Seaside Musings

Title: Seaside Musings (I hate titles)
Author: cass cass
Summary: One girl thinks about her life and her relationship with one of her closest friends while they sit together at the ocean.
Author’s Note: This is just something I came up with from a random burst of inspiration, which is how most of my stories start. For some reason, I thought names would ruin the story, so I left those out. The attraction is only implied, and the main character is in denial. That is how I dealt with my feelings for girls before I realized I was a lesbian, so I wanted to write about that. This is only the third I have posted, so please don’t yell. Sorry if the pace is slow.

****
The ocean is surprisingly calm today. At the risk of sounding completely cliché, almost eerily calm compared to normal. The water is usually turbulent and choppy, stirred up by the endless wind and motorboats that pass by. I would like to claim that our water is clean, but sadly it always a murky, polluted brown or gray. When you hear people call our bay beautiful or romantic, you can tell that they have never visited the place. Bays you call beautiful are clear with warm water and sand, not freezing cold with filthy rocks littered with garbage and bird droppings. Our bay is not even normal. Normal bays have driftwood wash up on shore, not plastic bags and bottles.

My best friend calls me a cynic and a pessimist, and I agree wholeheartedly. I always insist that there is some sort of catch to situation. She, however, trusts others and never fails to see the bright side of a situation. She says she always sees the good side in a person. I say she is naïve. Some people don’t know why we get along, the school skeptic and hopeless optimist having one of the “closest” relationships. I have to admit I don’t quite get it myself.

“What are we doing here?” I ask suddenly, glancing over at her.

She looks out at the view silently for a moment, seeming to contemplate my answer in that way she does. “I like the wind,” she says finally, sighing slightly and facing the water, “and we’re enjoying the sunset.” I look up at the stormy, gray clouds covering the sky above us. There is fog covering the hills surrounding us, creeping in from the ocean. We cannot see farther than forty yards out. “What sunset?” I ask. She rewards me with a shove on the arm and that strange sound she makes when she is annoyed. It a cross between a snort and a sigh, something I thought was impossible before I met her. We lapse back into silence and watch the occasional wave lap up against the rocks.

I shift in my spot, trying to find a comfortable position on the rough terrain, while trying my best to avoid any dirt or droppings. This continues on for a few minutes until she puts her hand on my shoulder to still my movements. If there is one thing she cannot stand, it’s fidgeting. Unfortunately for her, it’s a habit of mine that I cannot seem to break. I have driven her crazy many times, mostly during assemblies, meetings, or programs our school forces us to attend. When we were back in our Catholic high school days, it used to be the source of half our arguments. On one such occurrence we refused to talk to each other for weeks. Most of our classmates thought it was silly to get in arguments over such a small thing. We could never answer their questions about it. It’s just a little quirk of ours.

“When are you gonna move out of that house?”* she asks, startling me enough to make me turn to look at her. Hmm, I am not usually that nostalgic. Maybe it’s the ocean air? The smell of fish never did sit right with me. “Hey, I asked when you’re gonna move out of that house,” she tells me, slightly annoyed. “Were you listening?” “Sorry…” I mumble. She keeps looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. Why is it that whenever she wants a response from me, I have to give it? “I don’t know,” I answer finally, looking away from her.

She doesn’t say anything, but I can tell that she disapproves of my answer. This has been another point of conflict between us. I still live with my parents in their own house, even though I am in my second year of college. My friend, who moved out the moment she turned eighteen, thinks that I am way to old to be dependent on my family. She wants me to move into her apartment so we can share the rent. Personally, I would prefer that much more to my current living arrangements, but I just cannot move out. She thinks I do not want to be her roommate, but that is not it at all.

The issue is not that I do not want to move out; it’s just that my mom will not let me. Don’t get me wrong, I would be able to move out, but my parents think that I would not take care of myself properly. All right, I know there was my Goth stage in my early years, but it’s over now. How do you explain to your best friend that your mom has mastered the art of guilt tripping you into staying? The whole situation is extremely frustrating for me.

I go back to watching the ocean with her. A lone fishing boat lazily sails by us. It’s a Friday, so there is hardly any one out at sea because of their superstitions. The wind picks up and starts blowing debris around the rocks. I absently note her putting up her hair to keep it from blowing all over the place. Small waves are starting to form further out, the foam cresting them visible through the gloom. A seal surfaces a couple dozen feet from where we are sitting. I watch it swim around for a while when another pops up beside it. “Look over there,” I say pointing in their direction. She is the one who is an avid animal lover. She would have been disappointed if I had not shown them to her. I watch her as she studies them. Her eyes seem to gain this extra liveliness whenever she is around animals, something I will never get used to.

