Title: "If You're Fond of Sand Dunes." (468 words)
Genre: Romance, angst, biographical.
Rating: G
Summary: An end-of-summer sunrise chases away burdensome, unrequited teenage love. Based on true events.
Additional notes: Title comes from the Groove Armada song of the same name.
It's early. I don't know how early; the sun has just begun poking its blazing head over the horizon. It's light enough that we can see each other, but he isn't looking at me. His attention is on the myriad of sunrise colors fanning out across the sand and water. Everything tinted purple, pink and orange like the surface of some alien planet. Surfers with long shadows race for the shore, boards held high over their heads before they disappear into the waves.
My eyes are on his face, trying to goad him into looking back at me. We're standing elbow to elbow on the pier, not speaking, the roar of the ocean deafening. But when he speaks, the whole world seems to fall silent.
"It's nice here."
I can't argue with that. How did I live nearly seventeen years in a coastal town without watching the sun come up over the beach? With the two of us huddled so close you'd think we were together, but we're not and it hurts.
I say, "I'm glad I'm here with you."
It's an admission of my feelings, holding as much weight as an I-love-you. Not that I need to unburden myself at this point. He's aware of my affection for him, but he's suffocated by it as well.
At last, he turns to me, remorse shining in those eyes I adore. Narrow and turned down at the outside corners. Before he even opens his mouth I know I'm not going to like what I hear. I want to brush the curly hair from his brow, or maybe kiss him for the last time in the soft pastel of dawn. Instead I keep my hands to myself, not knowing how much I would regret it years later.
"Remember when I said I had a perfect girl?"
How could I forget? That mysterious icon was everything I wasn't. My occasional moodiness and outspoken behavior would never endear to him. In fact, all the qualities he was looking for sounded suspiciously like--
"It's Yvonne," he confessed after a breathless moment. Yvonne Carlos. One of my best friends.
Time stopped for a total of three seconds: long enough for me to crumble but not completely shatter. I expected this, I expected this all along. But it's still a blow to my easily dented teenage heart. I lowered my eyes and moved a few inches away from him. With those two words, he severed what little connection we had left by the end of that summer. I could only nod, indicating that I heard him and understood.
The wind kicked up, cool ocean spray hit our faces and I followed him back to his car. But I knew the spiritual imprint of us still pressed together on the pier in a cozy silence would always remain, and with it a future still full of possibilities.