Seth
She was feisty. Just the kind of girl who caught my attention. I wasn’t sure exactly why I had bought her the smoothie, but when she rejected it I was a little surprised. It was my way of apologizing and was the only apology she’d get from me.
My mom never understood the reasoning behind my theory of never apologizing. She would always tell me to say sorry, and I always refused to.
To me, saying sorry was pointless. The only reason for saying sorry was to make the other person feel better. I never say sorry because I never do anything that I later regret or didn’t mean to do in the first place.
When I told my mom this as a teenager, she just furrowed her brow and told me that my theory wasn’t a good thing to carry around, and certainly was not an outlook I’d inherited from her. To her, a person who never apologizes will become bitter and coldhearted.
So here I am, a bitter, coldhearted person. Just like she said I would be.
After the girl had stomped off, I went ahead and drank the smoothie. I wasn’t sure how she could resist it. I continued along the boardwalk until it was completely dark and everything was closing. I went back to the beach and walked along the shore, taking it in. The beach was hauntingly beautiful. The waves were more aggressive, but to me everything seemed calmer.
My mom loved the beach at night. While my dad was asleep, she would drag me out of bed and we would sneak out of the house. I’d watch her swim until she was just a speck in the water and wait until she came back shivering. She would wrap me up in her soaking wet arms and tell me, “Seth, one day you’ll love the rush like I do.”
“Mom!” I would whine. “It’s too cold—you’re going to die.”
She’d laugh and start running back home while I chased her, trying to catch up.
She was right, though. I did love the rush. My dad never understood how I could after what had happened, but he didn’t understand that the rush of the cold water and the waves connected me to her.
I looked away from the water and realized I had walked so far down that I could barely see the boardwalk. I started walking back when I noticed a bag and shoes on the sand not too far from me. I walked up to the stuff and then looked out in the water. I saw a head bobbing up and down, swimming back to shore. The head got closer and I watched as the lifeguard girl got out of the water. She didn’t see me at first, but then froze when she noticed me next to her bag.
“Hi,” she said quickly. She looked around and I could tell she was uncomfortable.
“Hi.”
She walked past me and grabbed her stuff. She glanced back at me but didn’t say anything. I turned away from her and sat down. I heard shuffling and a sniffle, followed by footsteps. To my surprise, she sat down next to me, wrapped in her towel.
“What are you doing here? The beach is closed,” she told me.
I turned and looked at her. “Oh? It is, is it?”
She tried hiding her smile and turned back to the water. I continued to look at her. Although it was dark, I could make out her tiny frame and wild curly hair. She caught me looking at her, and I glanced away. We sat in silence, neither of us knowing what to say.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asked again. I didn’t say anything, wondering if she’d persist. She did.
“What I mean is, no one just comes to this town. You’ve either lived here forever or are a relative of someone who has.”
I didn’t answer right away, choosing my words carefully. “I used to come here every summer when I was kid.”
“Ah,” she said, as if that answered all the questions.
I looked at her and she stared back, not shifting her gaze this time. Her intense stare actually penetrated me, as if she could read right through me—something I never wanted anyone to be able to do. No one ever knew anything about me, and that’s the way I liked it.
“So you’ve lived here all your life?” I asked her, even though I knew the answer.
“Yup, I have, unfortunately.” She sighed. I didn’t comment, just waited. Another question came.
“So you said “used to.” What brings you back now?”
So she was observant too. Not something I necessarily liked.
“My dad,” I simply stated.
She didn’t say anything, just sat there staring off into the water. I wondered why I had never seen her before. I used to spend full summers here. The town was small enough to pass by each face at least once. And hers I think I would have remembered.
It wasn’t something I would ask, though I was curious if she would offer up an explanation. She didn’t, so I was left to speculate on why we’d never crossed paths.
She shifted next to me and I turned my head. She grabbed her bag and stood up, suddenly throwing on a sweatshirt. I got up too, and she stopped and just looked at me. She didn’t say anything, nor did she smile. She just shrugged her shoulders and walked away.
It was the oddest thing. I stood there watching her get smaller and smaller. It wasn’t until she was completely out of sight that I realized it.
Stalking off like that was something I would have done.