Sand to Love on Dog Beach

"Oh! Yes. I do, actually. I feel a lot better, thank you."

"Great!" She looked me up and down before frowning at me. "Then why aren't you dressed?"

"What do you mean? I'm dressed."

"Dressed for the beach, silly. I haven't seen you on it since the day I almost killed you."

"Oh," I groaned. "Yeah. I don't know. I don't think I'm ready to face the regulars. I'm so embarrassed at what happened."

"Aww," she sounded sincerely sympathetic, "don't be. Everyone likes you, even if you are kind of shy. Trust me."

I just blinked at her, trying to process that. She chuckled, "Go on. Get dressed. The beach will do you a world of good. I'll wait for you."

She was right. I had been missing the beach. And Beach-girl too for that matter. She was still standing in my open doorway so I started to move to let her in when I remembered something. I'm sure my eyes went huge. "OK, you wait here. I'll be right back."

She smirked at me, "Really? You're not going to let me in?"

I froze. She laughed. In a matter-of-fact tone, she said, "I've seen the painting, you know. It's really very good. I love it."

I closed my eyes tightly for a long moment, wishing the last 15 seconds had never happened. I opened them with a sigh and invited her in.

*

I came out of my bedroom wearing my boardshorts and found her in my living room, staring at the painting in thought, fiddling with the pendant on her necklace.

The painting was of her and Herbert, situated on the beach looking out to the ocean before them. Their faces weren't fully visible, the vantage point being 3/4 view from behind. Herbert was positioned next to her as she was sitting up, legs straight out, her torso supported by her arms locked behind her, a french-braid ponytail hanging in between them. The striking part is that I painted her naked. Hardly pornographic, none of her lady-bits were really visible other than one side boob, but still, it meant I was picturing her naked. Which I did a lot of over the years.

She finally noticed I was in the living room but went back to looking at the painting while she spoke calmly. "Technically, it is fantastic. You're really, really good. Artistically, your style is fun, and bright, and quite honestly, it's moving. I just love it."

"Thank you." I didn't know what else to say, I was just glad she wasn't angry with me.

Then she turned her head, looking at me sharply with a slight grin, "Only you got it wrong. My boobs are nowhere close to perky as that when I'm out of my bra or bathing suit top. Gravity is not my friend in reality."

I groaned. She laughed. Then she looked dead serious. "Aww. You were worried that I was offended by it. Weren't you."

"Yeah, well," I sheepishly replied, "I never thought you'd see it."

She chuckled, "I bet you didn't." She studied the painting again until she fully turned to me. "So that now makes us friends, right? You've seen me almost every day for ten years, you've been buddies with my dog for most of his life, you didn't get mad when I tried to kill you, you look at me naked above your couch every day and I'm OK with that. If that's not being friends, what is?" She laughed at her own words.

"Of course. Friends."

Now if I only knew her name.

*

We walked down the stairs to the beach together. I managed the stairs down, which was a completely different story than when going up, using one hand on the stairway railing, and to my surprise, her arm linked with my free one. I could feel her urging me to lean on her but I put on a brave face and kept an even keel for all 141 steps.

I made my way to my plot of sand and she continued to keep our arms linked. She let go when it was time to set up. I plopped my chair down off my back and spread my beach blanket out using my feet while my friend was about to spread her blanket out right next to mine. I saw something at the last moment.

"Beach-girl! Stop! Don't!" I evidently startled her but she froze and stared at me with giant eyes and a questioning expression.

"What . . .?!" She asked, not sure if I was directing my angst towards her until she looked right at me.

"Look," I pointed out, "you almost threw your blanket on a dog turd."

She looked down on the sand and saw what almost happened. "OMG. What's wrong with people?!"

As she pulled a leftover Herbert poop-bag from her backpack, I gave her my opinion on the matter. "I know, right? It happens all the time. Sometimes I see the dog owner watch their dog drop one and then they walk away as fast as they can to leave it for someone else to pick up. They're just jerks."

She bagged the poop, saying, "I know. I always wish some kind of karma on them, like one day they miss seeing one laying on the beach and step in it with their bare feet."

