Sand Castle Sandy

I smiled at the thought, "How did you know that was my RV."

He laughed that laugh of his, "It's pretty unmistakable."

We agreed to meet later for dinner at the cantina. Being a Wednesday night and early for the dinner crowd, we wouldn't need reservations or be turned around to have to eat in another dark lit, romantic restaurant.

He was there first and he wasn't hard to miss, sitting in a booth wearing a bright and loud Hawaiian shirt. He got up when I got close and gave me a hug. I sat down on the bench across the table from him and we exchanged pleasantries for a while over the weather, my drive down, I thanked him for the maintenance on the RV, things like that until our conversation got around to the weekend's sand castle competition.

He wanted to see my drawings in the sketch book I brought with me, and after a polite request, he moved over to my bench and sat real close to me while we went through them. I showed him my sketches and went over how some related to the inspiration photos he had texted me from his travels. As we paged through, whether it was his compliments, the closeness, or his man smell, I started to get light headed.

My father had that same aroma, with a hint of aftershave. It was pleasant. My ex-husband was just the opposite. He stank of foul things that I'd just like to forget.

I thought I should eat and get the butterflies in my stomach to settle down, so I proceeded to embarrass myself by reaching for the chips and salsa only to drop a chunk of tomato right on one of my sketches. Rick reacted quickly and wiped it clean with a napkin, only I did it again right after we turned the page. Rick laughed and got it cleaned up again. "What am I going to do with you," he asked.

*

As I waited in a short line to check-in to the competition the next morning, I thought about our dinner. It was nice. We talked about a lot of things only we kept things light and never drifted into anything serious. I learned more about him, though he still wasn't totally open with me. I was OK with that. We danced around the subject, but it was very obvious that we were not going to let ourselves get too close.

Until I needed to tell him how broken I was, I thought he should know so it would be clearer why he should keep his distance from me. I told him how I felt about my ex and how deeply he hurt me. I told him how my own mother pulled support out from under me after my father died and was now just mean. Rick had to understand what a failure I am. In sympathy, he tried to assure me that I was anything but, only I figured it had to be a lie. The wreck that I am is clear as day.

At the front of the line, I got checked in by the same asshole official that I had dealt with the last few years. Rick and I agreed that I'd do this part alone and he would wait on the beach while I got our space squared away. My goal was to put an end to the drama surrounding those two, I'd run interference all day if I had to.

Also at dinner we had gone over my plan to divvy up the sculpting chores. I was overjoyed to see him happy over a central detail I reserved for him alone. The overarching theme was a mountaintop castle very much like the German storybook castle, but this one would be surrounded by whimsical, friendly dragons galore. At the base of the mountain would be an oversized brooch of the queen, her bust being in life size profile. The queen would be sculpted in a 3-D relief effect, and be made to look like Rick's late wife, Vickie. After going over the division of responsibilities once more, I reinforced that Rick would get the brooch detail all to himself.

Rick had complimented me for Vickie's likeness in the sketch. I was glad I had done her justice in the drawing, using memory of the photos of her he had shared and referencing some of the photos I had taken of Rick's sculptures over the last two years.

I waved Rick up to the pier and met him at the security tape, handing his credentials over so he could gain access and I led him to our assigned space. It was a great spot on the opening corner, which meant we'd have a full 180 degrees of castle to display. That meant more work in detailing, but more 'wow' factor.

I looked at the large pile of sand and then looked around and down the pier, speaking out loud to myself. "If I didn't know better, I'd say we had more sand than the other entries."

That got me a light elbow jab in the arm from Rick, "Don't ask, don't tell, but yeah. Go big or go home, right?"

"How...?" I whispered, not that there was anyone around us.

He whispered back, "Didn't I just say, 'don't ask'?"

*

The king was kind. Good. Benevolent. Deserving of his stature. Only he was missing a Queen. Someone deserving. He was lonely. I sighed out loud at the thought. I wished I was worthy.

Franz Liszt, The Piano Sonata in B-minor, was blaring through my earbuds when I felt and heard the disturbance break through the music, getting my full attention.

