A Perfect Day

by Mike

The sun was shining and there was a slight breeze. Not strong, just enough to take the heat off. He could feel the sweat drying almost as soon as it started under his arms. He was glad that he had brought the shirt with him. With both of the excursions they had planned, he really did not expect to be wearing it but he had it with him anyway.

Good thing, too, since as soon as they showed up for the parasailing, the guide told them it was canceled due to high winds and, more importantly, the loss of a boat. The guide was extremely apologetic, offering them a refund and a free lunch at the diner of their choice. She had also clued them in on the many other activities on the island. Her parting words to them were to check back towards the end of the day and see if they could get on a later run if the boat was fixed.

They had gladly accepted her terms and set off, sure that they could find things to occupy their time. Holding hands, they set off down Duval Street. First on their itinerary? The Hemingway House.  They had heard of the six toed cats and needed to see them. He had actually never read anything by Hemingway. Not in high school, college, not even now as an adult. She commented that she had read a few but was not really interested. But still, they were here and had to see it.  They arrived right at the end of a guided tour and made their way around the property, marveling at everything still standing.

From there, they made their way to the Southernmost Point. Off they went, past the military base, cemetery, various watering holes, taking pictures of everything they saw.  It was true what they said: Key West was definitely an interesting place with interesting characters. They stopped a few times to grab a drink and some Key Lime Pie. Before the end of the day, they hoped to find some conch soup or fritters.

As they walked, she asked him a few times what he was playing with in the pocket of his swim trunks. Quickly removing his hands, he just commented that he had an itch. Now with the sun setting, they decided to head to Mallory Square to see the awesome sunset that everyone spoke of. He quickly fingered the pocket of his trunks again when she was not looking.

They found a spot on the wall overlooking the ocean and turned around to see the end of a street performance.  It was captivating, two jugglers using fire and various apparatus to perform. Amazingly, the show ended with no one getting burned. Turning back towards the sea, he thought of how right this was. How perfect. They did not need to talk all the time; they just held each other and cuddled. It was almost as if each one knew the other’s thoughts. He looked at her as her long brown hair blew in the gentle breeze.  They watched as a clump of clouds drifted in to cover up the setting sun. They were going to miss the end of the day. She laid her back into his chest and sighed as he stroked her hair.

As they sat there, he looked through their pictures, glad to see that they had gotten a picture of the mile marker 0 on Route 1. Of course, they had gotten the end sign, not the beginning on the opposite side of the road. He smiled and flipped through the rest of the pictures.

She sighed again. He laid the camera down and felt his pocket for the twentieth time that day, breathing a sigh of relief as he felt the bump in there. The clouds cleared and it looked as if they would get their sunset after all. The end of a perfect day.

She adjusted herself and looked up at him. Her brown eyes were caged in by her hair. She smiled, wistfully. He thought she looked contented. He had known this day would come. Ever since they had met back at the last New Year’s Eve party. He had known they would be here now on this New Year’s Eve. He smiled back and stroked her hair, bending down to kiss her.

She stiffened; afraid they would miss the sunset. Looking out, he saw a pair of birds cross the sail of a sailboat. The sun set below the horizon and everyone clapped.  He clapped as best he could with her in his chest. She just looked off into the horizon.

He gently sets her up as he moves in front of her, saying he needs to talk to her.  She looks at him and says the same. They went back and forth on who should speak first. They finally agreed to go at the same time, on the count of three.

One…He reaches in his pocket. She inhales.

Two…He kneels. She tears up.

Three…“Will you marry me?”  “I think we should end it.”

END

My husband and I are doing a fiction exercise. We've both crafted a short relationship story to go with this picture. My story is below. I'll post his tomorrow.

The Florida sun beat down on Brent's head, pounding pressure into his skull. He felt sweat trickle down his temple as he practiced the lines in his head. It's not you; it's me. It's not you; it's me.

Valerie walked out of the souvenir shop with a smile on her face and a plastic bag in her hand. She skipped toward him and delightedly grabbed his arm. "Wait until you see what I got us!" She kissed him on the cheek and reached into her bag.

It's not you. It's me. Brent recited to himself.

Valerie pulled a wad of colorful material out of the bag and held a shirt to her chest. Her bracelets clinked with the motion, bringing Brent out of his reverie. "I got one for each of us," she squealed. "Do you love it?"

Valerie bounced in place as Brent took in the airbrushed palm trees, a sunset fading into the water beside them. With growing horror, he read the words painted in fanciful script: Key West Is For Lovers and inside a heart over his grilfriend's breast: Valerie & Brent

She giggled with pleasure as his eyes locked on the bright pink heart that bore his name. It seemed to pulsate and grow the longer he stared. It wasn't until he felt the brush of soft cotton against his arm that he realized Valerie was holding a blue t-shirt against his chest, too. "Here's yours. Put it on!"

Brent moved his hand toward the shirt that Valerie was pressing against him, but his sweaty hands did not fold around the fabric securely and the shirt dropped to the sidewalk. He watched the exasperation and dismay cross Valerie's face and knew what was coming: another pouting lecture in which she accused him of not loving her. They went through this every day, and he prepared himself for the reassurance that he'd have to dole out for the next few hours, when suddenly he noticed the street sign above him. END. It was an omen; a prophetic, if tangible sign. It's not you; it's me ran through his mind.

He picked the shirt up from the ground and held it out to Valerie, whose bright beachy smile was already turning sour.

"Listen, Val. There's something I need to tell you. I should have said something before."

Valerie placed her hands on her hips. The wadded-up sunset turned upside down in her hand resembled a frying egg now. Brent fixated on it as he delivered his prepared statement.

"It's not me. It's you."

He held his breath as he realized his mistake. Valerie's eyebrows shot up above her designer shades as her mouth formed an 'O' of surprise and then quickly gave way to the straight line of a set jaw. "What did you just say?"

Brent stared at the END sign above him. He hadn't noticed the skull and crossbones beneath it, but studied them now. He focused on the red stop light behind it, then watched it turn green. He took a deep breath and held the blue shirt toward the girl before him. The same annoying, whining, shallow girl whose calls he avoided and who was familiarly furious with him again. Traffic started moving and Brent raised his voice to be heard.

"I said, it's not me. It's you." Then he pushed the shirt into her hands and walked away.

Southern Sandwich Speech

Dana-Anne answers a knock at the door.

DA: Well, Genieveve Turner! What brings you here?

GT: Well, I wanted to return this pan that Charmay borrowed. She's a sweetheart for running all those bake sales, never mind that her rear-end gets bigger with each one, but she sure does know how to run a sale.

DA: Yes she does. I told my husband that if she ever decided to run for mayor, though her campaign buttons might be bigger than an Olan Mills portrait, she might give him a run for his money.

GT: I know a few men around town who'd keel over, which may ensure Charmay get those votes, if a woman ran for office in this town.

DA: I think we should nominate her. Let's show her we support a woman running for office, after we get her a wardrobe that doesn't look like a Kmart sales rack, and let the men see that we mean business!

GT: We'll get started by holding another one of Charmay's bake sales. Everyone in town flocks to those and we can spread the news, as thick as Charmay spreads butter, and she's sure to win.