The next morning, Mark picked me up from Lea’s. I wanted so much to tell him about meeting Christa. I was still spilling over with excitement about the evening. But I hesitated. I knew he wouldn’t be interested. And that would make me feel disappointed. And I didn’t want to feel disappointed.
Dad’s words nagged at me, but he was wrong. Mark and I had things in common. We did.
“You want to go home?” Mark asked.
I shook my head. “I want to go over the drawbridge.”
Mark grinned. “That’s my Annie.”
As we drove across the bridge, I looked out at the bay. Seagulls swooped down on the many boats coming back in from an early Sunday morning hauling in shrimp. Sailboats lined up on the lake side, waiting to get out.
We drove and drove.
I loved this place. So many Northerners came down and complained about the heat and the hurricanes, and especially the lack of hills. But there was something peaceful and open about seeing the horizon in front of you, like you were on the edge of the Earth and the world began and ended right here.
I couldn’t compare it to anywhere else because I’d never been anyplace else, except for the occasional weekend camping trip. I wanted to travel, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to, not like Lea, whose family went skiing every winter. What I really wanted to do was see the shuttle launch, Christa’s shuttle launch, in January. But it was impossible. I had no money, no ride, and no time off from school.
We drove out to the island of Galveston, about thirty miles south of Clear Lake. We ended up at the beach house of a surfing friend of Mark’s.
I went out to the water’s edge and watched the waves while the guys pulled on wet suits. Mark looked good, all slick in black. The wet suit clung to his body, outlining all his muscles. One would think he was always at the gym, although he never was. He just played and worked.
He waved one wet suit–black arm toward the ocean. “Hey, Annie, look at those swells.”
I glanced at the brown waves spitting up white as they hit the sandy shore. “Kind of mushy, Mark.” I grinned at him.
He laughed. “I’ll find my wave. You watch me, babe.” He leaned forward, giving me a peck. “We won’t be in long.”
“Go,” I said.
I settled in the sand, wrapped in my winter coat, watching them paddle out.
Mark was the first one up. I loved to watch him surf. His body looked loose, but in control, joyful in the turns. He rode the wave not quite all the way out, then jerked his board toward the crest, and dove into the wave. He came up laughing. He was so happy here.
The sound of the surf filled my ears. I wondered how I’d feel if I didn’t live close to water, particularly the ocean. The birds squawked at me, but I had nothing to feed them. I watched Mark and wondered if he could really be in love with me if he wasn’t interested in what I liked or what I thought. I scooped up sand into hills of doubt.