The Pier
The Agreement
Pat leaned against the pier’s edge, his arms folded on top of each other, as the strong beach breeze blew his hair from his face. The cool winds made him smile just the slightest, even though the downcast weather was quite the opposite of the traditional year-round southern California sunshine and heat.
“Come here often?”
Pat looked to his left: Jane leaned against the rickety railing in a slouch that mirrored his own, just not as lazy or ineloquent. She smiled at him, her dark brown hair twirling in the wind past her shoulders. She was dressed for a non-existent summer: jeans folded into capris and a pastel v-neck. It took Pat a moment to realize that they were practically alone on the creaky pier, except for the unsightly tourist or resident meekly meandering around at this odd hour. Miles and the other boy he saw almost a week ago were obviously not with her.
Pat just weakly chuckled and turned back to the intimidating ocean.
“Are you ever going to tell me about your hands?” she asked after a few undisturbed moments.
“Uh…” He brushed some wind-blown hairs from his face. “Maybe.” Pat smirked at her.
“Maybe?” she repeated.
“Just… maybe.” An especially strong breeze blew over the pier’s railings, whipping Jane’s hair wildly around her back.
“Have you had dinner yet?” Pat suddenly asked, daring himself to be forward.
She looked out towards the water and bit her lip. “No, not yet.” She smiled, momentarily looking down to the waves below and back to Pat.
“Really? It’s, like, almost eight!” He discreetly brushed some hair from his mouth, showing off his growing grin.
“Babysitting makes you forget routine things,” she said, adverting her eyes from Pat. “But… now that I think of it, I’m starving.”
“Uh…” Pat glanced at Jane for a moment, but quickly chased his gaze to the rusty-red guard rail when he saw her head turn. He could hear her short, silent laugh past the noise of the water. “Do you, uh… You want to grab something to eat?” He noncommittally shrugged off his meager invite, still staring down and scratching at a bit of peeling yellow paint on the rail. “I mean, if you don’t want to, you don’t ha—”
“Sure.” Another strong breeze blew from the black water, spraying salt droplets across Pat’s face. She laughed as she lightly hit his shoulder twice with the back of her hand. “But I’m driving.”
Pat, not believing his ears, quickly stole another surreptitious glance at Jane. She was smiling in his direction, a smile that made him cower back behind his hair and advert his eyes to the water. But he soon glanced back in her direction to find her already walking down to the end of the pier and unhooking her keys from her belt loop. He quickly scampered from his leisurely position against the old, bent rail, his lankly legs awkwardly flopping in a girly run as he caught up to a grinning Jane.
“Come here often?”
Pat looked to his left: Jane leaned against the rickety railing in a slouch that mirrored his own, just not as lazy or ineloquent. She smiled at him, her dark brown hair twirling in the wind past her shoulders. She was dressed for a non-existent summer: jeans folded into capris and a pastel v-neck. It took Pat a moment to realize that they were practically alone on the creaky pier, except for the unsightly tourist or resident meekly meandering around at this odd hour. Miles and the other boy he saw almost a week ago were obviously not with her.
Pat just weakly chuckled and turned back to the intimidating ocean.
“Are you ever going to tell me about your hands?” she asked after a few undisturbed moments.
“Uh…” He brushed some wind-blown hairs from his face. “Maybe.” Pat smirked at her.
“Maybe?” she repeated.
“Just… maybe.” An especially strong breeze blew over the pier’s railings, whipping Jane’s hair wildly around her back.
“Have you had dinner yet?” Pat suddenly asked, daring himself to be forward.
She looked out towards the water and bit her lip. “No, not yet.” She smiled, momentarily looking down to the waves below and back to Pat.
“Really? It’s, like, almost eight!” He discreetly brushed some hair from his mouth, showing off his growing grin.
“Babysitting makes you forget routine things,” she said, adverting her eyes from Pat. “But… now that I think of it, I’m starving.”
“Uh…” Pat glanced at Jane for a moment, but quickly chased his gaze to the rusty-red guard rail when he saw her head turn. He could hear her short, silent laugh past the noise of the water. “Do you, uh… You want to grab something to eat?” He noncommittally shrugged off his meager invite, still staring down and scratching at a bit of peeling yellow paint on the rail. “I mean, if you don’t want to, you don’t ha—”
“Sure.” Another strong breeze blew from the black water, spraying salt droplets across Pat’s face. She laughed as she lightly hit his shoulder twice with the back of her hand. “But I’m driving.”
Pat, not believing his ears, quickly stole another surreptitious glance at Jane. She was smiling in his direction, a smile that made him cower back behind his hair and advert his eyes to the water. But he soon glanced back in her direction to find her already walking down to the end of the pier and unhooking her keys from her belt loop. He quickly scampered from his leisurely position against the old, bent rail, his lankly legs awkwardly flopping in a girly run as he caught up to a grinning Jane.