“I worked at the beach this summer and I saw you there. A lot. Hard not to notice someone on a stupid surfboard for that long every day.” She’s saying it like an apology, but I think I love that she remembers me.
“Hey, surfboards aren’t stupid. Lucy will be devastated by your lack of respect.”
“My apologies to Lucy. It’s not her, it’s just that trying to surf on a lake is stupid.”
I laugh. I figured out how stupid lake surfing was a long time ago. “What’s going on at the beach?” It’s already after midnight. She doesn’t seem like the type to light up in the duneswith the stoners. On really still nights, the sounds of their guitars and bongos float into the open windows of my apartment.
“I actually go there most nights. I guess it’s turned into a bad habit; I can’t fall asleep anymore without sitting there for a few hours, listening to the waves.”
“I totally get that.”
15 minutes later…
Cam:
How’s the beach?
Vee:
The usual. Sand. Water. Someone rocking the bongo.
And crazy waves
You’d probably like that
Cam:
I’ve been thinking about what you said
Vee:
About? I was sort of ranty tonight
Sorry about that
Is rant-y even a word?
Cam:
Gig clothes
Mine=horrible. You won’t approve.
Vee:
Uh oh
Cam:
Road trip tomorrow?
Vee:
Seriously?
Where to?
We have school
