Steven Hunley
12-24-2010, 10:03 PM
Torrey Pines
By
Steven Hunley
It was to be a simple afternoon at the beach. They left too late, forgot half of what they intended to pack, and were totally unprepared for what weather would greet them. On the way out she said,
‘Where exactly are we going anyway?”
“To Torrey Pines. It’s nice there now."
They drove up the coast in silence, the road would give views of the Pacific now and then, sometimes near, sometimes far, but always breathtakingly blue. They turned off the road past Del Mar.
They parked the car and got out. The wind was up as it is there at times, coming in clean from over the Pacific, a combined scent of salt and seaweed. The sun was low and rested just above the horizon. Cumulus clouds stretched gracefully along the rim of the world and promised a sunset of incomparable beauty.
“Looks good to me,” she said.
He smiled in agreement.
The beach was long and stretched its arm beneath tall yellow sandstone cliffs. When you walked down it’s length you were surrounded on both sides. The cliffs stood like tall golden sentinels on one side and the blue Pacific, a barrier on the other.
‘It’s surrounded and cut off,’ he thought. ‘It’s a good place for thinking.’
‘It’s cut off and surrounded,’ she mused, ‘a good place for loving.'
They were both right. It was a place for thinking about love and sharing the silence.
The wind swelled up so he gave her his coat. She took it with a smile. She knew, as a girl often does, that it would require them to sit close together and share an intimate moment.
As the sun lowered, the sky was shot through with gold and vermillion streamers. The only sounds were the screams of plummeting gulls, and the wind kissing the waves’ white-laced necks like in Tales of Brave Ulysses. They felt abandoned, like nomads from some romantic novel. Just them, the sky, the waves, and the sand beneath their feet.
“Let’s sit awhile,” she whispered, taking care not to break his thoughts, for as yet he hadn’t said a word.
They picked a place at the base of the cliffs to give themselves a view. He pulled a joint out of his pocket and tried to light it. This, the wind would not allow. So much for his feeble attempt to take off the edge.
“It’s OK,” she said. “Try this instead,” and gave him a kiss. The kiss was soft warm and wet and carefully delivered. So much better that it was.
“You must be cold,” she said, and snuggled up close. It was only too obvious to her he had something on his mind. Women know such things because they can cook. She knew he had a thought baking and could tell by the smell of him.
He looked at her face. She knew what was coming. He understood they’d come to the point where it might be said with impunity. He was guilty of the thought, so it was time to confess.
The sun dipped lower, setting flame to the clouds. Cumulus rims turned gold. The heat spread, trying to set the night on fire. Jim Morrison roared his roar. He knew it was time. He’d entered the confessional of sand, wave, and cliff. He said to her ear, afraid of seeing her face,
“I love you, you know?”
“It’s OK. Don’t worry. I love you too.”
The words were out. If they meant exactly the same thing to each of them it would have been a miracle. But they were out, and right now that was good enough. It was what they both wanted to hear.
He let out a breath and studied her eyes. When he was satisfied she wasn’t lying or saying it just for form, he squeezed her hand tight. One thing he didn’t have to do now was protect her from nature. His coat could do that. What he really needed to do was protect her from himself. He didn’t know what was within himself, or what he was capable of. This whole thing was new. His mind was a muddle. But it was too late. He’d already said the words.
He felt a chill, dropped his arms from around her and clasped them to himself for warmth. There was no going back. She took off his coat and blanketed him as if he were an autumn leaf fallen off a tree. He trembled with the same sudden awareness of mortality. Nature in them both. She knelt over him, covering him with her body. She heard him say, though it was more to himself than her,
“This isn’t going to be easy.”
“I know,” she answered calmly. The sound of her breath caressed his ear.
“I know,” she repeated even more softly to herself. “ For me too."
The foaming breakers continued to touch the golden sand in an impartial manner as if nothing had come to pass.
When they left the beach at dusk the sky turned ink and gold. Their tracks in the wet sand, with each step, glowed like tiny stars with the sparkle of florescent diatoms disturbed by the pressure of their feet. Small helpless creatures caught in the ebb tide were busy dying.
Their relationship freely entered would be caught there too, trapped by the words of love they uttered, captured in their own poison red tide of love, tangled by the love-knot she’d plaited in her hair with her delicate fingers and managed to place around his neck by the force of her beauty alone.
They slipped silently into the car and drove away. The sand and the cliffs, the sky and waves, faded off into the distance, and were as forgotten as easily as sentences spoken in dreams.
