The walk home from the store takes me almost an hour. I am sure, as I sniff the open milk carton, that I've lost half my food to the heat. The sniff proves scentless so I shrug and put the milk in the mini fridge. It's just big enough to hold the milk, yogurt, cold cuts, berries and a couple bottles of water. The rest of the food goes on the counter.
An hour later when I'm finished with my shower and standing before the mirror, I see that the sun has created unsightly tan – or should I say burn - lines across my upper arm and mid thigh. Next time I make a trip to the store, I'll have to remember the sun block.
Grabbing my shorts, I regret to think of the party tonight. If I decide to go, how would I work the outfit issue? I refuse to arrive at my first event wearing my DuneBurger shirt. But where would I change? I could change in the bathrooms at work but then I'd have to bring a bag with me and keep track of it all night. I don't have a swimsuit so at least there's no issue there. I simply won't swim tonight.
A fitted camisole catches my eye – the best solution under the circumstances. I pull it on then cover it with my red DuneBurger tee. I fold a few dollars into my pocket and head out.
Taking orders and reporting them to the kitchen makes it difficult to avoid making eye contact with Chris. Why is it so hard for me to look at him? Is it because he made my heart skip a beat and now I feel guilty? Or maybe that I have him all wrong and that's just embarrassing... Either way, I won't lead him on. I won't even think about him again.
Liz works the register. Clare and Laura, both whom I guess are in their early twenties, bring orders to patrons outside and clear dirty tables when they've gone. The girls don't say much to me but then I don't say much to them either.
“You ready?” Chris says as I return the mop to its place in the back room some time after eleven.
“Yeah.” It's a given that I'm going even though I debated all night up to this moment.
Beyond moth territory near the outdoor light and into the dark gravel parking lot, I jump into the wrangler for the second time today. Chris pulls his shirt off and tosses it into the back seat before getting in, leaving him bare-chested in cargo shorts. My pulse explodes and I fret about taking mine off now too or waiting until later when he's not looking. If I wait, it could draw more attention to it. Sitting in the front seat, I lean forward and pull it over my head, casting a glance in his direction when the deed has been accomplished. He watches me, smiles and starts the Jeep, Dave Matthews Band breaking the silence.
My heart races so fast, I feel faint. My hand grips the t-shirt, resting on the seat next to my thigh. I have to remind myself that I do have a camisole on under the t-shirt. I am not sitting bare-chested as he is.
He turns the music down as we approach a stop light.
“They got their start here. Did you know that?” he says, gesturing towards the dashboard.
I assume he's referring to Dave Matthews. “Really? No, I didn't.” I don't really care either. I'm not a fan.
“Yeah, they used to play in a joint down the strip. I'll take you there sometime if you want to see it.”
“Oh, thanks. You don't have to do that.” I move my hands to my lap, taking the shirt with them.
“I wouldn't mind. I go there often.”
He goes there? Not 'we' as in him and his wife? I let it drop without responding.
“You look like you got some sun,” he says, looking at me then back at the road. “Was that from your walk home today?”
I nod. How embarrassing. Yes, I'm a fair-skinned loser without a car. God, help me. I look away from him. If he can see my sunburn, he can probably see me blushing.
“If you need a car, I might be able to help you out.”
“Oh... well eventually. But I don't have the money right now. Thanks anyway.” Why is he being so helpful?
“Alright. Well let me know.”
He turns off the road and pulls up to a wood guardrail along the beach. The glow of bonfires and twinkle of cigarettes butts sets my body on fire. Here goes nothing...
I hadn't thought about my shoes when I got ready earlier. Now I regret it as sand slips into my sneakers. As soon as I'm comfortable here, I'll take them off.
“Hey! Chris!” a girl yells, waving her arm. Three other girls beside her light up with smiles. He advances ahead of me to distribute hugs.
“This is Mollie,” he says, then lists off their names, none of which I will remember. They greet me with a friendly wave of the hand then offer us beer. I decline then regret it. I don't want them to think I'm a priss but I want to keep my senses too. I decide to accept the next offer.