The wind picks up again after the seals disappear and we both face the water again. “Janice’s holding a party next Friday,” she says to me, seemingly picking up a random topic to start a conversation. “Janice Roget?” I ask her, wanting to confirm it with her. She nods her affirmation. “Yep. People have been talking about it the entire week. You know she’s rich right?” I snort lightly and nod. How could I not? She comes from the same town as us, and we heard about her bragging all through high school. It would be impossible to live in that city and not know. We fall into silence.

“Do ya’ think you’re going?” she asks me, looking questioningly at me from the corner of her eye. “Nah’. I wouldn’t have a date anyway,” I reply. “Why not?” she questions. She is being unusually curious today. “Can you think of any guy remotely our age that I would consider dating?” I ask as a way of response. She chuckles and smiles to show her understanding. To quote from one of our mutually favorite books, “college men are still boys.”* “Ya’ know, I don’t think their’s any guy on our campus that has their mind out of the gutter,” I say. We both laugh at this, and keep laughing, and keep laughing. I do not know why, it’s not really that funny. It must have to do with our shared feminist opinions. I notice suddenly that she is not laughing along with me anymore. I look over to see her staring at me with this odd look in her eyes. I know I have seen it before somewhere, but cannot remember. “What?” I ask. She seems to snap out of some sort of trance before resuming her usual expression. “Nothing…” she says, looking away quickly. I know she is avoiding answering, but I let her be.

The seagulls are coming out now to circle the nearby dock. Every day they come by to see if they can scrounge any leftover fish from the boats. They never seem to get that there is not much to eat on Fridays. I watch one swoop down to land on the deck of one of the few boats coming in, only to be chased away by a fisherman. More glide around the surface of the water and above, occasionally coming close enough to almost skim the water. “I love the sound of them,” she says tilting her head in their direction. “Aren’t they graceful?” “Annoying’s more like,” I comment, trying to ignore one bird that is staring at me from about a dozen feet away. It is starting to unnerve me. She shoves my arm again and starts frowning. “Can’t you ever appreciate nature?” she ask, exasperated with my seeming lack of gratefulness. I shrug and she huffs before looking at the birds again.

I look up at the sky and notice that the clouds look decidedly thicker than before. A few raindrops fall from the sky onto my face. “Shit…” I curse silently, hoping that it would only be a light drizzle. My hopes are dashed when it starts to rain down harder and little spots of moisture start appearing on the ground. “Wha’ do we do now?” I ask, glancing over at her. She has her “calculating” expression on and is scanning our surroundings. Her eyes land on a certain spot and I look over to see an outcropping of rock that looks like it could offer some shelter. In an unspoken agreement we grab our jackets and run over before it really starts pouring.

When we reach the rocks the rain has started coming down in sheets. We huddle under our jackets in a pointless attempt to keep ourselves warm. I look out miserably at the rain. Most likely we will be stuck here for another few hours since the storm does not look like it will blow over soon. We are lucky the wind is blowing in the other direction, or else we would be soaked. I look over at her and am surprised to see a content expression on her face. “Why’re you so happy all of a sudden?” I grumble to her, resentful of her good mood. “I like the rain,” she says, her smile widening. I roll my eyes and think what do you not like, but leave the thought unsaid. It would not be a wise idea to start a fight in these cramped conditions.

A few minutes pass and I notice her put her hand out into the downpour. Sometimes I really think she is crazy. “What are you doing?” I ask, curiosity overcoming my better judgment. “I told you, I like the rain,” she replies, smiling at me, “It’s nice feeling it on my skin.” She looks expectantly at me for a few minutes until I ask, “What?” “You should try it. It’s nice.” I give an annoyed sigh and reply with my usual, “I’d rather not.” She looks out again, seemingly not disappointed, and starts humming, and moving her hand around, and smiling even more. Eventually I stick my hand out besides hers, seeing the smug and triumphant smile she is trying to hide. If she says one word I swear I will… well, I will do something she doesn’t like, that is certain.

After I while I have to grudgingly admit that the feeling of rain on your skin is in fact “nice,” as she puts. This small moment of resentful pleasantness is interrupted when a particularly strong gust of wind passes by and the temperature drops a few more degrees. I snatch back my hand and burrow further into our little alcove. She follows my lead and soon we are sitting with our backs pressing against the rock. I try to settle in for the long hours we were sure to be there.

