"It's supposed to be Summer!"
I shouted into the wind, complaining to no one but the unheeding sky-gods. I made sure I wasn't actually talking to myself like a madwoman when the lone jogger puffed past me, my only companion of the dawn. I wrapped my windcheater tighter around me as I pounded along the promenade in my expensive sneakers, getting my daily exercise over early. I grumbled at the blustery ocean breeze that swept the wide walkway.
As I came up to the playpark at the end of my walk, I tugged from my pocket a bread-bag of crumbs and crusts and the knowing pigeons and seabirds were suddenly upon the ground before me. I scattered the morsels and chuckled at their brazen antics as they stole and fought and pecked. Then I chuckled at my chuckling, that this was what passed for entertainment in my sad, lonely life. Since the recent death of both my little dog and my old, fat cat, this was the nearest I got to having pets these days. Just an old woman with only wild birds for company. Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and a suspicion made me turn around and scan the area. Sitting atop a wooden playhouse was a young man, he smiled at me as we locked eyes. This was the first time I saw that warm, shy smile. I'll never forget it. He waved and I took a few steps closer.
"What're doing up there?" I asked, stuffing the empty bread-bag back in my coat pocket while the birds continued their feeding frenzy.
"Was just waiting to watch the sunrise."
I looked around, the rising sun was barely making an impression through the white coastal mists.
"Bit of an anti-climax," I suggested.
He looked confused. I stepped closer and rested my hands on the railings of the play area.
"I mean disappointing," I said, "Too misty."
"Oh. Yeah."
He nodded in agreement then climbed off the roof of the wooden toy house and came down the slide like a child. He went to walk away but I called him back and we stood facing each other on either side of the railings.
"Did you..." I hesitated, "Were you here all night?"
"Um?"
I looked him over, this young unshaven man with scruffy hair, his clothes all ruffled and grubby. He looked as adorable as an under-fed stray.
"You haven't got anywhere to go, have you?" I asked.
He looked at me with that darling confused frown again. This was when I noticed his eyes. They were the colour of the sky: a vivid summer blue veiled by a chill mist; they held me quite entranced. Then he smiled that heart-lifting smile again and I knew we'd become easy friends.
"I have some coffee brewing, at home, if you'd like...?"
"Don't like coffee. Thanks though."
"Tea then. Hot chocolate. Let me give you something to warm you up. Some food?"
He leapt over the railing and grinned at me. I turned to walk and he followed.
"Yuh-yuh-yuh-you're..."
His words seem to fail him so I turned around, encouraging him to speak.
"You're taking me home with you? How do you know I won't...?"
"Won't what?"
"You know, ah-attack you? You don't know me."
"Why would you attack me?"
He shuffled his feet and stared at his grungy sneakers, the unseasonal wind whipped our hair into our faces.
"Look," I said, "You don't seem like a violent lunatic. And you'll see I don't have much worth thieving. And if you need a little money, just ask. I'll be happy to help."
"But what about...?"
I grasped the meaning of his unasked question.
"And you certainly don't look like a sex maniac. Your eyes are too kind. You have lovely eyes."
He smiled shyly at my compliment.
"And even if you were a pervert," I continued as I turned to take the path back around the buildings away from the shore, "I'm sure I'm far too old and wrinkly to provoke any notions of that kind."
I glanced at him as we walked and he seemed to be looking me over just as I had assessed him. He smiled as he caught my glance and looked away. Had he been staring at my legs? No, of course not, that'd be ridiculous.
*******
My house was small and crowded with the detritus of a life spent being a wife and mother but now festering in a slow decay of isolation. I hadn't the heart to chuck out all these meaningless items left behind, it would somehow mean it all hadn't happened; I feared I wouldn't exist if I didn't live with the memory of coats that will be never be worn hanging behind the door where I hung my own. I kicked off my shoes and added them to a box full of shoes worn by people who longer needed them. My new friend closed the door behind him and stood peering about my cluttered but comfy home.
"S'nice," he said.
"Thank you."
"Yuh-yuh-you're very ku-kind."
"Thank you. Don't be nervous, honey. Phew, isn't it good to be out of that wind!?"
I walked through to the kitchen and switched on the kettle. I offered him one of the two seats but he remained standing, looking a little lost and unsure.
"So, tea? Chocolate?"
"Um, hot chocolate'd be great. Th-thanks."
His speech bore the phrasing of an under-educated, working-class man and he seemed only to stammer when agitated. I gave him a warm, accommodating smile to help him feel at ease. I caught him looking me over again and I smoothed down my dress self-consciously. It had been a long time since I dressed thinking anyone would see me and I was wearing a shapeless shift from which the pattern had faded to almost nothing. I became aware that the pair of tan pantyhose I was wearing that day had a ladder up one of my calves and holes in the reinforced toe. I looked down and wiggled my exposed toes. The boy followed my gaze down and laughed but then caught himself and frowned. I made him a frothy chocolate the way my children had always enjoyed them then I sat down at the small dining-table with my coffee. The boy prowled up and down, blowing across the top of his froth.
"What's your name?" I asked.
He rolled his eyes and groaned.
"What?" I laughed, "Is it a tough question?"
"People call me Jetski."
