The Coldwater Crisis

3) He'd Rather Have The Revenge

After parking at the café, I wander along the beach, as I do most days when I am early for work. Feeling the first step onto the sand as the warmth of the sand emanates through my sneakers, they are near-enough new, so the white color looks close to fluorescent against the sand. I look out onto the ocean and feel the cool breeze against my face. At currently 9 AM, the place has an air of serenity, capable of calming even the most hyperactive minds. The occasional early morning exercise-obsessive runs by, but apart from that, I am alone.

The sea is a tranquil cerulean, still, the minuscule waves attempt to crash up against the shore, although they were gentle, so it was more like they were comforting each grain with a delicate stroke. The floor of the beach renewed each day, from the tide, a smooth, soft surface, ready for children to build sandcastles, decorating them with the few seashells that scatter the surface of the beach, imagination flowing free.

I remember my first time on a beach; it was in Miami. We never vacationed much when we lived in Manhattan, but when we did, we always went to Florida to visit my grandmother. I remember her telling me stories about the sea, some fiction, some real. Although I adored the various tales of the sea, I much preferred the truth. I yearned to learn more about the creatures of the coast, from sea turtles to dolphins, the way they function differently from us. They live in the same world as us, swim in the same oceans, but not all of them breathe our air. I fell in love with Miami. I treasure a seashell we picked out together, it was the sleekest shade of silver I had ever seen, although my grandmother collected them herself, she let me keep that one, because as she said, it was something special, just like me.

Then my grandmother passed away when I was twelve. We never went back. It was too hard on my father, I, the same as anybody, was in no place to judge him for how he chose to grieve. Once she passed, I began to throw myself into my schoolwork. It just seemed like the perfect distraction. Although mourning the loss of my trips to Florida, I was devastated by the loss of my grandmother. She was the warmest, most generous soul and although I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by so many loving and thoughtful people, nothing compared to a hug from my grandmother. The faint smell of coffee, an avid drinker just like my father and I, along with a fresh lemongrass aroma; giving her a distinct scent that let you know you were home when you were in her arms. Knowing that I would never see her face light up in the driveway when we arrived, her arms open wide, ready to greet us, with a humorous comment, a heartfelt compliment. What hurt the most was my father. I had seldom seen him cry, but after her funeral, he was near enough inconsolable, a bleak time to reflect on.

Family is not something I necessarily have excess amounts of, my parents are only children, as am I, which is advantageous in some respects, for example, the closeness I share with my parents, free from fighting for attention with siblings. On the other hand, they are all I have, that is an extreme weight to bear.

By the time I arrive back near the cafe, it is 9:30 AM, everyone will be there preparing to open for the day ahead and I know what that means. The lifeguards will be outside sitting on their stupid high chairs, like really tall, tanned petulant toddlers.

Scanning around, I see that guy. Jacob. I rarely forget anything, especially names. He is the guy that thinks leaving one dollar is the funniest, most ground-breaking thing ever to have happened. I am still bitter about that, thinking more deeply, it's probably more the fact that he embarrassed me in front of Gen, winking at me. Who does that? I wish I could understand why it has been playing on my mind so much.

Great. Winky is looking directly at me, with his irritating brown eyes. What is he going to do? Wink at me again? I cannot be bothered with this. I pick up my pace and begin to move away, now this guy is following me. The guy is following me!