She went off and discarded the bag in the trash can at the base of the stairs and returned, this time tossing her blanket on the sand next to mine, but on the other side of me. I was ruminating over the fact that this would be another first when I noticed she was standing in front of me, blocking what I was doing in setting up until we were both standing straight up in front of each other. She moved into my personal space as she did so.

She had to crane her neck to look into my eyes. "What's up with this 'Beach-girl' shit. Is that me? Is that your nickname for me? You apparently have one for all the regulars here, I don't know why I thought I would be any different."

Oh, shit. What do I say to that? I went with a weak defense, "It's not a bad nickname, is it?"

She got a sad look on her face and in almost a whisper, "You don't know my name. Do you." Only it wasn't a question. She shook her head and gathered herself, "I know your name, Mr. Leo Peterson." She acknowledged my surprise, "Yeah. I pay attention."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm just messing with you." She had a huge smile. "My name is Janine. Janine Monson. Nice to meet you, Leo."

She faked me out by putting her hand out to shake and when I did the same in the awkward and small gap between us, she chuckled and wrapped her arms around me. "I'm a hugger, remember?"

I wrapped myself around her in turn and she pulled me in tighter. Having learned, I held her tight myself and let it linger until I could feel her loosen up. When we broke the embrace, she shook her head at me with a dreamy look on her face. I thought, what a dream it would be to have one of those all the time.

I think she read what I was thinking, she muttered, "Yeah," before pulling herself together.

We finished setting up our stations, our blankets touching, our chairs within an arm's reach of each other. She said, looking expectantly, "I hope you don't mind me next to you."

I chuckled, "I get it. I'm your new Herbert. I'm OK with that." She looked relieved, though I don't know why. She surely remembered I was pathetic in the defense department.

We sat in our almost identical beach chairs and looked out at the ocean. Just feeling the vibrations and hearing the surf pound on the sand all up and down the beach instantly relaxed me.

"Aren't you going to draw anything today?" She asked.

"I will in a bit. I just need to take it all in first."

"Yeah, me too."

*

A few days later we were sitting in a long comfortable silence, just thinking to ourselves until she broke it with disgust, "Look! Look at that guy." She pointed out who she was talking about in the distance, out of earshot of us and near the waterline. "His dog is about to take a big old shit and the dude is looking around. I bet he doesn't pick it up."

"Hmm. I'll take that bet." We watched the dog intently. I added, "I've seen that guy here before, he usually picks it up."

She started chanting in a deep voice while eyes locked onto the dog in crouch position, straining, "You're going to leave it, aren't you asshole? C'mon, asshole, c'mon."

So I matched her chant until we were overlapping each other in repeat mode, "Pick it up, dude, pick it up. C'mon, dude, don't be an asshole."

After the dog left a monster size pile, its owner took a look around, settling his gaze on us just briefly. His shoulders slumped and then he bent down and picked it up with a poop bag he produced from his pocket.

"And there you go," I pronounced. "I win the bet."

She called, "Bullshit!"

I corrected, "Dogshit!"

She chuckled briefly and then whined, "He wouldn't have picked it up but he saw us staring at him, so it doesn't count."

"What?! Of course it counts. You didn't want him to leave it, did you? He picked it up. That was the bet. Your bet, I might add."

"Yeah, well, something you should know," she warned, "I'm a sore loser. And we didn't set the stakes, so you didn't actually win anything." She made a show of sticking her tongue out at me. She looked damn cute at it too and it made me laugh.

"I won fair and square, and you are going to pay up."

She rolled her eyes, "OK, what do you think I owe you?"

I was going to savor this, but it took all of my courage to ask. I looked her right in the eyes and locked on. "Your debt comes in two parts. First, you tell me your life story. Secondly, you tell me an embarrassing fact that only your family or BFF would know."

Her eyes got real big, "Hell no!"

I feigned shock and surprise, "You would renege on a bet?! What kind of person are you to embrace such umbrageous behavior?! I personally know five people with broken legs for such an atrocious default."

That made her smile but she got real quiet and serious. "You want to know all about me? Why would you want that?"

"I have to sort out what I got right, and what was just my invention." She looked confused so I clarified, "I have a story in my head about everyone on this beach, and you were the most mysterious, so I really had to reach for yours."

