Another Bastion Gone.
Standing at the top of some stairs at midnight. I can see OB Pier in the distance. And I find myself wondering what it is like there at night. Some strange mishmash of illicit drug dealers and pale fishermen who never see the sun. But the distracting waves are crashing below. Because the ocean calls.
But then that’s what the ocean does. Though not the way that it once did. Because there was a time when it was hard to ignore. The overwhelming need. The open space. The cure for claustrophobia. And I don’t think I could have lived here then. Because I think I would have drowned.
And so you can see that I am trying to rationalize. Because it is another bastion gone.
Another Day. Another Memory.
They are outside when she says, “He dances well.”
He demonstrates. But there is no music playing. No flashing lights overhead.
“That wasn’t an example,” she says clarifying. And perhaps as an effort to save the situation, “He dances well on the dance floor.”
But the three girls walk away unimpressed. And greedy laughter follows.
It began with post-moving beers. And it ended with stumbling home drunk. A bag full of candy bought at the local drug store. Though I don’t really eat much candy. Time was frozen when I opened the door. In another one of those days that just kind of happened.
And it’s a story to add to your list of favorites. Because you find yourself in days when “friend” becomes a term of endearment. Though I suppose it always was. I just never thought to use it as such. And another friend might say, “Your learning, kid.” The words spoken quickly because that is his way. And in ways, I think he would be right.
I have headphones on. It’s sunset. Standing at the top of the same stairs. I can still hear the waves. Though I don’t remember what day it is. But it is another day gone by. Like the rest. Because the handrails are rusted. And they look like tree trunks. The metal peeling slowly away.
Days earlier my sister had asked me a question. But it’s a question that has been in my head for years.
“Have you starting counting sunsets yet?”
“No. Not yet. It just still seems too morbid.”