Love Letters in the Sand

A pinkish-orange glow decorated the distant horizon where ocean met early morning sky. That carpet of color would soon become the rising sun, and his northerly journey would have to commence not long afterwards. The cool dawn's gentle breeze slapped the loose legs of his sweat pants and chilled his bare chest as he stood trance-like on the wet sand where they had walked hand-in-hand in the early winter moonlight a mere twelve hours earlier. The night's tide had long since erased the two pairs of footprints that at first had appeared in tandem, then broke away--the larger feet chasing the smaller ones back to the patio of her beach-front condo.

If anyone would have told Lance Phillips a week ago when Pittsburgh's first winter storm hit that he would be standing on a mid-Atlantic beach today, he would've howled with choking laughter. But a week ago, Lance Phillips hadn't know that She was due to enter his life. A week ago, She hadn't known, either.

Shivering only slightly, the cool sand and ebbing wave oozing between his toes, he walked farther down the beach toward the spot where she had lain the wool Tartan-plaid blanket on which they sat, mostly in silence with her head against his shoulder, just star gazing.

"What are you thinking?" she had asked, almost whispering.

"Huh?" he said, startled briefly, as he returned from wherever his mind had taken him through the galaxies of stars.

"You look like you're a million miles away!" She scooted herself around in front of his drawn-up legs. She sat cross-legged, resting her chin on his crossed arms where he held his knees together and caressed both his bent legs behind the shins. She stared at him with a warmth that made the cool night air around them disappear.

"Oh, I was just feeling sorry for any man who isn't me tonight," Lance had said, sliding his arms out from under her smile. He cradled her cheeks with each hand, then leaned in and quickly, but softly, kissed the tip of her nose.

Not entirely startled, she had squeaked another of her cute little giggles, then took his hands and held them close to her face again. Their fingers finally interlocked and he squeezed hers with his in the 'grip-grip-grip' code that he had taught her.

"Whatever do you mean, my Pennsylvania Poet?" she had cooed.

Kissing her fingers then, and the backs of both her hands, one after another, he had told her: "It's just that any men who aren't like me tonight must surely be miserable. And I surely do pity them!"

A lonely sea gull swooped mere yards in front of Lance's down-turned stare, shaking him from his morning dream-like stroll. The big toe on his right foot missed the bird's milky deposit by only a few millimeters. He turned around to see that he had left a fresh trail of footprints nearly a hundred yards long. Better head back, he thought, or I'll end up in Hilton Head.

Walking more quickly retracing his path, he felt a sudden faintness; almost dizzy, but no where near a black-out, even though he had never in his nearly forty-nine years had a black-out. He often had these sensations, as a diabetic might have when the sugar count goes down, but he was not diabetic. And being in perfect health, he was not prone to even petite-mal seizures like someone prone to high blood pressure might be. He recognized the sensation without concern... even welcomed it.

Sit awhile, Lance, his dead mother's voice said in his head. Sit and think about what you're doing... what you're going to do.

"Hi Mom," he replied out loud to his Guardian Angel as he planted his butt in the sand. "So, what do you think of Her--nice, huh?"

She's lovely, Lance.

"Yeah, I figured you'd like her."

It's Agape, you know. Do you remember when I taught you that word?

"Sure do," he smiled, and laid back on the beach, locking his fingers behind his head and stared lovingly at a distinctive-looking cottony cloud directly overhead that oddly resembled a matronly face.

Lance picked up the narrow foot-long piece of driftwood that he hadn't seen when he sat down, and, folding his legs in his own Indian-like way, he scratched absent-mindedly on the tablet of smooth wet sand in front of him. "You're right, Mom, that's what this is." His steady right arm dug a single downward angled groove in the sand.

"Mom," he said, as another angled groove met the first one. "I sure wish you could meet her. She's just so..."

"Who ya talkin' to Big Boy?" her cheerful voice startled him. She snuggled in beside him, slipping her right arm between his left bicep and upper torso.

"Uh, no one. I, uh..."

"It's okay," she smiled, then kissed his cheek. "I'm glad you have a Guardian Angel... I only wish I could've known her."

Their heads touched softly and held there. Her wind-swept hair tickled his nose as she moved her right arm to his lower back, just above the waist line of his Navy blue sweats. She noticed that he hadn't bothered putting his BVDs back on this morning. But, neither had she bothered to put her Hanes Her Way bikinis on either. The damp sand beneath her felt seductively pleasant through the thin white fabric of her sweat pants. She shivered slightly when a brief gust of wind danced across her tee-shirt clad nipples. His left arm reached around her and pulled her close, and both their shivers subsided. The pinkish-orange glow filtering through the distant clouds began to form the round shape that would soon emerge over the horizon. A few more sea gulls dived into the surf in search of their breakfast. And, another small ditch in the sand, a horizontal one this time, joined two previously drawn angled trenches.

"Do you really have to leave today?" she asked, ending their shared day dream, as she moved her head to face his somber seaward gaze.

Lance stared back into her hazel eyes, noticing a slight dampness forming in the corners. He felt a similar sensation begin to develop in the corners of his own hazel portals, and quickly looked back to the rising ball of color, pretending to be shooing a fly away from his face, even though flies don't fly around a mid-Atlantic beach in the second week of December. A half-circle swath cut into the sand a split-second before she tugged his left arm closer to her bosom.

"Lance?"

"Yeah," he said without looking at her. "I have to go back today. You've got to know that I don't want to. I REALLY don't want to go back. Not today... not ever."

He squeezed her a little tighter, pulling her closer until her right thigh touched his left thigh. She held his arm a little tighter, with both hands, and laid her head on his shoulder. She suddenly felt the need to chase one of those pesky December flies off her cheek. Lance drew a final horizontal line in the sand, then tossed the stick into the surf, startling a lone gull from its prey.

"But you're coming back!" she finally said in a more cheerful and composed tone. "In a couple of weeks, right?"

"Lord willin' and the crick (as they say in Western Pennsylvania) don't rise," he smiled, and added in his best attempt at an impression of The Terminator, "I'll be back."

"Come on, let's get outta here," she giggled, standing and yanking him to his feet. "You promised to make me breakfast!"

He held her close enough to feel her heart beat with his own pulse, not wanting time to march on; wanting only to hold her like this--to savor her warm breath on his goose-bumped flesh. He combed her hair with his fingers, the way she liked it--the way he liked it. She kissed the spot over his heart, then gazed up to his waiting smile.

"Kiss me like you've never kissed anyone before," she whispered. And he did.

"What's that?" she asked, noticing the patch of sand near Lance's feet when they turned to walk back to the condo. But she didn't need an answer. She knew. In a neatly printed row, five different etchings spelled the word A G A P E.

"Love Letters in the sand," Lance replied, kissing her nose again. "Unconditional, undeniable, un-ending love."

"God's Love," she added, squeezing their inter-locked fingers with three quick grips.

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