Lead & Follow

À terre

Part 1: Lead

8th Movement, À terre

À terre

À terre: "On the ground," indicates a movement. 

🤍🖤

You stretch a couple of worn beach towels out across the sand, and the warm sun which beats down on your exposed skin feels like the warm embrace of an old friend. 

"I was planning on getting some sun, anyway," you assure your boyfriend as you admire your handiwork. The fabric beneath you is a coastal print that has long since faded from years of UV exposure, but it's colorful enough to clash against the color palette of the boy beside you. 

Possible replies branch out before him like the branches of the trees back home in Oregon, weighted and seemingly infinite. From his busy mind he plucks the safest one, "I'm grateful for your company."

In terms of picturesque vacations on the coast, he's lucked out. A group of vibrant young adults has deigned to take him under their wing for the season, and even better one of them has jumped head first into the exciting prospect of a Summer Fling. 

"You don't have to butter me up, Baxter," you dismiss with a playful roll of your eyes. You stretch out across the towel you've claimed for yourself and reach for your tote bag. As you lean forward on your knees to feel for the bottle of liquid sunscreen you're certain you packed, he politely averts his gaze. "I think I've spent more of my life at the beach then in my own home. Swimming isn't the novelty it used to be."

You're distracted, your friends have long since wandered off to frolic in the rolling waves, and thus no one is around to catch the unusual flush of crimson against a wash of white and black.

His temporary partner–his girlfriend, he corrects himself, is cute, that much is obvious. But, he's come to realize that you are also incredibly thoughtful. You've factored his presence into your life as easily as if he's always been there to plan for. You pack two towels, share your water, and wordlessly accept his rigid stance on the ocean. You don't so much as look at him funny when he says he's not going in. 

"Be that as it may," he sighs, and he thinks he may have bitten off more than he can chew. You haven't even engaged in an official first date, and he's already the textbook example of "down bad." "Not many would hang back with a stranger when presented with the option to play around with their real friends in such good weather."

"Aha!" you proclaim triumphantly. Your fingers encircle the sunscreen bottle you've been searching for, but your whole body freezes. Baxter's words have been digested, and you find that the way he refers to himself as a stranger makes your stomach lurch. 

You sit up and balance on the pads of your feet. One hand holds the bottle, the other curls nervously against your thigh. You turn to face him, and the floppy sun hat bobs comically atop your head, threatening to fall into your face and eclipse your vision. When you catch sight of your boyfriend and the somewhat guarded expression on his face, the tautness of his smile, you kind of wish it had. 

"I think we're well-past strangers," you say as you level your gaze. "U-Unless you always go around smooching people you don't know."

The slight stammer to your words, though light-hearted in your delivery, reveals a layer of vulnerability you hadn't meant to lay bare. 

"Fair point," he concedes. His gaze tempers, sweet and warm like milk chocolate. "Though fling is the word, I've no intention of throwing such affections at anyone else."