By
Steven Hunley
It was to be a simple afternoon at the beach. They left too late, forgot half of what they intended to pack, and were totally unprepared for what weather would greet them. On the way out she said,
‘Where exactly are we going anyway?”
“To Torrey Pines. It’s nice there now."
They drove up the coast in silence, the road would give views of the Pacific now and then, sometimes near, sometimes far, but always breathtakingly blue. They turned off the road past Del Mar.
They parked the car and got out. The wind was up as it is there at times, coming in clean from over the Pacific, a combined scent of salt and seaweed. The sun was low and rested just above the horizon. Cumulus clouds stretched gracefully along the rim of the world and promised a sunset of incomparable beauty.
“Looks good to me,” she said.
He smiled in agreement.
The beach was long and stretched its arm beneath tall yellow sandstone cliffs. When you walked down it’s length you were surrounded on both sides. The cliffs stood like tall golden sentinels on one side and the blue Pacific, a barrier on the other.
‘It’s surrounded and cut off,’ he thought. ‘It’s a good place for thinking.’
‘It’s cut off and surrounded,’ she mused, ‘a good place for loving.'
They were both right. It was a place for thinking about love and sharing the silence.
The wind swelled up so he gave her his coat. She took it with a smile. She knew, as a girl often does, that it would require them to sit close together and share an intimate moment.
As the sun lowered, the sky was shot through with gold and vermillion streamers. The only sounds were the screams of plummeting gulls, and the wind kissing the waves’ white-laced necks like in Tales of Brave Ulysses. They felt abandoned, like nomads from some romantic novel. Just them, the sky, the waves, and the sand beneath their feet.
“Let’s sit awhile,” she whispered, taking care not to break his thoughts, for as yet he hadn’t said a word.
They picked a place at the base of the cliffs to give themselves a view. He pulled a joint out of his pocket and tried to light it. This, the wind would not allow. So much for his feeble attempt to take off the edge.
“It’s OK,” she said. “Try this instead,” and gave him a kiss. The kiss was soft warm and wet and carefully delivered. So much better that it was.
“You must be cold,” she said, and snuggled up close. It was only too obvious to her he had something on his mind. Women know such things because they can cook. She knew he had a thought baking and could tell by the smell of him.
He looked at her face. She knew what was coming. He understood they’d come to the point where it might be said with impunity. He was guilty of the thought, so it was time to confess.
The sun dipped lower, setting flame to the clouds. Cumulus rims turned gold. The heat spread, trying to set the night on fire. Jim Morrison roared his roar. He knew it was time. He’d entered the confessional of sand, wave, and cliff. He said to her ear, afraid of seeing her face,
“I love you, you know?”
“It’s OK. Don’t worry. I love you too.”
The words were out. If they meant exactly the same thing to each of them it would have been a miracle. But they were out, and right now that was good enough. It was what they both wanted to hear.
He let out a breath and studied her eyes. When he was satisfied she wasn’t lying or saying it just for form, he squeezed her hand tight. One thing he didn’t have to do now was protect her from nature. His coat could do that. What he really needed to do was protect her from himself. He didn’t know what was within himself, or what he was capable of. This whole thing was new. His mind was a muddle. But it was too late. He’d already said the words.
He felt a chill, dropped his arms from around her and clasped them to himself for warmth. There was no going back. She took off his coat and blanketed him as if he were an autumn leaf fallen off a tree. He trembled with the same sudden awareness of mortality. Nature in them both. She knelt over him, covering him with her body. She heard him say, though it was more to himself than her,
“This isn’t going to be easy.”
“I know,” she answered calmly. The sound of her breath caressed his ear.
“I know,” she repeated even more softly to herself. “ For me too."
The foaming breakers continued to touch the golden sand in an impartial manner as if nothing had come to pass.
When they left the beach at dusk the sky turned ink and gold. Their tracks in the wet sand, with each step, glowed like tiny stars with the sparkle of florescent diatoms disturbed by the pressure of their feet. Small helpless creatures caught in the ebb tide were busy dying.
Their relationship freely entered would be caught there too, trapped by the words of love they uttered, captured in their own poison red tide of love, tangled by the love-knot she’d plaited in her hair with her delicate fingers and managed to place around his neck by the force of her beauty alone.
They slipped silently into the car and drove away. The sand and the cliffs, the sky and waves, faded off into the distance, and were as forgotten as easily as sentences spoken in dreams.