The Silent Swell

We stare in opposite directions at the peir, like ships passing in the middle of the night. There might as well be oceans between us, rather than a small bench. If you listen closely you may hear a cawing crow amidst the whistling breeze. My eyes follow its meadering across the sky with my jaw clenched shut. Occasionally, I'll sense her move on her edge. I'll hear the rustle of her jean jacket, and sense the turning of her head. Neither of us wants to be first to break the silence. In the silence there is tranquility. Neither of us wants to tip-toe into the waters of conversation. She's icy to my touch. I won't budge, and she won't either.

What started the squabble neither of us remember, but its feint echo remains with us as the waves crash along the shore. The salty air fills my nostrils. At least I have the half of the bench facing the ocean. In my mind, I wonder what she's looking at. The pedestrians walking along the docks. The lifegaurd's pickup as it slowly trickles into my field of view. I gasp. For a second I think she's turned but I won't look in her direction to be sure.

The lifegard gets out of his truck. His hands clutch the wooden railing of the dock. His truck is parked a short distance away. He looks at the beach and watches the waves. It's a perfect day without a cloud in the sky. I suddenly remember who I should be sharing it with, and my frustration continues.

It wasn't a big thing that started it, just a broken glass. It was her mother's gift. She'd traveled all the way to her house, on a special visit. I hated the darn the thing. It was uglier than a christmas sweater. I hadn't even seen it in the cubbard. I was reaching for my coffee mug, as the coffeemaker dripped to a stop.

I snaked my hand around the glass only to reconnect with it a short minute later. Before I could catch it, it was in what seemed like a million pieces on the floor. She stormed into the kitchen, and one thing led to the other. I was tempted to give her a side glance, but I wasn't going to be the first to make a move. Why should I?

She was just as much responsible for this ruined view as I was. If she isn't going to say anything neither am I. I hear her playing with the ziuppers on her purse in the hopes of luring me, into eye contact but my eyes remain fixed in the distance. I sat with my legs spread wide taking as much of the bench as I can. My arms are thrown back along the top rim of the bench as if I don't have a care in the world.

I know she's going to say something, I can feel it. She tugs at the zipper of her purse, and her knee begins to rythmically bounce. Soon my knee begins to do the same. It's an intricate dance. We're not at words just yet. It will start with a grunt, and then well be back at "hi" at some point. I turn to find her looking at me. My hand reaches over for hers and I bring it to my lips with a soft kiss. She nods in the direction of the dock and we walk off. What were we arguing about again?