Character #004 ~ Li Lang. 19. Girlfriend. Beachcomber.

The warm sun at their back, their sleek Weimaraner by their side,
their feet squeaking in the fine white sand in perfect sync with each other.

She carried a piece of driftwood in her hand. Perfectly smooth, the only imperfections were thanks to an overly playful puppy a few minutes before. And whoever BM was.

That paradise was deserted wasn’t a surprise. Just to get here you needed to a boat and someone used to negotiating the rocky coastline. And someone careful enough to get across the nasty reef on the other side of the island.

“It’s hard to say no. But no. I just don’t want to go to the engagement party. It’s at a filthy dive bar. A dive bar! Who are they? Bloggers? Influencers? But I can’t just say no. I need a great excuse. Something truly inspired. Maybe my imaginary cousin could be in the imaginary emergency after an imaginary reaction after a imaginary incident with some imaginary peanuts…” she said into the warm breeze.

“Yeah… Sorry, what?” asked Scott, snapping to attention. His eyes fixed just above the horizon.

“Nothing my little cupcake” she said squeezing a hand that was always warmer than hers.

Cupcake now? Her ability to embarrass him with these never-ending stream of saccharin pet names always amazed him. Even on an empty beach he felt self-conscious. Asking her to stop only made her toy with his discomfort. Like a kitten swatting at moths on the other side of the glass.

They walked for a few minutes in silence. They enjoyed the sand between their feet and the view looking back at the mainland thru the early evening mist.

“Look how far the tide’s out. Crazy beans! Those rocks where underwater when we walked to the lighthouse, yeah?” she said.

“Yeah… nuts…” he said without weighing the consequences of her observation.

They rounded the West most point of the island.

They could see their boat.

This was a problem.

They could see too much of the boat.

More specifically, they could see too much of the boat’s white hull as it sat, high and dry on the beach.

“So what do you think BM stands for anyway? Bill Murray? Bernie Madoff? Brokeback Mammal?” He offered in light relief trying to do the right thing.

She ignored him. She looked at the lights of the little town as they started to come on for the evening. They seemed even further away.

“Come on. There’s muesli bars in the boat. We can share them.” He said realising this ordeal called for new levels of niceness.

She was meant to work tomorrow in the costume store. She needed the money. She wriggled her toes deeper into the sand.

The sand felt cold. The dog had the good sense to run ahead.