MORNING | DOIN' JUST FINE
The metal guardrails had greyed, and the cement blocks which contained them had chipped and cracked. The wooden boards upon which those blocks sat had begun to splinter and bend from years of weather and heavy foot traffic. Avery barely recognized the spot where he stood. In front of him was a statue of a long-dead boy, important to the city. To his right was a familiar ice cream location. It was quite early, but the shop would soon be open for business. He walked towards the boardwalk, curiosity piqued to no end. How long had it been since he was last at this location? Something like three years? The beach could be considered Avery's old stomping grounds, but he would be quick to correct anyone who thought so. Avery rarely visited the beach, despite living so closely to it. It was always there, nevertheless. It would be waiting for him whenever he was ready to make time for it. Today was its lucky day. Avery was there.
Powerful, lively, yellow beams of light shined against the tan sand, causing it to both shimmer and simmer. It would not be long before the sand would be so hot, one would not be able to walk upon it without shoes. The waves came far up the shore, as a strong breeze was blowing in from the east. Their sound, along with the less-enticing sound of seagulls cawing above his head, temporarily alleviated the stress of his life. Behind him, there were a handful of vacationers, carrying lawn chairs, a grill, and full plastic bags of groceries. In the air, there was the unmistakable scent of salt water. Some people believe that the longer one lives near the ocean, the more prone they become to things like the ubiquity of sand, lousy parking options, and especially, the smell of sea air. Oddly, Avery never seemed to take offense to any of those things. Being back home, even for a brief stay as his was this time, was always a reprieve.
As the rays from the sun cast a straight line of light against the water, he saw three people storming into the tide. Poor, brave souls. This early in the morning, ocean water was so frigid, one could potentially catch a cold from it. Still, all three courageously called the tide's bluff. There were two men, both of whom appeared to be Hispanic, and a white female. Being who he was, Avery took an inventory of everything the woman wore and did. Her bikini was an unflattering blue color. It was not that the cut poorly fit her frame, as the fact that Avery was staring at her was evidence to the contrary. No, it was the color. The young woman's skin tone was very, very pale, and the dark, dull, almost royal blue-colored two-piece suit clashed against her natural color. Her face was not the most attractive of his experience, but she was above average, strictly from a visual perspective, yet she would not be his first choice, if given one.
For a moment, the young woman disappeared under the water and remained there for some time. His attention waivered to the two women who walked behind him. Both were African American, and they each wore magenta bathing suit tops. One of them wore denim shorts, while her friend decided to go with just bikini bottoms. Avery's earthy brown eyes watched as they walked away from him. The girl without shorts had an alluring strut; each time she made a step, her shapely butt switch sides. Good for her. She had the kind of ass that required a lot of squats in the gym. Good for her, for putting in that kind of effort. When she was too far away to regard, Avery turned back to the ocean, and the young woman who had gone under had reappeared, wiping the water from her face. Glistening like a diamond, she walked forward, out of the tide, and pulled her bikini bottoms out of her ass. Her friends soon followed. Poor, brave souls.
In his right shorts pocket was his Android phone. It was vibrating in the pattern which indicated that a text message had arrived. He was surprised, for he did not expect the message to arrive as early as it did. Before he looked at it, he made sure he was presentable. His face was freshly shaven; his black hair had recently lost a fight with a pair of clippers. After huffing a breath into his hand to check for any unsavory scents, he deemed it satisfactory. On his feet were black and silver running shoes, which had recently become a favorite of his. His shirt was plain black, save for a few silver lines and a silver icon on the shirt, signifying its brand, which Avery did not recognize. His shorts were white, with a black stripe descending outside of the thighs. Decent outfit? Check. Smell test? Check. Declaring himself ready for company, he reached into his pocket and removed his phone. The message was as he thought it would be.
[Hey! I'm here! Are you at our spot?]
"Our spot." That was an interesting way of putting it. Smiles were in short supply in Avery's life, given where it was presently, but he dug deeply and spared one for the comment. Several clicks of his phone rang loudly against the almost empty beach as he responded.
[Yes. I'm just waiting for you.]
He closed the messenger on his phone and opened his e-mail. Mostly junk. One notice, however, did catch his eye. Avery had recently submitted for a contest with Baton Bleu. There were tiered prizes, including free wine, various Baton Bleu merchandise, and even a trip to see the vineyard, which was in France. Avery had earned a coupon for two free bottles of their Platinum Reserve, which was their premium blend. It was nothing special, yet he felt a small swell of excitement. He had not had a drink since February. It was now July, and with so many fluctuations occurring in his life, all at once, he felt that a single glass of wine would not cause him too much trouble. He was not around anyone with whom he could get in trouble. As he closed his e-mail, a message arrived. Avery opened the messenger again and saw the correspondence, written in all capital letters. The approaching person clearly was happy.
