23.9.11

After the Rain Came







He had slightly curly hair. I can still see his
silhouette against the setting ochre sun. His back was to me. I
would not have been able to make out his features because of the
angle but I knew he was beautiful. I could feel his eyes, though
I could not see them.



He sat oozing melancholy, deep in thought, observing a softly
pulsing sea. I sat in the same way, but observed him instead. In
his presence, I seemed to forget altogether that the sea
existed. 


A flash storm had five minutes prior forced the other
revelers from the beach and to their vehicles - long journeys home in 
seats made damp by wet bikini bottoms and shorts. 
We were the somber duet who remained - he because he was too sad to
move, and me because the thought of leaving him made me shudder. 

 
Not realising I was nearby he began to hum aloud, and it was not
long before he started to sing. His voice was like a Sunday
spent wrapped in dirty sheets, and his lonely lyrics brought
tears to my eyes. 


He stood.
 
The fear that he could be leaving brought my insides to my
throat. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and let it fall from his
frame. His broad shoulders and muscular back curved like a tunnel 
wave to a waist cinched by intensive
daily workouts. He stood facing the sea, poised, as if he
was facing an opponent in a duel; fists clenched with resolve,
but with shoulders weighed down by anticipated defeat.





He moved slowly to the waters edge and continued onwards.




I stood.
 


 
Once the water reached his waist, he fell forward and began to
swim at a pace rarely seen on those lazy Sundays. I began to run
and then entered the cool water and swam to where he had been. Panic
overcame me as I dropped below the surface in a desperate
search. I wanted those curls to tickle my cheek. I wanted to
touch that back that curved like a wave, not unlike those of the
sea that had seemingly swallowed him up.
 
My arm brushed his leg.
 
I surged down to the sea floor with a strength I did not know
I had. His hands were gripping a boulder and were determined not
to let go until all feeling diminished. His tears, and mine,
mixed with the sea - a salty soup.
 
His eyes found mine.
 
My hands found his.
 
Finger by finger I pried him from the unyielding stone and we
floated to the surface, buoyed by the few last breaths in our
lungs. Dusk had brought calm to the waves which delivered us gently 
to shore. We stared for a long time over frothy water and sea beaten stones
worn round.




He smiled.


I knew at that moment I had saved him from the sea, from his sadness, and would forever after, save him from himself.


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