Rick was jumping up and down, waving his arms frantically, "No, no, no, get away!"

I saw it at the last second. A seagull was hovering over our castle and after considerable deliberation, attempted a landing on one of the upper castle towers. Ultimately deciding on mayhem, the bird made a touch-and-go with just enough violence to knock it down and then fly away with a mocking squawk.

I looked at Rick, and him at me. He appeared to have been stabbed in the chest. Completely deflated. "What...?!"

The damaged tower was just out of reach. Given the hours spent carving from top to bottom, and the overly ambitious starting height, we'd never be able to reach it for any repair without undoing so much. I felt a little sick but Rick, looked even worse.

Oh, well. It is what it is. I tried to settle Rick down.

He circled our sand pile a few times until he stopped with a puzzling smile. After placing both hands on my bare shoulders, he asked, "Have you done any yoga before?" My skin tingled at his touch, his hands lingering.

"Um, yeah," I responded, "a little," still stunned over what had just happened with the bird.

He took my hand and walked me to the back of our sculpture. Then he took a water spray bottle and trowel, leveraging both into the waistband of my cutoffs before sliding a playing card under the strap of my bikini top, being careful not to touch my skin. "I have no idea what it's called nor have any pretense to be any good at it but I attempted this once with Vickie. We fell over at the effort, but it's worth a try."

Our first attempt could be scored in a number of ways depending on the point of view. First, from behind, he lifted me to position my feet on his thighs, bringing his hands down to my thighs, he leaned further and further back to allow me to cantilever forward to the damaged part of the castle. Whether the sunscreen, the awkwardness, or the (oh my fucking god) wanting of it all, I slipped. His hands slipped up my thighs trying to catch me, but they ended up under the cuffs of my shorts and bottoms, more specifically, some fingers, finding their way to my privates.

We tried again but my nerves were shot, and I blame myself, but I lost my grip with both feet and he tried to catch me again, only this time my backside landed on his chest and slid down his torso until both his hands went up under my bikini top and held there, at least protecting my modesty from any onlookers until I scrambled to restore my dislocated swimwear. His hands now off my bare breasts, he held his open palms up in the air like a cop was pointing a gun at him and stammered at an apology. We both turned beet red.

We tried it once more but repositioned to the front of the sand pile. Only this time we talked through the steps of how we'd get into the position and rehearsed it verbally before executing, which we finally managed to do. It was a heck of a yoga pose, normally one that would be something to be proud of, spoiled by being just out of reach of the tower. He let me down in our mutual disappointment.

He stood there staring at the tower in serious thought. I went on Google. I found another yoga pose that might just work, but it was seriously scary looking. I tentatively showed him the image on my phone. "Oh my god," was all he could get out before staring straight up into the sky.

I tried to sound confident when I said, "Let's do this."

We talked it through, step by step again. I made sure the handle of the water spray bottle was secure in my waistband before I went onto all fours in front of him, my ass high in the air, not believing the view I was giving him. I lifted one leg up until he could grab my ankle and locate it behind his neck. One at a time, I moved my hands to his knees which were bent forward allowing me to lift my other foot to one of his thighs. With my legs stretched the way they were, pointed right at his face, there was no way I wasn't giving him an X-rated view of my crotch.

I raised my torso with an assist from his free hand pulling my waistband just above the crack of my ass, his other hand still holding my ankle hard against his neck, my foot crooked to the back of it. That left me twisted sideways with my legs open like an A-frame, him leaning back using his weight in cantilever. I was spread eagle, stretching out with my whole body as far as I could. It actually worked as I gained just enough reach to get my hands and tools on the turret to repair the sand castle. He must have looked like a Greek god while supporting me. I tried to hurry, but took the time to get it right, not sure if we could reproduce the pose if I slipped.

I felt him start to shake under the effort yet kept stable enough to get the castle back in shape, still mad at myself for designing that tower so delicate in the first place. When he set me down, there was applause from the surrounding sculptors, but it was mostly white noise. I burned with the memory of his hands on me. The physical touch, feeling his strong grip of my limbs, not to mention the unintentional touching of my privates top and bottom, left me buzzing and tingling in a way I never felt I would feel again. I liked it and hated myself at the same time.

