Swim to the moon
A/N: 20 minute freewrite session
Twilight. It's so humid that my skin sticks together where it creases and my itchy white dress has become soft from my sweat and clings to me. I probably have pit stains. Scratch that. I know I have pit stains. Misquitos keep landing on the back of my knees, my wrist, and my neck - all of the little places that I dabbed perfume into this morning. I thought I had lost it all to the heat and beach waves, but the misquitoes still smelled it.
A particularly plucky one buzzes in my ear, its vibrations solid and sharp in the otherwise quiet beach. Everyone else has gone home already. Families packed up their children and left behind the drooping sandcastles and empty juice boxes from their day. Everything smells like fish. Except for me, I guess I still smell like gardenia.
Something hoots into the night. There's a crash of laughter further down the sand. Boys come in a group. They drop sweaty cases of beer onto the dirt. They move up and down the beach collecting pieces of driftwood. This is what I came for, but I remain imobile. The sand is gritty between my toes and warm under my thighs.
Before they start the fire I look at the stars. They're beaming and brilliant and so cold and far away that a shiver works its way down my spine. I'm in the water chasing them before I even think about it. Moving away from the light of the fire and the distraction of wild boys and the comfort of shore, I kick out into the black water. I feel closer to the moon here. In between the rolling waves the flat water reflects a black sky and the twinkling stars.
Warm water splashes against my chest, which feels as empty as the space between the stars. The water is a living mirror. All I can smell and taste is fish. A miquito stings the back of my neck and I twirl around. Shane is staring at me from the shore. He'll smell like smoke and bud light by now and if I'm lucky he might taste like marshmallows. The fire shines behind his head making a halo of his blond hair. I might have gotten new freckles today and I wonder if he'll notice them.
My toes squish into the soft sand as I end my impromptu swim. Belatedly, I realize I didn't take my dress off. I had sweat stains anyway.
- - -
I'm getting back into the writing game with Sarah Selecky's The Story Course. The first lesson is on Free Writing, and I already feel better. This is in no way polished. It doesn't even really look like a story. But I love playing with language and trying to find some way to share emotion through words and it feels so good to write something.