Our Sunlit Bay

It started in a Candy shop. One of those little stores crammed into a plaza of tourist-attractions. This plaza happened to be placed into the center of our bay-side town with no real finesse. We thought it was nostalgic to visit something that children once found glistening joy in, even though now it had been practically deserted. And he worked there, that was really why we were there. He worked there, ten in the morning until eight-thirty at night. 

We found each other because we weren't residents of the four-story, white-fenced, bay-front houses. That was the majority of the little school we attended. Boys wore Polos, girls wore skirts. He wore skinny jeans. And I guess I never thought he was particularly attractive, except that he did his own thing. Really, I wasn't either. We both shared a mess of fairly dull hair. His chestnut, mine a dirty blonde. My eyes a muddy green, his hazel. He's fairly lanky, I'm short. 

I had a hobby of reading whatever book I could convince the local clerk to give me for free. After a while, he would have some waiting for me. The one perched on my lap on this October Sunday was a particularly lame sci-fi novel. The inter-galaxies led me to abandon the ink letters and overlook the crisp, navy bay which stood affront me, swaying under the late-afternoon sun. Consequentially, I saw him balancing over the cement lip that curled over the dancing water. I recognized him from the skinny jeans. He was probably the only male in twenty miles distance who would wear them. He was alone, and lost in the cool Fall afternoon. That's how we met. 

"Your appreciation of nothing inspires me," I told him after leaving the battles of the universe and taking a seat on the cement lip in front of him.

"Your tolerance for Buddy Peg's space adventures impresses me," he replied. The sun hit his hazel eyes. for a moment they glowed golden before returning to average. I smiled.

"No tolerance," I admitted, "I've been watching the bay."

"Our glorious bay. Bearing marine life, setting our boats afloat, allowing our city to reflect the sun's twinkling rays-"

"Attracting low-income middle-class families for mediocre vacations," I interrupted. He grinned at me eagerly and stopped walking the tight-rope cement beside the water. 

"Well, yes." I didn't realize he wore glasses until I saw myself reflecting in them as he sat beside me. "I'm glad to see you're a glass is half-full kind of girl."

"I just don't care much about the glass," I shrugged and watched the bay breeze tug on his oversized sweatshirt and messy locks.

"I find that the glass isn't nearly as interesting as what's in it," his voice raised slightly and his eyes narrowed in thought. He made me feel inept. But I liked talking to him.

"What's in it?" I asked with a slight smirk. 

"Summer Simpson," he announced, "the glass is full of whatever you pour in it."

"You know my name?"

"Of course. I see you don't know mine." There was an awkward silence; I stared blankly at his hand which was dangerously close to mine. "Colbie Anderson, at your service." 

"A pleasure."

He invited me out to a small coffee house. We talked about sailboats and the impression of beavers on our ecosystem. Nothing between us was ever important or substantial, but like most people we were average. Together, we found something in the other to keep us happy and in company. We were sixteen when we met. We dated. And in that Candy shop on a lazy June evening at eighteen I sauntered in, wearing red nail polish and banana-yellow shorts. 

He worked lone shifts, as did the other two employees. So when I came in, there was an immediate air of vulnerability. I felt his eyes staring me down as I approached him. He stood behind a counter at the back of the shop. The walls were lined with lollipops and truffles. 

"I spy something sweet," his breath was heavy as he looked over me.

"Toffee?" I guessed, flashing a wild smile and walked toward him. He shook his head side to side. "Caramel?" I reached the counter. The same head shake followed. "Marshmallow?" I leaned over and placed my hands on either of his flushed cheeks.

“I was talking about you.” His lips found mine and our tongues tangled as though they’d just met. “You’re dressed nicely,” he said between kisses. I knew he would think that. I’d dressed especially for him. Yellow was his favorite color. ‘It’s a happy color,’ he always told me.

“You like?” I purred, pulling him farther into my reach. The sun was still burning bright outside, it was just past seven.

“You look like sunshine,” he slipped his tongue over my lip and traced my mouth, “I like a lot.”

“Close early?” I stared up at him with glossy eyes.

“Only for you,” he gave in easily, locking up the door and leading me to the back workroom in only a few minutes. “The winds were warm about us, the whole earth seemed the wealthier for our love.”

“You’re a nerd,” I giggled lightly and reconnected to him. We became closer and closer until we melted into a rhythm of our own passionate admiration for one another. It wasn’t the first time we’d made love, though more memorable. As he lined my body with his fingers and stared into my eyes with a jerk of his hips, I whispered, for the first time directly, “I love you.” We fell asleep.

The morning blared like a jackhammer. I was near-naked and my arms ached with cold. Colbie was gone, but a heavy-set man with a ginger mustache was staring down at me. Colbie’s boss twiddld with his thumbs as he spoke.

“Yeh should leave,” he said rather calmly. He avoided me as I has half-naked, but his voice was so far from angry that I couldn’t help but resist him.

“Where is he?” I asked, concern stitched into my groggy morning response.

“I-“ his eyes wandered to an uninteresting display of coconut candies. “He’s, I was coming to work, see?” He didn’t continue until I nodded. “And there was- I saw it, I heard them last night. The ambulances were huddled together. And he was there,”

“Where?” I demanded, tears gathering in the corners of my green eyes.

“The intersection, Coral and Watershed,” he was defeated and sullen. I ran in only his oversized shirt. I ran past the plaza and through the evergreen trail. I dodged Chevy pickup trucks and hopped around broken beer bottles. I ran until the white and red became more than a distant blur and where the vehicles gathered I squeezed myself into. In the center lay Colbie on a stretcher. His hair was perfectly ruffled with morning, his face calm and thoughtful. But he wasn’t thinking, only feet from my boyfriend a puddle of dark crimson had spread across the pavement.

“No,” I whispered, sobbing. “No. No, no, no. No! NO!” I flung myself onto his body that had fit into mine just hours ago. Where my hand lay over his, cold stretched into me.

I don’t know if I believe in soulmates, but Colbie Anderson was the best man I’d ever had the pleasure to know.