223: The Pier
A little girl of seventeen years of age swings her legs side by side on a ledge as she skips rocks, tiredly watching them lap water until they sink and disappear from sight. A bored mask clings to her face, the beginnings of summer quickly draining her.
Her knotty sable hair dances in the breeze. Wooden splinters bite into the palm of her hand, but she ignores this as she skips rocks, thinking about nothing in particular. Some figure sits next to her, but she pays it no attention until rocks not from her hand begin dashing across the surface of the water.
A boy. Sable hair much like hers. A stony expression, unlike hers. A pair of bored, onyx eyes, like hers. A thin smirk, unlike hers. She turns away from him and keeps both her hands in her lap, as if she’s acutely sensitive all of a sudden. He starts the conversation first. Names are exchanged, then false phone numbers, then smiles. Then laughter, and then she rests her hands on the splintering wood again, palms open. Then an exchange of jokes, private jokes, small jokes, dumb jokes, plain jokes…all kinds of jokes. She likes them all. The boy tries too hard.
Once again, the little girl realises how close she comes to the beginnings of love. She skips a rock, and then stands up. She tells him another phone number, the one she claims is real.
Call me, she says.
The boy smiles. She doesn’t know if he knows it’s not her real number. Who cares? The boy smiles at her again. She walks off the pier. She doesn’t look back.
Always enjoys the honeymoon phase, but never what comes after. Never enjoys or understands how to cope with the misery that can come with relationships.