The taste of alcohol exploded into my brain, my blood. I concentrated on sucking all the liquid from the slush of ice. In the hot sun we melted, me and my fruity drink. And I pondered me and my fruity drink. Was this it? Was this all there was? Sun and hiding. Could I possibly be once again crushing myself into another once a week viewing of my admiration. The coolness of the pool called to my frying legs, the ideals of total succumb through the eyes of a fish. And there she lays just a few chairs over, the object of my admiration. Shit. Summer.
Lying at the pool surrounded by dirty feet and towels, cups with BUD LIGHT printed on them containing drinks I don’t know the name of but desire to experience each. And I stare at everyone so scantily clad. Eyes closed, eyes open. Little girls with soda, grown men with fries, me with pencil and paper. It was much too much in reality. Mostly I stared at her, the perfection of her tan, her tan thighs, the way sea horses danced across her bathing suit, it was too much. And yet I had chosen to sit by her to get a better view, to get the courage to talk to her.
Three woodpeckers pecked away at the swaying palms, so cliché, so oxymoronic. Woodpeckers and palm trees and yet they swayed together against the backdrop of blue. Each palm a different height, each woodpecker climbing higher and higher against a backdrop of Dave Mathews. And I sucked the toxic liquid from my ice haven to escape this heaven. Where I found myself questioning every aspect of my life. “Solace comes to those who drink.” – a proverb in the making. And summer, summer at its finest moment.
They sat next to us, these two old guys. She’s beautiful so I understand why. She was rubbing oil on herself as he lay down his towel smiling under his dark glasses. I wanted to protect her, put some force field around her so he couldn’t watch her. It wasn’t enough. As he sat I overheard him mutter things but there was one phrase that stuck out. “ Run the scenario, run the scenario,” he said to his friend. They muttered something about high heels then the talked turned to Japan and business. “ Run the scenario… fucking Samurai. I didn’t get it all and again retreated to my bloody mary. His Texan accent threw me. Oh and he kept talking about celebrities in Hollywood and “ wait till I through this Hollywood actor in the mix.” It was like he knew the lady in the high heels would notice and suddenly want to do his fat, hairy, ugly, white self. I think not and stop staring at my pseudo girl friend and her amazing lips…