Rockaway Beach

Contributed by Eliza Jordan | gargoyle@flagler.edu

The color of your v-neck was baby blue. Well, when you picked me up it was blue. I found out later that it changes. Things change I guess, even shirt colors. In front of a barber shop, I sat down briefly next to an elderly lady on 95th and 4th. I was in an aqua green beach dress as my curls clung to my back. We spotted each other instantly peering through the same glass window.The first few minutes took some getting used to. I mean, it had been 365 days since the last time I had seen you. You smiled and it brought back that mutual vulnerability.
“How was the train?”, you asked, breaking the ice, calmly and collectively. For a brief second before attempting to answer, I was trapped in thoughts of the last time we were together.
Bright lights, Sushi, Gavin’s.
“Fine, but a bit strange. We don’t have trains in Florida.”
I laughed at my own statement. Then you did. Even though it wasn’t humorous, I just wanted to see your lips curl.