We reconnected at the cooler, both of us drinking deep from cold bottles of water, him having to slow his breathing first after so much exertion.

"I can't believe you fixed it. And just like new. That was amazing. You are amazing." His compliment sounded genuine, but I believed it myself.

"I know," I weakly replied, "and on the first try. If I slipped and fell or if you had dropped me, I'd have taken out so much sand with my face. I don't know if we would have recovered from that."

We both just kind of mumbled at each other. I couldn't look him in the eyes. It was so surreal. I could tell we were going to avoid ever talking about what just happened.

I sent a mental image to my sister asking for help and got a nonsensical reply that it was all OK. God, I'm so fucked up.

What was not fucked up was the sand sculpture repair was fully realized though we would spend the rest of the day (and weekend) endlessly searching the skies for warrant and evil seagulls. Those little bastards!

Hours later, we were putting details in at the base, and effectively it meant the finale of our sculpture. I kept one eye on Rick while he detailed his wife's image. It was both sad and brilliant at the same time. It was incredibly good. If you looked at it from the front, it looked like a carved relief on a brooch, but move to the side for an isographic view and her head just seemed to lift off the ornament and came to life.

What if? What if someone loved me that much? Someone that wouldn't hurt me. Someone that thought I mattered.

Rick's voice broke me out of my foolish fantasy, "What's wrong? We're finished and it looks great, so why do you look so sad? Where is your head right now?"

My crazy just came out. "The castle doesn't have a queen. The king inside is all alone."

*

I went through my routine after walking to the RV from the pier. After declining his invite for a ride to his condo to have a proper shower, we watched each other's backs again at the public shower heads, fortunately to no onlookers, myself included. I also declined his offer of dinner at the cantina but invited him to stay and made us both a sandwich. We walked the beach together in silence at dusk and found my favorite boulder to perch on while we listened to the tide come in.

My mind started off talking to him a dozen times but my mouth wouldn't say the words, so we listened to the wave therapy in silence until it got completely dark before he finally broke it.

"I'm seeing someone."

Something broke inside of me before I found the courage to say, "I'm happy for you. What's she like?"

He seemed surprised. "She?" He thought about it for a moment, "Oh, no, that's not what I meant. I'm seeing a therapist."

"Oh," I replied, expressing my own surprise a little too gaily. I tried to cover my unsettled reply with, "Is it helping? How are you doing?"

I could see him look over at me in the dim light of the stars, the moon being hidden by the bluff behind us. "I'm doing OK, I suppose. Every day seems to get a little bit easier, but I want her back so much the hurt never goes away."

"So does talking about it help?" I asked.

"It does. And it doesn't. I'm kind of thick headed, as you know, so I'm not as open to suggestion and probably not getting everything out of it that I could."

"You know," I offered, "You can pick up the phone and call me anytime and talk to me too. I would listen." I remembered last year on the pier when he did that for me, and in that very conversation, 'thick headed' could be described of me too. My sister has called me that more than once.

"Thanks," he replied. "I might just do that." He chuckled. "I only brought it up because I wanted to know how you are doing. Are you seeing anyone?"

"No. I just burden my sister with my crazy several times a year."

He didn't scold me but his voice was serious, "You are not crazy, Sandy. You've been hurt. And you are unsure of your own feelings. I saw signs of that here and there the last couple of days, you look like you work yourself up for no apparent reason. That doesn't make you crazy."

"You don't even know," I whimpered. "I get inside my head. It can get terrible in there."

He didn't say anything back for what seemed like several minutes. I think he was waiting for me to calm down before he offered, "It is a two-way street. I want you to know you can call me any time and get out of your head, talk to a real person."

That's when I knew he got me. I had to tell him so, but I couldn't find the volume to my voice, he leaned in to hear me. "I'm lonely. So lonely."

He nodded his head. "I know you are."

I could see all his features now. A cloud was passing just over the shoreline and soaked up the moonlight from behind the bluff, which reflected it right back at us. I could see the kindest expression on his face. Full of worry for me.

