Feet pause. "Is that a finger?"
"I'm talking to the nice man," she says.
"We're bored here. Can you drive onto the grass or something?" he wants to know.
"Later," we promise.
Sashaying with umbrellas past bright facades and brick pathways. "Don't have a cow!" and we groan and laugh.
Sprinting over sand - cool but not yet wet - meet grey crashing white grey again and again -
I stand at the shore, watch crashing grey and know that the desperately rushing tide runs to meet me - I smile - this overwhelming chaos, this beauty - I have finally found a place that is me.
"Let's break out the wine," Kim suggests as the trouble alarm beeps loudly and emergency lights shine on the residents in the hallway who look at me.
We play power outtage instead of power hour. Never have I ever kissed a cheerleader. Giggling fits take us outside. Intriguing basement conversations next to the room with one chair. Kid in the blue poncho, what's his story? Keep it on the DL.
"You two were in bathing suits and I was wearing a tank top," she'll claim later. Rain and wind slap our skin like the volleyball that keeps soaring under the net. Orange lights illuminate laughing bodies in the night.
White skirt,
soaking rain,
brilliantly clear morning.
This is the best time I've had in three years.
What have you been doing?
You don't want to know.
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