You're in your best man's car. You
think of him as that because of what he said at your wedding, and
because when you said those words together with his name you knew they were
true. The leather interior is worn, but shines because his family
takes pride in what they have and it is soft and comfortable and
knows you as you know it. You are driving back to him, chuckling as
you remember how you once said jokingly that you'd be a designated
driver when one was needed with selectively strong self control. You see
the summer constellations through the open sun roof and you have to
stop and listen. You pull over two feet from a meticulously
manicured field. You appreciate the little acts of caring and also
want to give yourself space to wipe your feet before getting back in.
Your bottom hand holds firmly the slot in the door and your top
pulls the smooth handle easily to a click. You push the door open,
step one foot out on the street, lean forward, swing the other foot
out, and OHHHhhhh FUCK!
Your feet first feel water and it
reaches up eagerly, suddenly completely and there is a cacophony in
your ears. You blink your eyes to clear the tears and they are taken
away by the sweetest, purest ocean you have ever seen. You're
holding your breath but you know it won't hold forever, whatever if
you feel like a feather floating fitfully let your own breeze from
your body carry you down easily, pleased to be free falling
intimately with the longing of the earth.
Your feet hit a soft and silty ground.
Your body settles standing. You straighten your neck. You stand
erect and stretch yourself a little taller. You take a deep breath.
