Wedding Crashers

{Beach Boys}

 The motor shut off and we sat there for a bit. It took me a moment to realize that we weren't moving anymore. I took off my helmet and being my awkward self, I caught it in my not-so long and luscious locks. I started to smooth down the unruly mess of hair at the back of my head.

"Are you planning to get off this thing?", his voice shook me out of my glazed-over moment.

"Er yeah? I was just taking a moment to get used to not moving at 100 miles per hour so...".

A slight chuckle escaped his lips, "It really is your first time on a motorcycle?".

"Sadly so." I reply. "Want this thing back?". I hold up the helmet for him to see and he takes it from my hands. I get off the bike first, feeling the familiar relation to the unmoving ground and the still air around me. I take a quick look around, "Smells like rain.".

"You can smell rain? Didn't really ever think of it like that.". I can see him glance over to the ocean. "Yep, looks like a storm is rolling in, but there's no lightening so we're still going.".

I give a little whine, "Really? Why can't I just get your Netflix password and some pizza?".

"Cause you've never been in the ocean before! I thought Minnesotans were supposed to be tough.", he scoffs.

"Nope.", I pop the P, "We just have better ideas on what to do when the weather gets rough.".

"Well we're still going. If you don't get yourself ready I will pick out a suit for you and drag you to the beach myself. And I don't think you want me to do that.", he adds a wink at the end along with a devilish smirk. Ugh that's disgusting jerkface son of a biscuit.

"Fine, I'd actually prefer to keep my sense of dignity thank you very much.".

"Get going then.".

"Just wait a second, I need to just take a moment to laze around okay? Just because I'm a Minnesotan doesn't mean I'm a hardcore logger that runs around all day. In fact, I've actually won three couch potato competitions against my parents.".

"Ahhhh, another couch potato. You should try going against

Tristen, he'll probably win though.".

I took a moment to think, "Where exactly is my stuff?".

"Up those stairs three doors down to the left.". His arm pointed to some majestic looking steps that you probably would have thought were some part of Richie Rich's mansion. I took a second to note and started up the stairs taking two at a time (like I usually do) and ended up walking into a shortish hallway with some cool floral wallpaper covering one side of it with a bunch of different pictures hanging on the walls.

Slowing down, I noticed that the one closest to me was obviously from a very long time ago. It looked like a painting of someone. Obviously since I'm not an art enthusiast, I couldn't tell exactly when in time this picture had been made. The man in the picture looked very authoritative, although his black hair, stubble, and forest green eyes made him look like he lived in some sort of cabin in the woods. There were about ten more pictures lining the hall to the right of me. Carefully scanning the rest of the pictures I ended up at the end of the line of pictures. Amatos's eyes stared back at me, in the picture he looked a little less serious and younger than most of the other people on the wall. He looks really different now. Footsteps behind me interrupted my thoughts and I hurried down the hallway so no one would know I had been looking at these pictures.

Looking to the left I counted three doors and stopped by a dark wooden one. The door knob turned easily when I turned it and I walked into the biggest bedroom I had ever seen. Sunlight was streaming through the wall of windows covering the western wall and the bed was covered with a very luscious looking comforter. I'm not sure why he didn't want to stay in and watch
Netflix, the room was absolutely perfect for it. Looking to the north side of the room I found two other doors. One was cracked open and I could see that it lead to the bathroom. The other must be the closet. I walk over and open the closet door to find (surprise!) the biggest closet I have ever seen in my life. The walls were covered with hangers and racks and on them was a wide array of men's clothing and shoes, mostly businessy stuff. In the corner of the closet was a giant bag of clothes and sitting next to were two pairs of shoes. Underneath the converse on top were, obviously, some Nike shoes. I kneeled down and set the converse on the ground next to the box. Opening the box, I gawked. My parents never even thought of buying me shoes this nice. I could literally hear the angels singing and see the halo over the unfamiliar box. Inside, two very nice white shoes with the famous logo lay in the majestic wrapping. I don't think I should wear these nice things when I go to the beach.