She got out of her beach chair and repositioned herself on my blanket in front of me, criss crossing her legs. She studied my face hard, trying to read me again. "Why don't you tell me my story and I'll just tell you what you got right, which will be nothing, and what you got wrong."

"Oh, I don't mind starting. I'll give you the bullet points, but you still have to honor losing the bet."

In her best mock annoyment, she said, "Fine!"

"OK, here it is. You are a teacher . . ."

She cut me off with a gasp, "Yes. How did you know?!"

"You get here every weekday at 3:15 from September through May, so you work mornings during the school year and have the late afternoon off. On weekends and in the summer you show up earlier because you have those days off."

She looked astonished, "Yeah, you're right." Then she added a sarcastic, "Sherlock."

So I twisted the fork and with a smirk said, "In the winter, you sometimes wear a 'Hug a Teacher' sweatshirt."

She looked incredulous, "Cheater!"

I laughed then gave her a silly face, "I pay attention too."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes in mock anger. I warned her, "Now don't interrupt again." She folded her arms in acceptance. "You are always here alone. So this is your secret beach, you don't want to share it with anyone you know." Except for Herbert, I thought, her loyal friend and protector, but it was still too raw to bring him up.

She nodded her head with an odd expression I couldn't read. I continued with, "You have a deep distrust of men. I'm going to guess that you've had some bad experiences." I assume all lonely women feel the same thing. I also thought it was a good guess because she seemed as much a loner and recluse as I was. Always alone.

She nodded, somewhat sadly. I knew I had to end this. It just didn't feel fair, so I teased, "You are a gypsy witch, and you've killed scores of people with an untraceable poison concoction you make in a cauldron."

She looked at me like I was stupid. Which I am, really. At least I got a smile out of her.

"Well, you're wrong about that." She declared with narrowed eyes. "I don't poison my victims. I have a voodoo doll and snap its head off, killing the person of my choice instantly."

I laughed, which made her laugh. "That makes total sense. You have been kind of a pain in my neck lately."

She smiled and then started smoothing out wrinkles in the blanket in front of her, lost in thought. In a soft tone she asked, "Do you think I'm a pain in your neck for real?" She looked at me. It was something about her eyes, she was vulnerable and not trying to hide it.

I got serious. "No. Not even close. But there is one more thing I know about you, and I know I'm right about it. You are a good and kind person. I saw that in my home last week. I can feel it in your hugs even."

She turned her attention to the blanket again, saying out loud, "Thanks. That was nice of you to say."

I let that sink in until I taunted her, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Your life story. Spill it."

She sighed and looked at me, "There's not a lot to tell. I'm the most boring person you'll ever meet."

"Go on then. Bore me."

"You are such a goof. If I had known that I'd have never gotten involved with you."

"Oh, we're involved now are we?"

She smiled before laying it all on me. "Fine. I was born and then grew up within about 5 miles from here. I have a loving set of parents that are really smart and interesting people. My mother is a California native and met my father when they were in college, he's from Oregon. I have lots and lots of family here and where Dad is from. I have two older sisters, but there is a large age gap between us, so those two are super close to each other while I'm just the 'baby in the family', and everyone still treats me that way. I was in a program at school to get my teaching credential while getting a degree in English, and now I teach first grade. I rent a house about ten miles east of here with a couple of other girls that I'm not very close to." She slapped her hands a couple of times like she was all clean, "And there you have it. My life story in a nutshell."

I nodded my head to her, she looked all smug and satisfied. "OK. And for part two?"

"Shit," she threw down, probably hoping I had forgotten. She looked skyward and repeated my words slowly, "An embarrassing fact that only my family or BFF would know."

She thought about it, I could almost see the wheels turning in her head. "OK, I got it. I drive a 1992 Buick Skylark that my father gave me. It has two tone paint, gray and emerald green, and has a big dent in the rear bumper where I backed up into a fire hydrant. Even without the dent, it's pretty ugly. And it breaks down all the time."

"Ouch," I laughed in my response, "I don't even know what that is, but I don't think we can be friends anymore."

She laughed back, "I wouldn't blame you."

*

We talked a little more about this and that, nothing heavy or deep except she told me funny stories of things Herbert did over the years, making me laugh. We stared out at the ocean together while we talked, but sometimes a comfortable silence overtook us.

