I don’t really know how to describe what I felt when I saw him for the first time. I got this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I knew in the back of my mind that he was of significance. At the time, I told myself that it was just a reaction to his amazing, muscular body, glimmering in the sun as he stepped out of the ocean. I concluded that he must have been in his early thirties, maybe late twenties. He walked with a heavyset, comfortable-looking woman in about her fifties, who chatted to him much too quietly and out of earshot for me as they walked up the beach to a large cabana tent, shading three other people, lounging in chairs. My eyes followed his movements as he grabbed a towel and dried his thick, shaggy black hair. I remember not being able to look away—not until he looked up and locked eyes with me.
Caught, my heart thuds in my ears as I look down quickly, fumbling with my phone in my hand, trying to seem occupied. Automatically my thumb goes to “call: Dana,” and I put my phone up to my ear. I glance his way again, and see his eyes trained on me, curiously studying my actions. I bite my lip in embarrassment and feel my face heat up.
“Hello?” answers Dana, my best friend from back home in California.
“Dana!” I say abruptly. I turn from the mysterious sex god and pick up my small cosmetics case from the sand. It holds my wallet, car keys, and other small necessities. I walk barefoot along the sand and continue, “Um, just felt like saying hi, how are you?”
She replies casually, responding with complaints about college and updates on her boyfriend. I agree and chime in mechanically, my mind focusing on the mystery man’s face. Just as I’m about to round the curve of a set of palm trees, thus blocking us from each other, I cast one more glance his way, only to see he’d gone. I bite my lip and furrow my eyebrows, somewhat disappointed.
Well, he’s gone, I tell myself. He was nice to look at but it’s not like anything would happen.
“How are things in Hawaii, Cali?” Dana asks me. “You’ve only been there two weeks… when does the semester start?”
“Hm?” I reply, drawn out of my thoughts. “Oh, it starts in three weeks, on the 12th of September.”
“Wow,” she sighs. “I wish I could play on the beach every day before college instead of spending every second of my time trying to convince my boss to work around my class schedule.”
“Don’t worry hon, you’ll figure it out,” I tell her. By now I’ve crossed the street behind the palm trees and head downtown, flipflops and clutch in one hand, and the other holding my phone to my ear.
Dana makes small talk, updating me on other friends we have in common. “And Leslie’s moving in with her boyfriend this weekend,” I hear as I round the corner of a coffee shop and step into a small cement staircase alley. Beyond is another row of lower-set buildings, my apartment complex among them.
“Good for her,” I say genuinely. I reach the bottom of the staircase and turn the corner, resting against the wall. “Hey, Dana, I’ve got to go. I get bad cell reception at my apartment, I’m sorry!”
“No worries, talk to you soon!”
I hang up and set my phone in the pocket of the sheer cover-up dress I’m weCaling over my bathing suit. I close my eyes and rest my head against the wall and allow myself a second of peace.
“You shouldn’t dilly-dally in an alley like this, there could be people watching,” says a husky voice in my ear, thick with a Spanish accent.
I gasp and spin around, and come face-to-face with the man from the beach. He wore a casual white t-shirt, tight and accentuating his every sculpted muscle, and jeans. Eyes wide and heart racing, I say, “What are you doing here?”
He stood on the lowest step of the stairs—that combined with his height, had him standing about a foot above me. “Oh, you know,” he says, reaching an arm up to lean against the wall and closer to me, staring into my eyes, “just exploring the town. What a coincidence, running into you.”
My stomach was exploding with foreign feelings, and a heat started to bubble in my chest. “Yeah, what a coincidence.”
“Well,” he said. “I had better go. Have a good day, Señorita.”
He turned to go, and on an impulse I called, “Wait!”
He stopped, and with a grin turned back to Me. “Yes?”
“Um, what’s your name?”
“Antony,” he said, his accent coating every syllable. “And yours?”
“Calliope,” I reply.
“Adiós, Calliope,” he says. He flashes that mysterious grin as he turns away and walks up the steps. I can’t help but check out his ass, and I automatically purse my lips in satisfaction. Very nice, I think to myself. Before he turns the corner onto the sidewalk above, he throws another look at me, and smiles one last time. I give a small smile back, and he steps away and out of sight.
“Oh my God,” I mumble. I put my hand over my still racing heart and breathe in deep, trying to calm myself. In a state of disbelief, I walk to my apartment, its exterior the same adobe-style build as its surroundings. I unlock my door, set my things down, flip on the light. My mind races, thoughts and scenarios and possibilities flowing in from every direction. Had he followed me after he caught me staring at him? Was it actually a coincidence? Would I see him again? Was he a tourist, or did he live here?
“Shit, calm down!” I scold myself. I plop into my soft armchair and tuck my legs underneath me, then pull out my phone and see a text I received.
From: Todd
Calliope! We sure miss you, hope all is well. Call me when you’re free, maybe we can Skype this weekend :-)
“Oh boy,” I mutter. Todd is my boyfriend. Well... ex. I’m pretty sure. We didn’t exactly end things, but we didn’t exactly agree to keep going out, either. In fact, my relationship with Todd is in a grey area at this point. I’m not really sure where we stand. But based on this text, I’m guessing he thinks we’re still together. And I may have to fix that.
