The Foreigner

Chapter 9

The streets of Cape May are empty at this time.

She asks me to stop at a gas station. I wait in the car watching her. After a while, she returns from the convenience store with a shopping bag in her hands. From the noise of glass I can deduce what's inside: beer bottles.

-Beasts- she laughs as she gets into the car, pressing the bag against her.

We pass the beach and she asks to pull over. I consent. She jumps quickly, running to the sand. She takes off her boots. He calls me there gesturing with his hand.

-Come and enjoy yourself, Mr. Whitman! - She shouts.

I shrug. I take off my shoes, bend my pants legs, and walk toward her.

Heidi plays in the water like a child, running and kicking the waves. The breeze shakes her hair. I stop and watch her remembering my Lorraine. She also liked to do that.

Heidi turns and walks toward me.

-I'm thirsty. - She sits on the sand beside the sack she had left there. He grabs two bottles of beer and hands one to me.

I grab the bottle and sit on the sand with the bag between us.

We watched the movement of the waves. Heidi takes something from his pants pocket. It's a cigarette, but I can tell it's not tobacco. She turns it on and takes a drag. From the strong smell I can tell it's pot.

- This is not good for you. - I speak in a paternal tone.

-I know it. But I need it now. Did you never do that when you were young?

-Not.

-Not in college?

-My colleagues sometimes smoked, but I never liked it.

-Well, it's never too late to try it. -She hands me the paper object.

-No Heidi. – I shake my head

-For real, Mr. Whitman? You will not die by take a drag on. In addition, it seems that you also need to relax a little.

I stare at the object she holds toward me. To tell the truth, I've always been curious to know why people like this smelly thing so much. That would be the opportunity to find out.

I pick it up and put it in my mouth.

-Pull out the smoke, cover your nose and don't let it escape. - She instructs me. It's not easy. The smoke burns my throat. I cannot stand. I release her at once, coughing. Heidi laughs heartily.

-This is horrible. How can you like it?

-Try one more time. It's good.

I try again, this time prepared for what I would feel. I manage to do what she tells me and return the cigarette to her.

- How was it this time?- She asks.

-I think I got it. -We take turns smoking while watch the waves crash until I break the silence.

-And your parents? Do they know how you are?

-My mother does. About my father ... I barely have contact with him.

-What does he do?

-He works with money. Stock market, investments, business like these. I do not know exactly. These things are his life.

-What about you? What brought you to America?

-Do you promise you won't tell anyone?

-I promise, of course. Is that so serious?

-I killed someone in my country and I'm running from the police. -she says it in a completely serious tone that makes me a little scared. - Just kidding. -I smile relieved. -You should have seen your face, Mr. Whitman.

-Yeah. You were very convincing.

She sighs. -I'm actually looking for new experiences in the 'Land of Freedom'.- She gestures with her fingers.

-Have you found them yet?

-Yeah. I think so.

-Like this, for example? Being on the beach at night smoking weed with a much older man?

-Yeah. Like this. -She laughs. -And I'm enjoying it a lot. But there is still much more to enjoy in America. -She says, looking straight at me. I am tempted to kiss her. I wonder what she wants with all of this. Was it just a little game? Or is it a fantasy of being with a man who is old enough to be her father?

-What about you? What do you do? -I ask her

-I was in art school in Amsterdam. I left and opened a tattoo parlor here in town. It's on Braodway. Maybe I make a tattoo on you.

-Make a tattoo on me? I think not.

We continued talking about trivial matters. Marijuana begins to make anything funny. We laugh at ease.

It passed a few minutes before I regain awareness of what we are doing.

-We have to go back. Your friends must be worried.

-Let them come to me for a while, when be the right time I come. -She opens another bottle of beer and takes a sip. -What about your wife, Mr. Whitman? Tell me about her.

-Lorraine was an amazing woman. We met in college. It was determined, beautiful. And she looked like you when she was young.

-Really, Mr. Whitman?

-Yes. Not only in appearance, but in this liveliness you have. This desire to venture out is just like she had. We loved each other so much when we got married. But then I founded my publisher and started to dedicate myself to work too much. I didn't pay attention to what she and our daughter deserved. And life went by very fast. When I realized Lorraine was already seriously ill. If I had paid attention to her before, we might have been able to stop it. It was my fault.

-No, Mr. Whitman. You were not to blame.

-You know nothing, Heidi. I had time for work, for friends, but not for family. And today, I'm here, alone, and even what I liked to do, which is writing, I can't do anymore. I am a failure.

She says nothing to me. Just holds my hand. She may not have anything to say that consoles me. Or maybe she's bored of hearing me.

-Let's go back. -She gets up and grabs her boots. We walked toward the car.