Comfortable. Yeah, that's the really weird thing. I felt comfortable with her.

I sketched a little bit, careful not to draw my favorite subject. Which, of course, would be her. She'd try and see what I was drawing and I'd shield my sketch book until I gave in once and held up the page for her to see where she gave me polite praise. Then she did a little poking around on her phone while I continued to draw.

I got a weird tingly wave through my body that started in my stomach, thinking that if anyone saw us, they'd think we were an ordinary couple who had been together for years. Maybe even married to each other.

She broke me out of my thoughts, "I have a nickname for you too, you know." I just turned to her with a questioning look. "Art-guy."

"Not as original as Beach-girl," I told her.

"What?!" She shook her head with a big grin. "You're ridiculous."

I didn't say anything, just moving my pencil in a way to add shadow to the partially submerged boulders I had outlined.

Sheepishly, she asked, "So, Sherlock. What's your life story."

I paused my sketching and looked at her, "I don't remember losing any bet."

"You're a frustrating man, Mr. Peterson. I'll get it out of you yet." She got up from her chair. "But now, it is time for me to go."

It felt like time for me to go too, so I agreed and we packed up our stuff. I was going to say goodbye when she caught me taking a fleeting glance at the stairs where I probably grimaced.

She leaned in and gave me a big hug but didn't let me go. Craning her neck to see my face while I looked down on her, she said, "I'm going to help you up the stairs today."

I stuttered then got out, "I don't need your help, but thank you."

"I want to help. Please let me help you."

"I'll be fine." Before I turned to leave, I asked, "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Of course you will, but right now, I'm telling you, I'm going to help you with those stairs." I started to protest again but she stopped me, "What I left out of my 'life story' was that I'm strong. Stronger than I look. The last few years I've been taking a boxing-exercise course before school every morning and I've been taking Taekwondo since I was a pre-teen."

"Are you telling me that when that asshole sat next to you on your blanket, you could have kicked his ass without any help?"

"Yes, and I was about to before you stepped in. Only I would have made him eat more sand than the twin. Now, let's get you up those stairs."

Before I could protest again, she pleaded, "Pleeeeeezzze." She gave me this doe-eyed look, it actually reminded me of Herbert just before I'd pull a carrot out for him, but it wasn't something I could ever reject.

I turned towards the stairs and made my way over with her following closely. I grabbed the railing at the base with my right hand and she appeared on my left, inserting herself into my side. Her arm made its way around my back leaving me nothing to do but move my left arm around her shoulders. I took my first step, and then my second. Hell yeah, she was strong.

We made it up the stairs in half my normal time. I thanked her though my pride had shattered. Which she knew and was gracious enough to downplay her effort and help. She reached in for a big goodbye hug, which at this point, I was expecting.

With her arms still around me, she asked sheepishly, "Leo, can I ask you a big favor? Can I come up and use your bathroom? I have to pee so bad."

"Of course you can," I replied.

On the elevator ride to the third floor, she admitted to me that she usually uses the bathroom at the public access where she parks, but confessed that it is creepy. More so now that Herbert isn't with her. It was the same bathroom she changes into her bathing suit after school every day during the school year.

I suddenly felt a little sick about her having to walk the beach alone. Worse than that, beach-side public bathrooms even creep me out. I now had something new in my life to worry about.

*

"Leo," she asked, getting my attention.

"Yes, Beach-girl?" I said, not looking at her, my gaze locked onto the cliffside that I was sketching while admiring the way the spray went random directions as the surf crashed against it.

She ignored the nickname and asked, "Is there anything that can be done to fix your back? I mean like surgery or maybe physical therapy."

"Oh, I've had plenty of surgeries."

"So that's it? You have to live in pain for the rest of your life? There's nothing more you can do?"

I let my guard down and told her what I probably shouldn't, "There's one chance. It's called spinal fusion, but it's risky and the recovery time is really long."

She seemed nervous at what came next, though I saw it from a million miles away and braced for it. It was, after all, inevitable.

She asked in a soft tone, "How did you hurt it?"

I gulped and then sighed. I might as well tell her and get it over with. "Do you want the long version or the short version?"