Volume 1, Issue 3 & 4 - Diverse Voices Quarterly

Sleep now, I said. Play later, I urged.
By the time the stars hit the sky, the dance was on. We ran across the beach to
join the crowd. Linda Jean disappeared into a swarm of tanned men, and I sat down
at a candle-lit table. Men sauntered by and winked; I waved them away. Someone
brought me a drink. I stared at the dancers. Linda Jean emerged, wiggling her hips,
walking my way. She reached across the table and pried my fingers from my pineapplegreen
drink.
Dance with me. The insistence in her voice matched my pulse.
As we walked across the sand, D.J. Ricky announced, For couples only! Two
men stepped up and shouldered us, trying to follow D.J. Ricky’s lead. Linda Jean
murmured something I couldn’t hear, and the guys backed off.
Out there between the ocean and the sky, our bare feet slipped through the
sand. A bonfire burned and fish blackened on sharpened sticks. Through soft, smoky
air we danced, the space between us closing fast. Linda Jean raised her arms and
dropped them on my shoulders.
Linda Jean dug her fingers into the muscle around my shoulder blades. Staring
at my feet, I pulled her into me as we moved toward the water. Puffs of sand dust filled
the air and I smelled apples. Our ankles were silver in the ocean light, and her white
dress clung to me like my own skin.
The breeze picked up. I rested my head on Linda Jean’s shoulder.
Linda Jean hesitated and threw herself into the sway of the wind. It caught her
hair and I smoothed it down her back. On the beach, lines of sea foam bubbled. D.J.
Ricky’s teeth banged the microphone as the tune kicked in. Linda Jean’s face met
mine. A kiss—fleeting and secret, positively unnerving. Her hand grasped my waist
and began the slow walk down my side.
D.J. Ricky, with a catch in his voice sang along, You Came, You Saw, You
Conquered.
I fell to my knees in the sand, and the ocean washed up my dress and then
Linda Jean was on her knees in front of me, laughing, her hands burrowing through
the wet sand to my knees, up my thighs, across my stomach, and resting on the frail
skin covering my heart that burst open like a pomegranate, bleeding seeds for the rest
of my life, each one a pit of desire.
Diverse Voices Quarterly, Vol. 1, Issue 3 & 4 42