturday, October 17, 2009

DAY AT THE BEACH


They finally had a whole day together. She’d been planning it for what seemed like a month. Now it was happening. She’d emptied and defrosted the refrigerator last night so that it could air out all day today while they were gone. She’d made an entry on her iPhone list of “things to do on the way back” in the order each place would be passed driving home along the coast road tonight. The list was stored under “lists” for Saturday, August 9th on her iCal. Life had never rewarded her for her ability to organize it so well as it had since she got her iPhone.

The loud rip of a zipper tore through his dreamless kitten fur slumber brought back the sound of her voice describing what today would be like as he drifted off into the soma afterglow of their love making last night. After slipping his legs into shorts, his feet into sandals and his torso into a tee and sipping some ganjava into himself on his way to the car he picked up his surfboard, sketch pad and easel. He was toking a pinner as she emerged from the house with enough travel gear and beach equipment for a week on the Cote D’Azure.

An hour later, after frustrating logistical debates with the logic of a hybrid car too small to carry anything more than two people no matter how small its carbon foot print may be, they were on the road headed south with the rising sun hitting him twice behind his shades as it separated from its mirror. His surfboard, rather than being the first item to be left behind, saved the day, so to speak. They’d strapped her several travel bags to it making containment splints of her beach umbrella and his easel, all of which they’d tied to the top via rope through the open windows. They’d have to climb through the window if they went so far they’d have to stop before they got to whatever place it was she’d promised would spontaneously catch her fancy on the way.

As wonderfully romantic as her plan to find the perfect, secluded beach from a car traveling on a heavily trafficked road seemed, they settled for the place she couldn’t hold it any longer. When she returned from the bushes all the gear was gone and a furrow led away from the car and over the dunes toward the beach. She grabbed her giant woven beach hat and matching bag from the car and topped the dune to see their stretcher still loaded with the body of baggage but Tim was nowhere in sight. Making her way to the gear in her matching beach shoes in sand that would be tough going even in bare feet, she heard his whoop from a hundred yards out to sea as he surfaced at the same time as a dolphin beside him.

She loved him so much more than she ever could have loved, wanted to love Job. As great as Job was at whatever he was doing or how much alike they were, both qualities made their relationship impossible. They never saw each other; being so dedicated to their careers that her birth control pills were almost superfluous. They both had offices at home, for pity’s sake. It seemed like Tim was always there for her when she needed him.

As he looked up from a gingerly examination of the carcass of a Portugueses Man of War he’d found washed up to the line of sea weed left by the last high tide on his stroll back to Priscilla and the bundle he spied her busy unwrapping and reconstructing into their awning, barbecue pit, entertainment center with boom box and TV.

It was so much easier to love her than it had been loving Ursula. They’d loved each other so completely they became one person, never apart. It was wonderful at first. They couldn’t believe how lucky they were among all the dysfunctional couples they knew. They knew each other so well one could remind the other of intentions postponed or call bullshit on a recollection of a shared experience. No matter how spontaneous they both were about their approach to life, they found their tendency to treat each other’s work on themselves as if it were their own psyche which aroused twinges of resentment that, over time, built a wall behind which they hid thoughts from each other. Although the thoughts were suppressed, they recognized the hiding. They lost their sense of humor and it devastated them both. It seemed like Priscilla was open and eager to share her enthusiasm about her multi varied life to his complete delight during their rare times open in her schedule.

While Tim made several gesture drawings of the beach scenes, Priscilla busied herself preparing tasty tid-bits, which she popped into his mouth upon their reaching perfection. When she got to tossing caviar to the sea gulls halfway though the second bottle of wine, he got out his pastels to catch the feel of the rare scene of her spontaneity in wasting a hundred dollars worth of sturgeon eggs just for fun and the frantic, raucous excitement of the screeching gulls. His gift of groking auras enabled him to lightly brush the heavy, rough paper with lavender chalk around her outstretched body conveying the inebriated elevation of her perceptions and green in the air around the gulls that spoke of the loud cacophony of their cries. It was alive and was to hang in their living room for many years.

In the shade of the awning they made love, the strength of his contentment was a steady stage upon which she danced to her heart’s content. After sharing a few puffs on his post coital doobie she twittered all her friends and he slept the sleep of the gods for an hour or so. He woke with sand stinging his skin and before averting his eyes to open them he knew they’d see surf.

As puny as the surf is on the eastern shore there are occasions of a sea breeze steady enough strong enough to stack up water high enough that he could climb on for a ride long enough to satisfy his longing for Hawaii. He was ecstatic to find that the southerly winds were running the waves about forty-five degrees to the shore line so if he kept sliding out to sea on one he could ride it almost a quarter of a mile while Priscilla ran through the glass thin edge of the same wave as it washed ashore video taping his delirious antics upon the rock steady board.

After three such magic carpet rides she begged him to stop because the light was getting too dim. Her list remained stored on her iPhone while Tim drove past all her scheduled stops on their way home to the tune of her exhausted snoring. He was used to it, she was always exhausted by the time she gave it up to Morpheus. He loved it. It reminded him of what a live wire he’d gotten hold of. She dreamt of an endless summer of him on the board and her running the whole way beside him. She really enjoyed her work, but she cherished these times with Tim in between yesterday and tomorrow. He was always there, seemingly waiting for her, though he’d never call her late.

5 comments:

Brian Miller said...

honestly i feel a little melancholy after reading this one...it may be because it is after dinner on a saturday night as well, but...

Pisces Iscariot said...

Theres a certain indistinct Ballardian feel to this - a hint of sci-fi in a pool of distopian reality - love it.

Lilwave said...

Sounds like a great way to spend your in between time. I want to have a day like that. I love it...

Cinnamon said...

Love it, love it! Your best yet! Such an incongruous pairing finding something in that time between. Humourous too:)

Not For Jellyfish said...

A perfect portrait of a perfect day between yesterday and tomorrow that is a rarity in reality. A lovely escape...