Baby's Breath

The following is a short story that I recently wrote. It's still in its early stages and may need some editing. 

Standing near the water's edge he zips his jacket and burrows his hands deep in his pockets. The waves rush at the shore and crash loudly as if begging him to jump in. They don't seem to understand why he doesn't, and persistently continue, hoping this time will be different. It isn't.





From behind him he can hear some music playing. The Cure or The Clash or someone like them, eerily melancholy in this place, warbling through an ancient cassette player with a beat that competes with the ocean for his attention. He tries to picture this same place at peak season - full of sun bathers, laughing children, surfboards, the burning of the soles of his feet from the baking sand. He wiggles his toes but finds only heavy wet mud, sticky and stiff. Summer won't be returning again this year.

Eventually the music stops, and the couple listening to it packs up and leaves the beach. The skies begin to get dark. The ocean is lapping more quietly now, calmed by the presence of the moon, as is he. All sense of urgency fades away with the light until he is left standing alone in the dark with nothing to do but wait.

When she finally shows up, he knows she's there before he sees her. With a deep breath the tension disappears from his shoulders and a smile sneaks into his eyes. He can smell the light scent of her lavender perfume as she stops beside him. She sighs herself, digging her toes into the wet sand. With a chill shiver she wraps her sweater tighter. Instinctively he puts an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close. With soft lips she kisses his cheek and snuggles in.

"Everything's going to be okay," she tells him, following his gaze to the far dark horizon. In the night air he can see her breath, mixing with his into one silvery cloud hovering just in front of them.

He believes her.