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August 27, 2017
Before things got really, really crazy. The day before the day—my personal doom's day.
My heart needs a wave zinger. The kind that takes you under, tosses you around for longer than you'd expected to show you who's really in charge around here. Yes, swell current caliber strength is a necessity over my stupid love-stricken heart. That way, maybe I wouldn't rapid-fire text Eli every five minutes. I'm usually doing one of three things, talking to Eli, talking about Eli, usually to Binni, or texting Eli. Everyone knows that. That Cardon cactus over there probably knows. I pass by her every time I come down to the beach, ELi, Eli, ELi; that word hangs in the air around here. Surely, she's absorbed it by now. She stands strong and sturdy in her residence- prickly, stab-y, unapologetic. I admire that cactus, in all her earthiness. Sharon, that's what I call her, is too sturdy to feel the sting of the salt's wave— traveling to places it's not supposed to go—the twists and turns—on a one-way throat-burning, nose-stinging journey to dark places.
My life happened on this very beach. Short of being born right here in the sand, I experienced a lot of firsts here. My first knee scrapes. Unlike all the other moms with their tiny tubes of Neosporin, my mom always pulled iodine from her beach backpack, squeezing the rubber top and dripping bronze-y red liquid on my cut, "Nothing a little monkey blood won't fix." My mom has a funny way of not moving on. My grandfather would say,
"Ah, Charlsea. That water will wash 'er off. She's tough enough to handle the sting." He'd wink as if to give me permission to skip back toward the crashing waves, and I'd jump right back in. The red dye never had a chance to stain my skin. Not against these waves.
Years later, I'd noticed the dark-eyed boy who was always out here surfing. One year after I laid eyes on him for the first time ever, Eli swam up next to me while I floated in calm waters on my surfboard. I'd leaned in. My first kiss happened. We were together every day since. Until recently, that is. And Sharon witnessed it all. Well, if she had eyes. But, you know what I mean.
Speaking of Eli, he hasn't returned any of my texts. Surfing without him all summer doesn't feel right. Lonely, even.
"Byrdie!" Binni runs, wild child fashion, under the blazing sun. Her feet heavy in the sand, her black hair in her usual messy top knot jiggling like a ball of yarn on top of her head. I'm always surprised at her thin frame, considering the amount of food this girl puts away. She can eat an entire trash can lid of mile high nachos, from the Mysterious Mermaid all by herself—with the scorcher sauce. In one sitting.
I stick my board in the sand. Wring my hair and crack a smile,
"What's the rush, Bin?"
"I ran all the way here...oh.. My...it's Eli! You're NOT going to like it. Nope!" She says in disbelief and plops down in the sand, gasping for air. "All the way from Myst...maid." she says between heavy breaths. In a table top position in the sand—always with the drama, this one.
