It is a warm and sunny place. Or would be normally. The sky is clear if quite a bit black, which is due to the lack of sun, which, in turn, is due to the night. The stars shine and the moon sits as a dark presence within them.
I sit on a beach of clean white sand, much of which found its way into my shorts. The sand also clings to the bottom of the whiskey bottle that I held in my right hand. Waves crashes against the sand and ground the grains of shattered shells together, making it much finer and rounder.
The sand lacks the quality of the sands of home.
I drink from the bottle.
I am alone.
There is also no one on the beach. I sit in isolation with the waves, the sand, the stars, and the new moon above. Somewhere, a stereo plays old classic rock. I hear it between the charges that the waves make against the shoreline. On occasion a giggle mixes with the music. It rings musically.
I drink from the bottle.
I have grown accustomed to the starlight. I can make out a few features in the ink black of the ocean, mostly the foam of the wave tops as they start to break against the bottom. The almost line of the horizon beyond where sea meets sky may be the last remains of my imagination. The beach of white sand stands out easily.
I drink from the bottle.
I am not by myself.
There is a girl there. Young, as I should be young. Too tan for the amount of time that she could have spent here, but that is not uncommon. She wears her underwear, which again is not uncommon, or maybe a swimsuit. I can't tell. I don't really care to tell.
She stares at me as I sit in the sand that crawls up my shorts. Looking back to the sea, I sigh and retreat into the soundtrack of my mind, clinging to a few chords of blues guitar and the black images in the dark back corner of my mind, where unhappy things dwell. I sit absorbed into the mantra of the night waves. I sink into the nothingness...
"Hi."
I grunt without looking up.
"I'm Erin."
I grunt without looking up.
"Whachu doin'?"
I shrug without looking up.
"Whachu got there?"
I offer the bottle without looking up.
She took it. I hear her cough as the liquid burns her throat. I had gotten used to it long ago. It is cheap and rotten and the perfect thing for what I want. She gives the bottle back. I accept it.
I drink from the bottle.
The girl called Erin sits next to me. I watch the waves as they continue the basic process of mechanical weathering. I was centered and hope the waves will bring me back. She watches me. She hangs over me. I sigh.
"Whachu doin' out here alone? There's a party up there."
She points into the dunes.
I drink from the bottle.
"Wanna go? To the party? Up in the dunes?"
"I am alone."
"Yeah. Come on up to the party. There's a lot of people."
I turn to her. She is cute more than she is pretty. A heart shaped face framed by curly, long brown hair and set off with big brown eyes. She smiles at me with a white smile of slightly buckteeth. I turn back to the waves.
I drink from the bottle.
"Won't help. I am alone."
"There's people. You're kinda cute, someone will--"
"I am alone."
"Okay." I can hear her shrug. Or I imagine I do. "So, whachu doin'?"
I watch the waves. I try to hear the waves and blank out the suddenly loud music in the dunes. The laughter. The giggling. I concentrate on the crash of the water against the sand.
"Well?"
I sigh. I turn to look at her. I want the bottle. I want... I want a lot of things, but all I have to want right now is the bottle. I look into her eyes, and I want the bottle badly.
"Feeling sorry for myself."
"Oh." She waits. "Why?"
"No one else will."
I don't know what I want. No, I want the bottle; I want the beach; I want the chunk of... not peace... but something I had before.
"Oh."
I shrug. Some things only happen once.
I drink from the bottle.
I sit in the sand. She sits in the sand. Waves crash. Sand becomes rounder and finer. She gets up and leaves.
I drink from the bottle.
Even her name was Erin.
Some thing should only happen once. Some things shouldn't happen at all. Some fuckin' things...
I drink from the bottle.
It is empty.
I toss the bottle in the air. I snatch it and take hold of the neck. It is like a German hand grenade. I pull back and cock my arm. I fling it with all my might.
It flys weakly through the air. It lands in a wave with a splish. It bobs a second as the breaking wave curls and descends. It bounces on the beach and flows back with the wash. Then the thin plastic bottle advances forward with the next wave.
© 2005 Kenny N Gamera