Tart Tangerine #9

I met her on the beach. We were both reaching for the same seashell. I demurred, letting her have the beautiful alabaster shell. I reached for a sand dollar instead. She smiled shyly at me and thanked me in a quiet voice. She looked so beautiful, lit by the midday sun. I swallowed hard and asked her if she’d like to go to lunch. She said yes.

As we ate, we spoke about seashells. She was a collector from the time she was a young girl. I had recently moved to this seaside community and was looking for something to put in the house that would remind me that I now lived in this semi-tropical paradise. Her sun-kissed skin was all the reminder I needed as we exchanged all the details people share on first dates.

The check came all too soon, and I didn’t want the afternoon to end. Neither did she apparently, because she invited me to a poetry reading at a nearby bookstore. The poet was a local and her poems expressed the simple joys that can be found in a life near and on the sea. During a particularly beautiful poem about the power of a sea-borne storm I felt a delicate hand slide into mine, her slender fingers so gentile on my calloused skin. I squeezed her hand and looked at her sidelong. She smiled back.

After the reading I walked her back to her apartment. She lived on the 20^th floor of a highrise downtown. At the door, I kissed her chastely on the cheek and we made plans to go out again later that week. I walked back to the elevator on cloud nine. I thought I had finally found the person I’d been searching for all these years. She watched me from her place until the elevator door closed. I was enjoying that high that accompanies the beginning of all great love affairs.

That’s when the cable snapped.