“Do you wanna cuddle?” The question comes from beside me and I look at her with disbelieving eyes. “Excuse me?” I ask, hoping I did not hear what she just said correctly. “You know, cuddle?” she repeats. At the blank look on my face she sighs and starts to elaborate. “It’s the only way we’ll be warm, and I’m freezing.” “Okay…” I say hesitantly, still wary of the suggestion. She smiles again and scoots closer with her arms held out. I allow her to wrap her arms around my waist while I throw an arm over her shoulder, the other one curled up near her stomach. She leans back to lie down, and since I am the shorter of the two of us, my head ends up resting on her shoulder.

When we are settled I have to admit that the position is indeed quite comfortable and that I am considerably warmer than before. Suddenly the rain doesn’t seem so depressing anymore. In fact, if I think about it, it actually has a sort of appeal to it. “This idea actually worked out,” I tell her, surprising myself with the confession. I look up quickly to see the startled smile on her face from the rare occurrence. For some reason, I do not mind my admission as much as I usually would.

She shifts more and we end up with me sort of half on top of her with her arms and head curling around me. I fight my best to keep down my discomfort with the close proximity. It is not that I am not uncomfortable, far from it, but I am a firm believer in a person’s personal space. Back in high school people called it my “contactphobia,” however lame that might sound. Eventually I calm down enough to realize that this really is pleasant. The rain prevents you from seeing too much detail, so the view is not that bad.

“Do ya’ mind if I use your jacket for a blanket?” she asks. I think a bit before answering, “Fine.” It really is warm here… She nudges my arms to tell me to lift them and she somehow manages to work the jacket out from between us. The jacket is one of my longer ones, and covers most of us down to our thighs. She sighs in contentment and moves slightly closer. Again, I do not mind for some reason. She only wants to stay warm, right?

The rain is starting to come down more heavily instead of letting up. “If this doesn’t end soon, we’re gonna have to make a run for it,” I say absently, distracted by her breathing and the way it stirs some of the hair at the top of my head. We let the statement hang in the air, neither of us wanting to disturb the air of restfulness about us. “We could stay the night here,” she says finally. “We wouldn’t have to get wet, you know.” “My mom would kill me…” I say half-heartedly, knowing the moment I opened my mouth that she would not accept the excuse.

She snorts in apparent disbelief, something both of us seem to be doing much of lately. “But I like sunrises, so that evens that out,” she says, it making sense in that weird way she can accomplish. “’Kay,” I mumble, becoming too tired to make a real protest. My parents would kill me, but it is so warm here… I yawn and shift to become more comfortable. A faint aura of victory is coming off of her, but it does not matter. Before I drift off, I notice her tighten her arms around me almost possessively. She must really be cold…

****
I wake up to the sound of a soft whistling, accompanied by the sounds of bird cries and faint shouting from some far off place. Mom will be coming up any minute to get me out of bed a full hour earlier than necessary. My bed shifts under me and sighs quietly. Wait…beds should not be moving…or sighing for that matter. The events of the previous nights make their sudden appearance in my sleep-fogged memory. I open my eyes groggily to look around me. The birdcalls are coming from the first sea gulls at the bay, and the shouting is from the nearby docks where the fishermen are readying their boats.

Normally, there would be the expected things for me to point out in the situation. My back and legs are completely sore from sleeping on the ground all night. My hair is impossibly tangled from me not taking it out of its ponytail. There is a disgusting taste in my mouth because I did not have a chance to brush my teeth last night. My stomach is starting to cramp up because I had not eaten either lunch or dinner the previous day. My usual pessimistic attitude would have noticed these things the moment I woke up.

Instead, I noticed the fact that the usual morning fog was missing from the surface of the water. The gentle waves reflected the first light of the morning, giving off a quiet gleam. The sun is just starting to rise, sending rays of yellow and pink light out into the sky. Clouds are turning different shades of orange and are floating calmly over the bay. Most of the sky is still a midnight blue, fading into deep purple. Occasionally a stray star would wink down, giving a last attempt to shine before day took over.

She mumbles in her sleep beside me, drawing my attention back to her. Soon her soft breathing is the only sound I can hear, the dawning light reflecting off her hair. I look back at the ocean, finally understanding the beauty of it. I cuddle closer to her and smile in contentment. Sunsets really are not that bad…

****

As I said before, this is a result of a random burst of inspiration. It didn’t turn out as I hoped it would, and I’m not sure I’m happy with it, but it’ll have to do. I apologize for the shortness of it. At the moment it’s a one-shot, but I may continue this if people want. Anyway, thank-you for actually reading this.

*The dialogue will be somewhat strange with odd spellings. My friends and I always sound rushed when we talk, and I tried to communicate this with their dialogue. I’m not sure if it worked.

*The book mentioned is The DaVinci Code. This is a personal favorite, but sorry if I got the quote wrong. I couldn’t find it in the book.