"Sandy," he asked, "neither of us are rushing to jump into a new romance, and that's OK. I was just wondering though, from one friend to another, would it be OK if I held you?"

I blinked my eyes, not believing what he was asking. A million things went through my head, ranging from panic, to want, to need. I don't even remember moving. The next thing I knew I was sitting between his legs, my back to his chest, his warm arms surrounding my shoulders and chest. It was a chaste embrace, but oh god, I have no words for how good it felt.

He said softly, "This is what 'trust' can feel like. This is what 'humanity' can be like."

I couldn't hide it when my entire body shuddered, but I didn't try to either.

*

Later I would blame, or maybe even thank, the Pacific for keeping me calm this far out of my comfort zone, but he held my hand on our walk back up the beach, not letting it go until we got to the security tape at the entrance to the pier. We checked our sculpture and it was fine. Even the repaired turret was still standing. It all looked beautiful in the flickering gaslighting.

He walked me to my RV and I asked him if he wanted to come in, that I would make some coffee, but my invite was followed with a huge, involuntary yawn that I tried to suppress but failed miserably.

He laughed and ordered me to bed, wishing me a good night and that he'd see me in the morning. I crawled into bed with memories of his touch circling through my head. Strong hands supporting my weight, fingers and hands errantly touching and holding me where I hadn't been touched in so very long, to tender arms embracing me in the reflected moonlight. It all felt good. He felt good. For the first time in years, as sleep took me, I circulated the good in my head without ruining it all.

*

I was dressed and ready for him when he knocked on the RV door in the morning. I had on a pretty sundress and sandals as usual, on non-carving days I would ditch the two-piece and the cutoffs. He wore shorts and another loud shirt, a newspaper under his arm.

I invited him in and poured him a coffee, bringing my own to the dinette table where we sat across from each other. Even wearing a peculiar guilty smile like he was, he looked handsome to me.

He kind of looked up at the ceiling and then back at me. "I'm glad you're sitting down."

Confused, I asked, "Why? What's wrong?"

He pushed the newspaper gingerly across the table to me, "The sand castle competition made the front page of the Tribune this morning."

I unfolded the paper and saw it right away. The competition didn't just make the paper, it made the front page. The headline read, "Sand Castles Return to SD, Opens Saturday." Of course I didn't read that part until later as my mind had been completely blown by the accompanying picture. It was of Rick, holding me in our impossible pose while I repaired the castle. Funny, but my first thought before I started panicking was that he really did look like a Greek god.

I was about to lose my shit when Rick calmly asked if I read the caption.

It read, "Three-time San Diego champion sand carver, Sandra Banyon, of Bodega Bay, CA, makes a repair to her competition entry in a thrilling, acrobatic move, supported by her assistant who was not identified."

I was on my third read through of the caption when Rick paused me, "I think it is a great picture of you. I e-mailed the Tribune and asked for the electronic file of it."

I asked, "How could they print that without my permission?"

He got serious, "You forget that you signed a waiver in the application for promotional purposes, and they are certainly trying to get people in droves to the pier this weekend. The city makes bank on this competition, which is partially sponsored by the Tribune."

I slumped my shoulders. I purposely try not to gain attention whatsoever, and here I am on the front page of the paper.

He tried to comfort me, "Hey, it's not that bad. In fact, I was glad there was evidence of this position we were in. We rock! Just look at that! I still can't believe we pulled that off, can you?"

I agreed with him, "Yeah. You're right." Studying the picture again, Rick's abs were ripping and everything about him was statuesque. And then there was me. Where did I find the strength and fortitude to stretch out in midair? I never thought I had abs before, but all of mine were taught and visible. It was kind of... kind of... sexy even. Me? Sexy?

I let out a big breath and Rick chuckled, "One more thing. Someone else on the pier got video of it. It made the news last night. I think it's going viral.

"Oh, no!" I exclaimed, "Do you think they got film of.... "

He finished my sentence, "of me holding your boobies? I don't think so. Remember, we were behind the mountain of sand when we tried our first pose," he tapped the picture with his index finger, "and we moved around the corner for this one."