The Boardwalk

Beads of sweat formed into tributaries as they raced down my spine. I wasn't sure if I sweat because of nerves or on account of this penetrating heat. A light onshore breeze flitted past, teasing me briefly but leaving me feeling cheated when when the heat once again became my only companion. The sun hung high overhead, with such searing heat even the shadows ran and hid beneath their benevolent hosts. My tongue drew across my chapped lips; the moisture giving a moment of repast from the unrelenting dryness. My eyes squinted as I looked up and down the boardwalk. The aroma of fish being grilled at a nearby restaurant came to me over the bustle of noon-time lunch hour.

Where is she? I impatiently thought to myself. She wasn't late, but I paced eagerly; my foot tapped as I paused briefly before completing my improvised circuit four paces north, four paces south.

Groaning softly beneath my feet, the weathered planks shared a brief moment of my agony. At one time majestic pines high in the nearby mountains, now tread underfoot by millions of visitors every year, left to soak in the Autumn rains, and bake in the Summer sun. Their tired shells peeling back like so much sloughed off dead skin.

Waiting tends to cause the sense of time to dilate. You can almost hear the ticking of a clock in your mind, each tick seeming too far from the last. With the ever present reminder of the passing of time, you begin to notice how much happens in the span of one second - or one minute. I see a pair of eyes looking upwards nearby. A bronze face framed with golden locks of hair. I imagine how much his eyes have seen; how many minutes, how many hours, days, years.

I jump back to reality. I'm in no hurry to be anywhere, but I feel I'm wasting my time thinking about such things. I sit down on a nearby bench, and my leg bounces with nervous anticipation. I fold my hands on my lap and unfold them; every muscle in my body is ready, every sense heightened.

If only I had acted sooner, the self-flagellation begins, If only I was honest with her ... with myself. My eyes dart through the crowds looking for any sign of her. I can't sit anymore.

She should be easy to spot. She always wore bright colored clothes. It was an extension of her personality. Those bold patterned, quilted skirts of hers were practically a manifesto on non-conformity. Even the way she walked, with purpose and a spring in her step, echoed the smile on her face.

My eyes fell down to my shoes, the leather sole of my left foot tapping away on the wood below. A quick spin on my heel had me facing south. A mother was walking in my direction pushing along a child stroller, her wide-brimmed hat bouncing with each step.

Four paces, pivot, north.

I looked at my watch. 12:02. How can two-minutes feel like twenty?

A group of teen-aged boys walked past laughing. It used to bother me when people were so loud in public, but now I'm happy to hear the joys of friendship. Their voices faded away behind me, like so many fond memories dissolving.
I looked towards the busy street to my right hoping to spot her white Chevy Nova. Maybe she decided not to come, I thought, fatalistically, maybe she just wants a clean break of it. I wiped sweat from my brow; I could feel heat radiating from my skin. You've really made a mess of things, haven't you?

It felt like it only yesterday when we were introduced by mutual friends. It was a New Years Eve party. Two-thousand-four! Has it been six years? She had the most penetrating grey eyes I have ever seen. She smiled at me as we shook hands. As we talked about ... I don't remember what we talked about, all I remember is watching her thin wrists twist as she tugged at her brown pony tails and drowning in her gaze.

A chill came over my body as the breeze picked up again. I smelled the salt in the air from the crashing of the waves. I tasted salt on my lips from the sweat on my face.

I hate waiting.