Red Mango

fifteen

         

7:24 AM

Charlie Chaplin once said that a man's true character comes out when he's drunk. That, rightfully, also applies to the female being. Including Cody. Last night's endeavour of consummate humiliation, on her behalf, played a painful role in her early morning reasoning. It distracted her from merited rest.

Yet, the serenity of Westbury's forsaken shores at daybreak function as the ideal panacea for Cody's bustling thoughts. Buried in a navy sweatshirt, she stares at the unhurriedly rising sun. Her eyes grow despondent by time as they flicker shut every several seconds. She ponders over the absence of her coherent mindset when allowing Isabelle to convince her of such a ludicrous scheme. Confrontation never leads to anything good. Cody is well aware that she should have known better. But alcohol diverts her judgement. It makes life seem a lot easier and less troubled than it truly is.

Cody exhales deeply, yearning for a spell to cease these memories from her musing. She rakes her eyes upon the naked beach front, accustomed to the familiar emptiness. Cody reminisces how her mother used to take her to play in the dampened sand. The five, sole years she shared with her parents were warm, occupied with endearment and adoration.

Cody couldn't have asked for a better childhood, regardless of its concise duration. As her eyes glaze over with unwanted tears, she swallows a lump of self-reproach down her throat. Cody hadn't thought of her parents in days. At a younger age, she used to frequently visit the two, adjacent trees in Westbury park, grown from the graves of the ones she loved. Cody shakes her head, clears her throat and sets her posture upright. She has absolutely no intention to host her own private pity party at 7:30 in the morning.

Cody's eyes, abruptly, fall on a silhouette, jogging in the far distance. A mere shadow upon the light glimmers of the sunrise. She squints, but remains unable to discern the identity of thus figure. She sinks into the lifeguard chair, her tattered baseball cap shielding her profile from the flickers of sunlight.

"Good morning, kiddo," Cody jilts in her seat at the abrupt voice impinging on her tranquillised morning. She hefts her chin at the person before her, familiarity washing over her features.

Kit runs a hand through his hair, his brown locks loosened by droplets of sweat. He watches Cody's steady reaction, amused by the unforeseen presence of the girl who stood outside his house at three o'clock in the morning.

"Why the long face?" Kit queries.

"What face?" Cody furrows her eyebrows and stares into Kit's eyes, bearing an inkling of challenge. She's never been the class of person to give wide berth to a test of her character. Cody doesn't sacrifice defeat.

"Cheer up, I'm taking you on an adventure," Kit smiles and nods his head in a gesture that indicates Cody's departure from her position in the lifeguard chair. She snickers, humoured by the trace of sarcasm in Kit's use of a hackneyed phrase. But as asked, Cody slips off the timber chair, curiosity vivid in her thoughts. 

"What kind of adventure?" she asks and falls into line beside Kit. Cody keeps her eyes on the ocean brushing against the shore in a gentle manner, as if caressing the sand. She diverts her consciousness to the rhythm of her feet as they sink deeper into the unsteady ground. If she were to carefully watch Kit speak, her attention span would achieve it's most attainable low.

"Leo and I are visiting the public pool down on 12th street. Tonight". As Kit proposes his rebellious scheme, presumably of Leo's origin, he twirls his pair of headphones around his slim fingers. He searches for Cody's gaze; head tilted, eyes curious. But all he receives is a momentary frown.