The Dock
By Julie Grantz
She sat alone at the end of the old wooden dock. Her feed dangled loosely into the cool summer’s river. She rested her hands lightly on her jean shorts. Her shoulders where covered in a patel yellow sweater, unbuttoned to a white fitted t-shirt. A warm breeze blew pink and purple wisps of clouds up into the evening sky. As the sun set, crickets could be heard off in the distance. Their soft hum lulled her thoughts. Somberly she looked down into the water, staring blankly as it shimmered, and she looked past the bright red nail polish on her toes. The crisp blueness of the water was as beautiful as the sunset, and the sound of the water lapping up on the sandy bank of the river was uncontrollably soothing.
She just sat there, waiting. Waiting for an answer that would never come. Wondering what could have been. But for now, she was truly alone, because no one would ever be able to understand her true feelings. She whispered to herself, “If you don’t understand it now, it’s not worth explaining.”
She sat on the end of the dock. The moon came out, and a frog could be heard off across the river. She could hear footsteps on the dock. She could feel his presence, and even without turning around, she knew that it was him. Neither one said a thing as he sat down next to her. He took her small hands in his, and she leaned gently on his shoulder. He ran his hand down her cheek, and kissed her forehead lightly. She shivered when his lips touched her skin. He kissed her cheek, and her nose. He kissed her, and she knew.
“Me too,” she smiled. “Me too.”
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This story is © copyright Julie Grantz