Waves - Book #2 [completed]

12 ~ Kopfkino

Kopfkino
(German)
noun
Picturing things in your mind, fantasizing. Literally: Head Cinema

The sheer amount of beer consumed in this town is outrageous. And together with all the shots I had yesterday, my head hurts like a bitch today. Getting older is no joke. If Riley hadn't knocked I probably would've slept until noon after yesterday's stand-in Thanksgiving.

In hindsight, Riley waking me up is my luck – even though I won't ever tell her that – because now I get the chance to call my folks in time to wish them a happy Thanksgiving.

With a fresh coffee in hand, a t-shirt over my head to protect my still red but aloe-soothed shoulders from the aggressive sun and a pair of sweat shorts on, I plant my ass in a reclining chair outside. It's already fucking hot, but Baby follows me to the patio, dramatically dropping do the floor next to me while I place my phone and coffee on the coffee table on the other side.

I dial my mom and put the phone on speaker, managing to roll up the hem of one leg before she picks up. "Mason, honey, hi!" She practically sings, her voice being three octaves higher than normal. Baby perks up with a strangled whimper.

"Hey, Mom," I snicker, moving on to my other leg. "How are you?"

"Good," she coos, then calls, "John! Mason's on the phone."

Refraining from telling her not to shout into the speaker, I take a sip of coffee and reach over to scratch Baby's head between her ears.

"Hello son," my father's deep voice greets from somewhere in the background.

"Happy Thanksgiving-" I start but get interrupted before I can say more.

"Why don't we switch to facetime?"

"Uh..." Because I'm wearing man-braids? I don't get time to think of an excuse before the facetime request notification pops up on my screen. Reluctantly, I press accept and pick up the phone, immediately switching the camera so it's directed at the beach and cliff instead on my face.

Ohs and ahs flow out of the speaker as the bright sand and deep blue water come into view. I must give credit to this town; the beach is beautiful and nothing I'll grow tired of any time soon. There are seagulls and a couple surfers to the left from where the patio is settled atop the cliff and a single person to the right. My eyes get stuck on that person as I identify her as Riley who's approaching the shore. She must have put on a rash guard since her upper body is covered with a dark material. Surfboard tucked under her arm, she stops when her feet touch the water and throws her head back.

"Oh, this is so beautiful," mom sighs, clearly talking about the view.

"Uh-huh," I say vaguely, my eyes glued on Riley.

She steps forward until her lower half disappears between waves that are harsher than the last few days, at least where she's decided to go outside of the bay. She climbs stomach down onto her board and begins to paddle forward, moving fluidly and in tune with the ocean, one with her surfboard. It's mesmerizing.