An hour later, I'm sitting on a piece of drift wood by the fire alone. Chris has his arm draped around the shoulder of one of the girls. The others have scattered and two new ones have appeared. I scan the beach. There must be over twenty bonfires on this strip of beach. Several different stereos can he heard, all melding together into some sort of beat and noise. The sweet smell of pot fills the air. I glance at the black ocean and remember my night alone with it longingly.
“Hey, I didn't know you were coming,” I hear from behind me.
I peer up over my shoulder at John. He steps over the driftwood and sits next to me.
“I didn't know you were coming either,” I say. How lame.
“Who'd you come with?” he says, tossing back the remains of his beer.
I hesitate about telling him. Is there something going on that I don't know about? I feel out of place and out of the loop. Is this an invitation-only party and that's why the girls at the shack exchanged the look? Or is Chris a player and I'm falling into his trap?“Chris,” I finally say, looking across the fire at him. “He just gave me a ride,” I say, sounding quite guilty.
John grins and gives me the honor of looking away.
“His wife is pretty.” Maybe if I show him I'm not jealous, he'll know I'm not into him. Am I into him? I wonder...
John lets out a laugh which causes Chris and the girls to look up. When they've gone back to their chatting, John leans closer.
“That's not his wife. His wife is over there.” He points to a woman sitting on a blanket with a guy and a girl. I'm so confused.
“Oh,” is all I say.
“Let me get you a beer,” John says and stands up. I don't object. I don't even react. I feel as small as the grains of sand beneath my feet – my bare feet now.
He returns a moment later with an open beer, hands it to me as he stands beside where I sit and says, “Enjoy,” before walking away.
I take the beer with me and walk down to the water. The closer I get to the rushing crash of waves, the more the world around me disappears. I chug the bitter beer, happy for the buzz, and walk through the shallow water towards the pier a few hundred feet away. It's dark and eery under it's stalky legs. For some reason, its danger draws me closer and I wonder why I can face this threat but not the threat of a mass of people I don't know just behind me spread across the sand.
The pier stands at least a full story over my head and reaches a few hundred feet out into the ocean. I stand beneath it, watching the water find its way in a rush around the posts and towards me. Hidden in the darkness, I turn to face the beach, scan it slower, watch the people and analyze them. I see Chris on the blanket, making out with his wife now. Interesting. I can't seem to locate John. But it's dark. Faces are hard to make out.
As I watch people stumble around from blanket to driftwood to bonfire to bare sand, I figure each of them is either drunk or high. I am not. I just want to go home.
I have no idea how far I even am from my motel. Thinking back, I estimate it took us about ten or fifteen minutes to get here from the shack. That's maybe six or seven miles – another hour walk at... who knows what time it is? I'll definitely need a ride. But Chris has had too much to drink. I know. I watched him down one after another when I was sitting by the fire. Besides, I'm not much into interrupting a make-out session to ask for a ride home.
By the time I walk back up the beach, Chris's wife is laying alongside him with her head on his chest. I pass the blanket on my way to my shoes.
“Hey. Mollie,” Chris says, sitting up. “Have you met my wife, Alana, yet?”
She props herself up onto her elbows.
“No,” I say, reluctant to stop walking. “Nice to meet you,” I say pleasantly and move on.
“Hey, wait!” Chris yells, catching up with me. “Where you going?” he says, walking next to me.
“Just getting my shoes. I should be heading back now.”
“Oh.” He stops walking. “How are you getting home?”
I stand and look at him. I don't have an answer.
He seems to be as confused as I am. “We can give you a ride but I'm kinda buzzin. We usually sleep it off a bit first.”
Sleep it off? Like sleep... on the beach?
“We've got a big blanket. You can join us if you want.”
“I was going to see if I could find John actually.”
“I think he already left... a while ago.”
I look past Chris to where his wife lies on the blanket, glance back at Chris then up towards the road where I consider the long walk home in the middle of the night. I don't know the area well enough to be sure of my safety and I dread an hour walk.
~~ Should Ana sleep on the beach or walk home? ~~
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