Living in Non-Existence

Ch.13 Beating like a Drum

This day is transcendent, I thought to myself swinging my legs out in front of me. This is what my eyes were meant to see, I thought looking at the ocean with its flourishing waves and constant rhythmic pulse against the sandy shore. This is what I am here for.

I could feel every emotion in the pulsating waters, feel every life form just swimming undisturbed in a bed of inspired underwater artworks, feel every cold spark against my flesh, and every momentous sunset when the sea engulfed the sun.

I felt it all and yet none of this compared to the boy on my mind. I could only think of the way his eyes shined as brilliantly as his golden hair, how his lips curled up at the mere mention of us.

The small tingle in my fingertips zapped me back from my daydream.

I could ignore all of this but truth was, I was leaving in two weeks and Marc was still here. Marc would still be here. We would be separated by hours of driving, phone calls could not keep a relationship alive, and we would both be busy when school started. After all, this was our last year before the cage was sprung and we flew away like wild birds.

But man, was I sorry that I was going to watch Marc leave. It would not be the same when I went back, I knew that but it also kind of would be.

The feelings I felt here, entrenched by sunshine and warmth would be a distant memory as the harshness of clouds and wind slither through my clothing. It would be an endless parade of fascinated observation and momentary longing as my shoes would click once again on the tile of my prep school. I would look among my class and see so many people I would call friends and yet none of them would know me as well as Ronnie.

The feelings again surged through me as I pictured my new best friend, all dark hair and light eyes. A perfect example of a human puppy, excited about everything and everyone, like life was a game.

I guess she is right, it is a game so you do what you want and live it up because no one gets out alive.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
I walked into that coffee shop with an extra bounce to my step. Ronnie was right, even though she never actually told me her philosophy. Life is worth living and you might as well enjoy it.

"Well, someone looks chipper this morning," she said, a smile dazzling her face.

I could see her temporary metallic gold tattoo on her arm, another on her collarbone. The rips in her jean shorts added the grunge effect to her ultra girly pink crop top. Her hair, for once, was pulled into a high messy ponytail. She was a beach girl that couldn't be found without salt in her hair and sunlight on her arms.

"What? Can't I be happy," I asked simply flipping long strands of hair behind me hoping not to hit anyone behind me with them. 

"Not saying you can't, darling, just not at seven in the morning," she smirked at me ringing up my coffee order. 

The coffee shop was fantastic, lined and lined with bookshelves, a chaotic battle had evidently occurred, some books were haphazardly hanging off the ledge or placed underneath others. Some books were even stacked so high they were beginning to form a mini Tower of Pisa. Coffee smell lifted into the air, seeping through the wood paneled walls digging slowly into my clothes. 

I sat down rather lousily, splaying my tan sandaled legs out in front of me onto a stool, my arms on the arm rest of the chair lifting my shoulders up, like I was a queen of a distant realm. The custom ripped shirt I had bought was hanging loosely on my arms, covering only part of my stomach as my high waisted shorts cut off any more skin exposure. 

"Toni!" Ronnie screamed at the top of her lungs as she handed me the green tea of the gods, she loved doing that because she thought it always made people feel more special, like there was an actual need for them no matter what it was. 

People, sometimes just need a little more motivation to get through their rough patches in life, if they come here every day to have a coffee, you sure as heck better expect me to be happy to see them again, even if I am the only one. That's what she responded to me once when I asked her why she screamed people's names so loudly.

 And sure enough she greeted me with the toothiest five year old smile a seventeen year old girl could give. So I did the same back to her, as our hands touched and the salvation for my throat was placed in my hands. 

"I'll see you later today, right?" She asked as I handed my card over letting it swipe against the machine. 

"Of course you are, what's taco Tuesday without you?" I laughed walking in the direction I had just entered. 

Ronnie and I had started this thing we called Taco Tuesdays when we just sat at the beach, sometimes with our boyfriends or other friends and sometimes just us two. We would talk about anything and everything except the things that would make us sad, like my leaving. I convinced myself that it was Ronnie's natural sense of optimism that had allowed her to never mention that subject but maybe what was really happening was she thought I was staying. 

I had already disappointed my parents by being the daughter they wanted and didn't want, at the same time, I had disappointed myself in trying to succumb to their every rule and regulation, the two people that meant the most to me and I hadn't disappointed were right here. 

Those cousins, Marc and Ronnie were the epitome of an endless pool of friendship. One of them could be shot and I bet they would still forgive the person that had done it. But to me this was different, this would be no flesh wound, this would be a heartbreak and those take a lot longer to  heal. 

I could almost see the tears in Ronnie's eyes if I left. I could imagine Marc trying to rationalize every situation and become intoxicated with finding a solution for the distance. I hadn't even thought of saying goodbye yet and I was already thinking of the end results. 

This beach would no longer greet me as I awoke in the morning, these friendly people wouldn't smile and wave yelling about how my day was, these sunsets, the ones I never paid attention to at home, would disappear in a cloud of smoke and an illusion of gloom. The buildings would fade from their charming whites and blues to the harsh edges of skyscrapers and glass. I would look upon my home and I would feel so terminally lost, like there was a place I was supposed to be and yet was so separated, so far, that I could not comprehend the moment. 

But I have two weeks, I thought to myself again. I have two weeks to say my goodbyes, two weeks to fall in love with Marc for the final time, unless we met again, two weeks to lavish in the splendor of the constant rainbow of sunlit skies and sunny people. Those would be my last two weeks.