The warmth of the sun lingers on the sand, providing a comfortable bed upon which they lay. Their bodies intertwine, searching for the feeling of comfort and love, finding warm skin and the grit of sand. Having the beach to themselves was like having their own world, with all of the beauty surrounding them; waves lapping at the shore, seagulls touching down for scraps of food, the sun setting slowly at the horizon.
My love for you flows Like the tide of the deep blue Ocean peacefulness.
Before I insert my contribution, I want to put a smile to at least one person’s face when I say I had to look at the calendar because I couldn’t believe it is already Friday! Oops, it’s not! Phew!
I couldn’t believe I missed it! One quick trip to the restroom turned into a nightmare and on top of it all, I didn’t get to see the end of the play! That’s what I get, I guess. Eating Indian Cuisine before an on-stage production may not have been the best idea, but who knew? If only that other woman hadn’t clogged the toilet. I could have run in, done my business and left, but instead I had to sit in my stall, quietly, controlling my bowels, while the custodial crew came in to fix her toilet. My bad timing.
Miguel rolled over on the thin mat that he used as a bed. Being transient meant sleeping in strange places, sometimes outdoors, which had prompted him to take a mat when it was offered at one of the shelters last year. Looking at the old fold-away clock his father had given him as a child, he saw it was almost midnight, not time to leave yet. This clock was the only thing he had been able to retain over all the years, through all the living arrangements. It reminded him of his father, a man who was rarely available, always working or entertaining. Was the clock a joke made by his father questioning him to find time to spend with him? He didn’t know, never would, as his father had died years ago. He hadn’t been there when he died, he didn’t even know where he was buried, but he would always have the clock.
He took the glass and held it up to the light. The potion he had made had been concocted of sweat and tears. He knew it had to be authentic to work. Dropping a glass bead into the bottom of the beaker he started to swirl the liquid, mixing it slowly; stirred, never shaken. Exercising caution, the man put the beaker down on the stand.
At just that moment something caught his eye. As he was looking out his front door he saw a bright thing in the yard. It sparkled and danced in the sunlight. It was the crystal hanging around the neck of his muse, his love, his life. She danced while she walked, showing a sweetness that only someone as pure as she could display. He knew at that moment no potion would be needed. He had everything right in front of him.
“Well here we go again. Another day, sitting here alone. Where’d he go anyways? I’m not sure why he won’t bring me. Maybe he thinks I’ll be happier laying here on his bed until he gets home. All I know is that this is bor-oring! He’s lucky I don’t get mad. Oh, I would like to get mad, but how do you look at that little guys face and stay angry?”
“Mommy, can I bring Teddy to school today?”
“No Stevie, Teddy has to stay home. He likes laying on your bed waiting for you.”
“Mommy! He’s gonna get lonely!”
“Now, now. Don’t you worry. He’s only a stuffed bear anyways. Stuffed bears don’t really have feelings like people do. They just make us feel better.”
“Teddy does too have feelings! He hates staying home! He’s gonna be mad at me tonight! Then you’ll see! Then you’ll let me bring him to school.”
Slowly, Sybil collapsed into the chair. The tea, made for two, would now be wasted. The flowers, shredded to pieces like her heart. All she could do is sit and stare at the brown liquid in front of her, wondering what she would do next. She was lost without him. He was her life.
“What happened? I don’t understand?” She spoke to him as if he were standing in front of her. There was no answer. He was gone.
She couldn’t weep, couldn’t laugh, couldn’t be angry. She sat, still, empty, alone.