Before I Met You

After the still silence of the long but seemingly short car trip, we arrived at what appeared to be a small section of a private beach. It was nothing but a simple stretch of sandy shore, all white and alive with the quiet whooshing noise of the waves slowly crashing as they rolled over and under one another.

Peeling off his shoes, the lovely boy led the way onto the beach. He was somehow even more beautiful here than I’d ever thought to see before. The oncoming moonlight pierced through the overcast skies, rapidly threatening to engulf us in the darkness of real nighttime. I followed slowly, my thoughts weighing me down like an anchor did to any boat or fine ship.

My newly uncovered feet were covered in the smooth sand once I took my first step, and I breathed out a sigh I hadn’t realized I’d been holding in once I felt that liberating sense of a relative freedom. My arm seemed to push itself into the air, craning and searching for anything to touch as I imagined myself reaching for the sky. Heart weighing down my frail mind, I slowly lowered it as I watched the surf of the light blue water.

Under and over, it seemed to thrum with the endless rhythm of the never-ending cycle of the life of the ocean. Staring in amazement, I came to terms with the fact that I loved this place, and that that opinion will probably almost always remain that way. This place seemed magical, holding its power only a few inches above my previously outstretched hand that was always searching.

“Enjoying it?” I heard a quiet voice behind me speak softly. It was him, of course. “I had almost the same reaction the first time I saw this view as well.”

He moved closer. I could hear him breathing, even above the sound of the waves. It was, without a doubt, one of the most calming sounds I’d have ever heard in my lifetime. On this beach, in that moment, I could have sworn we were infinite.

“It makes me believe magic exists,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “What is this place?”

Moving into my line of vision, I peered at him. He was smiling faintly, his hair tousled, hoodie slipping off of his graceful shoulder, hands gripping his canvas shoes as he calmly responded to my wondering question.

“Magic does exist.”

At that, I finally let go what restraint I’d been holding onto. Grabbing his hand boldly, I laughed as I led him into the water. This time, the waves were crashing onto me, crashing under him. We were thrown this way and that as we explored the wonders of this magic, letting loose our spirit as we danced and sang and moved our way through in rhythmic strokes that somehow went beautifully with that of the sea. And when it was over, the unheard music still thrived, as if it had never gone.

~

The car ride back was nothing if not a replica of the one there, except for one little detail.

Every now and then, we’d keep glancing at each other out of the corners of our salt-crusted and peaceful eyes. With the radio now playing softly to the new addition of the rain now soaking the boy’s car, the dreamlike state we had newly acquired at the beach seemed to have followed us all the way home.

Pulling up to an intersection with a red light, the boy finally spoke for the first time since leaving the beach.

“Where do you live?”

I was at first a little shocked by the blunt question, and then remembered he was, after all, my ride home. Grinning sheepishly, I replied and he only then spoke to make sure he was being led the right way.

Pulling up to the small but comfortable house, the boy assessed it without any trace of noticeable emotion. He was the master of this, I had learned. Even his eyes couldn’t betray any sort of secret of his, if he was ever careless enough to let one slip past his carefully constructed boundaries.

Gathering my sopping shoes, I turned to face him before I climbed out of the car.

“And your name?”

My voice seemed so loud for the quiet of the night.

He turned and looked at me as if he was surprised I was still there.

“Diego, Leslie. My name is Diego.”