Posted by: Laura A. H. Elliott | May 9, 2010

Answer: Shooting Star [Fact or Ficton?]

Fact or Fiction? Where were you the last time you saw a shooting star and what did you wish for?

I kick my feet in the air and they land solid on my board. My right hand skims the water as I drop into the tube. Sea spray mists my face, salty and sweet. I think about all the surfers who have ever ridden this water. All the boats that ever sailed it too. I think about the ocean and the timelessness of it. That the sound of the surf, sea pounding sand, must be the oldest sound on Earth.

I love knowing the sea, something ancient, so intimately. Being right about a wave. Taking it. Touching the water as I carve, leaving a bit of me behind.

I glide into the soup. Hop off, grab my board and walk along the water’s edge. My feet sink into the wet sand. Whistles greet me on my stroll down the beach. Not knowing why, I smile and hunt for Sean in the waves. Feet slapping wet sand behind me makes my heart race and I turn around.

“Had to be the sweetest wave ever! You rode it like a pro,” Sean says, giving me a sideways hug. He takes the towel off his head.

“Let’s celebrate, Ash. Where to?” Sean unzips his wetsuit to just below his belly button and has a Tommy-Burger look in his eye. He frees his arms of  neoprene, shakes his blonde hair. It freezes in the-I’ve-just-been-surfing-and-its-my-life look. He towels off his guns first, works his way to his six-pack, wraps the towel around his waist and slips out of his wet suit.

He’s hot, but best friends aren’t supposed to notice that. I absolutely love watching Sean dry off almost as much as much as watching him pull on his butt-sculpting jeans.

I look to the sea. The sunset casts an orange-purple glow to the sand and the beach sparkles in spots. “This’ll do.” The waves blown out now, everyone’s on shore.

The towel drapes over Sean’s head now. He peeks out from under it and says, “But we don’t have anything to celebrate with.”

“We have each other.” That came out wrong. Or, did it. He’s so smoking hot backlit by the setting sun.

Sean takes the towel off his head. He holds my hand. “Let’s go find a spot on the beach.”

A queasy kind of sickly feeling comes over me on our walk down the beach.

We sit in the sand for a long time without saying a word. Awkward. How is it people stay friends after they’ve done it? Never happened to me before Sean. Sand grinds between Sean’s hand and my thigh. “Come on Ash, for old times sake,” he whispers.

Sean leans toward me, pressing his body against mine. I lay down in the sand. It grinds into my hair when he kisses me, easy, slowly. I want to do it. Remember this time. Like a do-over. But I don’t want to be that girl any more. He plunges his tongue into my mouth. We kiss like old lovers. Perfect and sweet.

I wonder if I’ll ever know who I am after being who everyone else wants me to be. Do I even know how to be me?
A shooting star fades before falling into the Pacific. My alien Dear Abby says yes. I do. She believes in me. The stars save me again, from another mistake.


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