[TURN AROUND!!]
Obeying the message, he swung back around to the old iron statue which he passed on his way to the boardwalk. Standing in front of it was Tiffany. She was no longer a strawberry blonde; the red had aged out, leaving it a voluminous, brilliant ash blonde. Neither her height, nor her willowy frame, had changed from the last time he saw her. A white shirt, ironically, displaying the three dogs upon the Baton Bleu label, shielded her torso and bust, which had also not changed since high school. The shorts she wore were a soft yellow, which appropriately matched her lighter complexion. The young woman accessorizing with the dark blue needed to take a fashion cue from Tiffany, for how Tiffany was dressed is how one should accentuate pale skin. Her sandals matched her shorts, and even from the distance separating them, Avery could tell that her nails were painted, though he could not determine their color.
Simultaneously, the two old friends hustled towards one another. Tiffany afforded herself one last gaze at her phone before stuffing it into her back left pocket. An extensive smile graced her face. It, like the rest of her, had matured. Her ears were adorned with gold chain earrings, which hung about half of an inch from her lobe. They swung, like her slim, hairless legs, towards him. Knowing that he was going to give her the biggest, deepest, tightest hug of his recent memory, Avery stashed his phone back into his pocket. Within a yard of him, Tiffany's arms wildly spread outward, a sign of more enthusiasm that even Avery believed she would possess. Mimicking her actions, albeit to a much lesser degree, he opened his arms. Tiffany collided against him with a firm thud, wrapping her thin arms around his neck. Avery's arms imprisoned her tiny waist, gripping her snugly. She did not seem to mind his zeal, nor did he mind hers.
"Don't let go. Please don't let go," she urged, meeting his strength with her own.
"I'm not," he assured her. His earthy brown eyes shut to shield from the glare of sunlight which ricocheted off the iron statue. The reflected ray perfectly illuminated them.
"I can't believe it's been five years since I last saw you," she recognized, lowering her head onto his left shoulder. Her face was turned inward, and her hot breath tickled Avery's neck.
"I guess we were pretty bad about trying to stay in touch with each other," he confessed, leaning his head away slightly to create space from her breath. Displeased, Tiffany stiffened.
"Did I say you could let go of me?" She berated him, pressing down with more force and resolve. Avery stopped leaning away but felt that she needed to know why he was at all.
"Your breath is tickling my neck, Tiffany," he explained. She scoffed at his comment.
"I don't care. I haven't seen you since graduation. Hug me, dammit!" Despite the odd quake shuddering his spine, he did not release Tiffany, nor did she change her position. Avery opened his earthy brown eyes to see the family from earlier peering at the two of them.
"Tiffany, there are people staring at us," he whispered.
"Let them stare," she said, maintaining her powerful grip upon him. A very long two minutes later, Tiffany's muscles finally burned to the point of exhaustion, and she freed him.
"You look incredible! I guess you never gained that freshman fifteen, huh?"
"No. I actually lost fifteen pounds when I started school. There were so many pretty girls, you know? Living on campus for two years really motivated me to get myself into shape."
"I'm so proud of you!" She complimented, reaching for his shirt. Bravely, her small hand raised it to reveal Avery's flat stomach and muscular chest, which was unshaven, for he assumed he would not be removing his shirt. Embarrassed, he swatted away her hand and fixed it.
"Hey, cut that out!"
"Oh, come on! Let me see!"
"You've got to pay, young lady. I don't work for free," he joked. In retort, she reached into her front left pocket and removed some flattened bills. Separating one from the bunch, she waved it in the air, as though she were paying for his attention and her entertainment.
"Lose the shirt, Wright," she hissed in a seductive deportment. Avery, accordingly, did as he was told, lifting his shirt from his large frame. Tiffany stood for a moment, admiring the work in front of her. Avery must have been, at least, sixty pounds lighter than when she last saw him.
"Wow! Look at you," she decried, stuffing the single into the waistband of his shorts. She made sure to push farther than she needed to, as a joke. They both laughed at her bold actions.
"Are you impressed?"
"Very impressed," she answered. "I'm so happy to see you. Did you know I haven't been back here since we graduated? My parents moved to Tennessee after I left for college. If you and Sara hadn't invited me here this week at the same time, I doubt I would have come."
