307.
I stumbled upon this over at deviantART, completely forgetting I had written it, let alone uploaded it somewhere.
Figured I'd post it here for posterity and maybe get opinions or reactions. Who knows? Some of you might be able to relate.
Title: If You're Fond of Sand Dunes (499 words)
Notes: Based on true events. 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 topside 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 quietly, "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 corners so he looks perpetually sad. 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 face, 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 moodiness and fits of angst would never appeal to him. In fact, all the qualities he was looking for sounded suspiciously like--
"It's Cora," he confesses after a breathless moment. Cora Leos. One of my best friends.
Time stops for a total of three seconds: long enough for me to buckle but not completely give in to the disappointment and feelings of emptiness that would surely be waiting for me once I was alone.
I expected this, I expected this all along. But it's still a blow to my easily dented teenage heart. I lower my eyes and move a few inches away from him. With those two words, he severs what little connection we had left by the end of that summer. I could only nod, indicating I heard him and understood.
The wind kicks up, cool ocean spray hits our faces and I follow him back to his car. But I prayed the imprint of us pressed together on the pier in a cozy silence would remain, and with it a future still full of possibilities.
Figured I'd post it here for posterity and maybe get opinions or reactions. Who knows? Some of you might be able to relate.
Title: If You're Fond of Sand Dunes (499 words)
Notes: Based on true events. 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 topside 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 quietly, "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 corners so he looks perpetually sad. 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 face, 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 moodiness and fits of angst would never appeal to him. In fact, all the qualities he was looking for sounded suspiciously like--
"It's Cora," he confesses after a breathless moment. Cora Leos. One of my best friends.
Time stops for a total of three seconds: long enough for me to buckle but not completely give in to the disappointment and feelings of emptiness that would surely be waiting for me once I was alone.
I expected this, I expected this all along. But it's still a blow to my easily dented teenage heart. I lower my eyes and move a few inches away from him. With those two words, he severs what little connection we had left by the end of that summer. I could only nod, indicating I heard him and understood.
The wind kicks up, cool ocean spray hits our faces and I follow him back to his car. But I prayed the imprint of us pressed together on the pier in a cozy silence would remain, and with it a future still full of possibilities.