It was evening on the beach, and cold. Farther down the sand was a family comprised of mostly young children. From so far away their screeches of joy sounded like seagulls.
My hands were burned and raw from the sun and the inner lining of my bikini bottom
(more) sagged slightly, filled with damp sand. It was an uncomfortable feeling. Eliza was drinking vodka in a travel coffee mug and wearing a green sundress. Her hair had dried in stiff, salty waves and it looked horrible. I'm sure mine looked worse.
Florida was nothing like our expectations--sure, there were hot beach parties and hot guys and hot sun, but graduate school was hard and we ended up spending most of our time indoors studying. We had both come from New England, and the never-ending summertime had become boring. I dreamed about the crisp tang of fall in the air, the brilliant burst of red leaves against the sky.
Eliza tried to be positive. "I got a good tan today," she told me, pulling her dress' neckline down so I could see the contrast of her pale skin with her suntan. She was so dark it was almost orange. "And the sunset--Look, Janie, it's gorgeous."
"Just another sunset," I replied morosely. The orange color of the sky mocked me--a long time ago and very far away, at this time of year the leaves were the same color.
In an hour the tide would creep up and nip my toes, salty bathwater leaving salt-stains behind on my pedicure. I was in Florida, living the dream, but even paradise is pedantic.(less)
