Mr And Mrs
“I look over at Oscar. He’s holding a white bag that I’m guessing came from Elaine’s Diner, the local eatery only two blocks down from the beach. He smiles at me, the sun hitting his dark hair, making all his grays show.
My eyes go back to the painting I’ve been working on all morning, and for the first time, I see it. It’s a moment in my life I could never forget. Branded. I could paint this in my sleep, if I was sleeping that is.
“I’d love to know what he’s looking at,” he adds, sitting down next to me on the old, white, chipped wooden bench that looks out onto the beach. I’ve come to feel like it’s my bench over the past few months. I spend most of my time on this beach doing this. Painting.
I took up residence on it today before the sun really even started to rise over the endless ocean. Everything around me waking up, coming back to life, leaving me behind in the darkness. I don’t sleep anymore.
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