Oregon

(This piece sucks.)

She kept a locket with his name on it. Ralph Waldo Emerson inscribed inside of this small golden heart attached to a chain she wore on her wrist. I didn't think she wore it as often as she did, but her mother told me she "didn't take it off even to swim". The thought of it breaks my heart, but I can only smile.

The day is almost over, and the street lights flicker on down the row. Another thirty minutes, and the world will be night. With her locket clasped in hand, I stand on a wooden platform shoved into the beach sand, overlooking a tepid ocean fatigued by a passing storm. The somber clouds still hang over me, weighting down the world in whitened shadow and mist. I feel the wind and all that dust and cold that the gusts carry with it. There isn't much else to say about the scene. It's a Tuesday.

Given the lack of color of the surroundings, I was at ease feeling out of my own comfort. It's understandable, I think; I didn't ask for a beautiful day, and I didn't ask for a mediocre one. I didn't ask for anything today. So, it's okay to stand here barefoot, specks of sand irritating my city-boy feet, thinking about nothing special and out of the ordinary.

Out, far from me, there's a child in the ocean and her father behind her. She's spry, dancing in the waves, and her father watches and exhorts her to stay near, where the waves don't crash above her knees. He doesn't look to want to be out here today, but how could he say no to his daughter? In his position, I can't imagine I would do the same. Except, I'm not a father, and much too young that I would consider that plight. The waves crash at her waist - her father wades out to pull her in. She's has curly hair. Blond, curly hair.